“It’ll more than work.” I laugh out loud in glee. “Wyatt, this is perfect. Thank you.”
His gaze lingers on me. In a rush, all my desire comes hurtling back. Stay away from them, a sensible, practical voice warns me. You’re making too much progress to risk it all for one night of pleasure.
But what a night it would be…
He clears his throat and breaks the spell. “You’re welcome, Piper.”
The last four weeks have been almost too good to be true. In thirty days, the restaurant has been completely transformed. It’s gone from a faded dump to a jewel that shines and sparkles. The food’s changed from hit-or-miss Middle Eastern to a contemporary Southern cuisine. Even Josef and Kimmie seem on board with the transition. Josef has shown up to work on time three days in a row, and yesterday, Kimmie didn’t chew gum once.
It all changes on Thursday.
I should have known there’d be trouble when I mentioned to my parents that I had two new partners. But I’d been focused on saving the restaurant, and I’d failed to notice their reaction.
When I get into work Thursday morning, I find a notice waiting for me. It’s from Grant & Thornton, the law firm that are the executors of Aunt Vera’s will.
I read their letter with nerveless fingers. It states that they have reason to believe the terms of the will aren’t being complied with. They’re going to send an accountant to do a full audit of my books on Tuesday. And, if that’s not enough, until the three year probationary period is over, I’ll be expected to open my books for a monthly audit.
Damn it. This is nothing other than thinly disguised harassment. When we signed the paperwork to make Wyatt and Owen partners in my restaurant, I’d dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s, and I’d sent Grant & Thornton a copy of all the paperwork.
The timing couldn’t be worse. Owen, Wyatt, and I have been spending every waking moment at Aladdin’s Lamp, getting it ready for the contest. I’ve been cooking the new dishes we’ve concocted, again and again, until I can make them in my sleep. We’ve found a new meat supplier, we’re auditioning two vegetable suppliers and we’re getting new appliances in the kitchen. Next week is also the first round of the contest.
Already I’m stretched to the max. Now I have to deal with my parent’s latest passive-aggressive move? I slump into a chair and rest my head on the table, and I struggle not to burst into tears.
20
Wyatt
Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Owen and I have just walked into Aladdin’s Lamp when my cellphone rings. I glance down at the display, but the caller id is blocked. Shrugging, I pick up. “This is Wyatt Lawless,” I say, as Owen heads to the back to look for Piper.
“Hello, son.”
I haven’t heard my father’s voice in twenty years.
Everything stops. I can’t hear the honks of the cabs, or the rumbling from the subway under my feet. The bustle of Manhattan recedes into the background.
My palms are damp and my fingers white where I grip the phone. My pulse races. One thought dominates. I can’t have this conversation here. I can’t be overheard.
Pushing the door open, I go outside. Leaning against the brick wall, shaded by the newly installed blue and white awning, I take a deep breath. “What do you want?”
He responds to my question with one of his own. “Why don’t you want to meet me, Wyatt?”
Why don’t I want to meet him? Is he fucking kidding me with this shit? “Why would I want to meet you?” My voice is hard as steel, but my hands are shaking. “It’s been twenty years. You think you can just waltz back into my life and pretend everything’s fine?”
“I’m your father. You’re my son.”
“You forfeited the right to call me that when you walked out on mom and me.”
“When was the last time you stepped foot into that house, Wyatt?” At my silence, he laughs grimly. “Can you really blame me for leaving? Your mother would rummage through the trash and take out every empty can I discarded. She wouldn’t let me throw away anything. You remember the stacks of old newspapers in the living room, Wyatt? You remember the milk crates of old tin cans that lived on the couch? There was nowhere to cook a meal. No space to sit and drink a pint.” His voice is heavy with self-pity. “One day, I reached breaking point. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
I want to hang up, but I can’t. My fingers refuse to press the disconnect button. I keep listening, the words hammering into my brain, bringing back images of a past I’ve done my best to forget. Finally, when he stops talking to draw breath, I interrupt. “You abandoned a thirteen year old child when you left.” The sun’s beating down, but I’m chilled to the bone. “There’s nothing you can say that will excuse that. I have nothing to say to you.”
I end the call. For a very long time, I stare into the street, seeing but not registering the cars, the pedestrians, the rhythm of the city.
Finally, I rouse myself out of my stupor. My father is meaningless. I have a restaurant to fix.
But when I walk into the restaurant, I see Owen sitting at a table, gazing helplessly at the tears streaming down Piper’s cheeks.
21
Wyatt
The best thing to hold onto in life is each other.
Audrey Hepburn
My heart twists painfully in my chest when I see Piper crying. I cross the room in long strides and pull up a chair next to her. “What’s the matter, honey?”
Her shoulders shake with her sobs, but she doesn’t reply. What happened, I mouth to Owen, who shakes his head. He doesn’t know either.
It kills me to see her so upset. A wave of wrath for whoever caused this surges over me. I put my arms around her and pat her on her back, while Owen laces his fingers in hers. “Piper,” I repeat. “Tell us what the problem is, and we’ll fix it.”
She feels so soft in my arms. Her hair smells like lavender and oranges, and it takes all the willpower I possess to keep from touching it, touching her. I’m bewildered by my emotions — I want to protect her and take care of her. I never want to see a tear in her eyes again.
She takes a deep breath, and shifts in my grip. I release her, jolted by the sense of loss I feel. “What happened?” I ask for the third time.
Owen wipes the tears away from her cheeks with his fingertips. “Please tell us, Piper.” His expression reflects the helplessness I’m feeling. “We’re here for you.”
She attempts a watery smile and holds out an envelope. “This happened,” she says, her voice catching in a hitch. “My parents have been at work.”
I scan the letter quickly, and my lips tighten. Owen reads it when I’m done, and his face turns grim. “We can handle this,” I soothe her. “We’re not trying to hide anything.”
“I know,” she says quietly. “They’re just looking for an excuse to control me.”
She sounds as if she’s given up. She’s been strong for so long, fighting to forge her own destiny. Her parents don’t want her to be happy — they just want to run her life.
“Parents should love and support their children,” I say quietly, placing my hand over hers. “But sometimes they don’t. I should know. My mother is a hoarder.”
Owen looks up, startled. I never talk about my childhood.
Only a few minutes ago, I walked outside so Piper and Owen wouldn’t overhear my conversation with my father, but it feels strangely liberating to reveal the truth. I’ve been living under the crushing weight of a secret for a very long time.
“My father left us when I was thirteen,” I continue. “When I was growing up, I learned quickly that my house wasn’t like the homes of my schoolmates, but I couldn’t risk asking anyone for help.”
“Wyatt.” She squeezes my hand tightly. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not looking for your pity.”
She flinches, and I’m filled with shame. That came out harsher than I intended. “I’m sorry
,” I apologize. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” My lips turn up in a small smile. “You feel betrayed by your parents. I can understand that feeling.”
Owen rests his hand on her thigh. “Don’t worry about your books. We’ll handle your accountant. You just worry about cooking.”
She draws a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” she says.
“For leaning on your friends?” I brush a strand of hair back from her face. “You should never be sorry about that.”
She gives us a tremulous smile. “I have to stop letting my parents get to me,” she admits. “What about you, Owen? What are your parents like?”
22
Owen
What are your parents like, Owen?
How do I even begin to answer that question? Wyatt has bad memories of his childhood; I have only happy memories of mine. My mother laughed a lot. My father bought my mother flowers every Sunday because he loved her and wanted to make sure he always showed it.
“They’re dead.”
Piper draws a deep breath, probably to say something like ‘I’m so sorry’. Before she does, I continue, almost blurting out the words. “They were killed.”
Her expression turns shocked. It’s Wyatt’s turn to look at me strangely.
“What happened?” she asks, then she flushes. “I’m sorry. That was nosy of me. If you’d rather not talk about it, I understand.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. It was seventeen years ago.”
I can feel the calluses on Piper’s hand, the cuts and burns that a chef earns, almost a badge of honor in the profession. The rest of her is soft. There’s a gentleness about Piper and a kindness that is so much a part of who she is. Sitting here, holding her hand, with Wyatt on the other side is almost enough to fill the void that was left when my parents and sister were killed. Almost.
“My parents ran a restaurant in Dublin. In those days, the gangs were a lot more powerful than they are today. The Westies decided they wanted to use our restaurant as a base for their various dealings.”
I pause to draw a breath. When I first came to America, Mendez had arranged therapists for me, but my grief had been too close to the surface, and I hadn’t been ready to heal. I hadn’t wanted to find peace when my entire family lay dead. My happiness would have been a betrayal.
“My da didn’t like it, but he didn’t have a choice.” They’d distributed heroin from the back and they ran an illegal gambling ring after hours. That was why I knew exactly what to look for in Piper’s back yard. “One day, someone got shot outside our restaurant. My father saw it happen, and he agreed to testify in court.”
“My ma was afraid of the mob. Her father and brother were low-level members; she’d seen the brutality up close. But my father wanted to do the right thing.” I swallow. “The night before he was to take the stand, a gunman walked into the hotel where the police had hidden them, and he shot them. My mother, my father, and my baby sister.”
“Owen,” she whispers. She pulls me into a hug and envelops me in her warmth. “I’m so sorry.” In her embrace, the pain lifts, and I feel something I haven’t felt in seventeen years. Peace.
I could stay there forever. It is such a tempting vision. I could tell Mendez to fuck off. I could help Piper win the contest. I could…
Yeah, Lamb, what? You think Piper wants to get involved with Wyatt and you? You think she’s interested in your kinky shit?
Her breasts press against my chest. I fight the urge to run my hand along her curves, to cup those firm globes, to bend my mouth against her lips. “We should get moving,” I mutter. “We need to open for lunch in thirty minutes.”
Wyatt makes a strained sound of assent. Piper’s hand is still laced in his, and he’s made no move to free himself.
This is a very bad idea.
This is a worst idea in the world.
My fingers move of their own volition. I cup her chin in my hands and I lean in, so close to her face. I brush my lips against hers in a soft, fleeting kiss.
Her eyes meet mine. There’s confusion in her expression, but there’s also desire, and it’s that desire that has my heart hammering in my chest. I move my hand over the back of her neck and draw her in again, and this time, when I kiss her, she kisses me back with a passion that takes my breath away.
She tugs at Wyatt’s hand, drawing him closer. Wyatt makes an indistinct sound of need, before leaning in. He presses a kiss against her cheek, and she turns toward him, her expression tentative. “Piper,” he mutters. “You are like a drug in my veins.”
Their lips meet in a slow, soft kiss. I watch, my dick hardening. I want to drag her out of here, take her to the nearest horizontal surface, pull off her pants and dive into her.
Wyatt’s eyes are glazed with heat. His hands move up to cup her breasts over her shirt.
Just then, the front door opens with a squeak. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Josef says loudly as he walks in. “The stupid train was so fucking slow.”
The three of us pull apart. Piper jumps to her feet and rushes to the kitchen. Her face is flushed and her lips are swollen. Josef looks at Wyatt and me with curiosity. “How’s it going?” he asks, his voice belligerent.
Wyatt nods curtly. “You’re late.”
That shuts him up. “I’ll go help Chef Jackson,” he says, slipping away.
Wyatt exchanges a look with me. “What just happened?” he asks, his voice dazed.
I don’t know. I have absolutely no idea.
23
Piper
If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.
Oscar Wilde
I work through the lunch service, my brain a seething mass of confusion.
This wasn’t the same as the night with the vodka. Then I could have blamed the alcohol. Today? It’s early in the morning. The only person responsible for my behavior is me.
I want them.
I sauté, fry, and bake on auto-pilot, powering through one ticket after another. After about an hour, I hear someone come into the kitchen. I lift my head up to tell Kimmie that her order isn’t ready, but it isn’t Kimmie. It’s Owen.
“Hey Piper,” he says, his expression wary. “The vegetable vendor is here. Do you want to talk to him?”
The look on his face makes my insides twist. I don’t want things to be weird with the three of us because of my impulsiveness. Their friendship has become really important to me. “I do,” I tell him, wiping my hands on my apron and untying it. “I’ll be right out. Josef, can you and Kevin manage in here for about twenty minutes?”
We’ve been much busier at the restaurant. As the money flows in, I’ve increased Kevin’s hours. Today, he’s working both the lunch and dinner shifts. He looks up now as he hears his name mentioned, and grins cheerfully. “We’ve got it, Chef.”
Josef nods as well. “Nothing we can’t handle,” he agrees.
I follow Owen out. “Josef’s work ethic seems to have improved,” he remarks quietly as we walk to the front.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that too.” I seize on the topic as a way to avoid the awkwardness between us. “The changes around here have been good for him. Just as well,” I quip dryly, “since I can’t afford to buy him out.”
“Yet.” He squeezes my shoulder. “It won’t be long, Piper Jackson, before you take the city by storm.”
There’s a lump in my throat as I hear the confidence in his voice. What are you doing, Piper? Are you willing to lose this friendship for a night of pleasure?
Wyatt’s still sitting at the same table we kissed at, talking to a grey-haired guy in a checked shirt. “Ah, here’s Chef Jackson,” he says, as we walk up. “Piper, this is Duncan Bright. He runs a cooperative that works with several farms in the state.”
“Mr. Lawless tells me you’re looking for locally sourced food,” Duncan says. “We supply with several restaurants in Manhattan, including some of Lawless and Lamb’s other properties.”
Duncan Bright’s prices are reasonable, an
d he comes highly recommended by Wyatt and Owen. We quickly hammer out a deal. When Duncan leaves, I rise as well. “I should get back to the kitchen.” I avoid looking at Owen and Wyatt. It’s too awkward.
“Sure,” Wyatt starts to say, then I hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Oh my God, Piper, look what you’ve done to the place!”
It’s Wendy. She comes up to us, a big smile on her face. “Bailey’s been raving about how amazing the place looks,” she says. “I had to come check it out.” She notices Wyatt and Owen for the first time. “Hi,” she introduces herself, “I’m Piper’s friend Wendy. You must be Wyatt Lawless and Owen Lamb.”
They get to their feet politely. “Good to meet you.” Owen flashes her a grin. “Are you part of the mysterious Monday night drinking club?”
She laughs. “It’s officially called the Thursday Night Drinking Club. We just meet on Mondays because that’s when Piper can make it.” She’s looking around. “Look what you’ve done,” she says, her voice admiring. “Piper, this is brilliant.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Owen and Wyatt.” It isn’t just Josef’s passion that’s been rekindled as a result of the changes here. It’s mine as well.
I show Wendy around. Then a group of eight people walk through the door and I groan. “I better get back to the kitchen to make sure things are under control. Give me about fifteen minutes?”
“Sure,” Wendy says. “I can chat with Owen and Wyatt in the meanwhile.”
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 50
