She makes a face and takes a long sip of her drink. “Work. All week, I’ve had to deal with a couple that are snarling at each other. Each of them makes more than a million dollars a year, but they’re fighting over who gets to keep the wedding china.” She shakes her head. “It’s enough to make me lose my faith in people.”
I tilt my head and survey her. I’ve been so busy with my own woes that I’ve failed to realize that Wendy hasn’t been her usual cheerful self. I think she’s right — she has lost faith. She’s been down and dispirited for weeks. “Why don’t you take a vacation?” I suggest gently. “Get away from it all for a couple of weeks? Even a month? You sound like you need a break from your clients.”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I know it’s the right thing to do, but I can’t seem to get excited by it.”
“A one-night stand then? How long has it been? I don’t think I’ve heard you talk about a guy in months.”
“Too long,” she admits. “I’ve given up on men.”
“You have?” I look up, startled. Wendy is the bawdiest of us, the least likely to give up on sex. “Why?”
“All the guys I meet are intimidated by me.” Her voice is bitter. “I’m the ball-busting divorce lawyer. The only guys who are interested in me are the deadbeats who are looking for a sugar-mama.”
“That’s horribly cynical,” I argue.
“But true.”
I gaze at her, troubled. “Wendy, that’s not fair. You can’t dismiss all the guys in the world based on a small handful of losers. Remember how we all tried to talk Gabby out of it when she was doing the same thing? There’s lots of nice men out there. You just have to have a little faith.”
She tosses back her drink, and pours herself another from the bottle. Her hands shake slightly, and I realize she’s well on her way to getting drunk. I’m worried for my friend. “Wendy? What can I do to help?”
She doesn’t answer my question. “You’re one to talk about faith,” she says. “You have everything in front of you for the taking, and you don’t even see it. Owen and Wyatt are crazy about you, and you’re here drinking with me because you can’t acknowledge how important they are to you. Through this entire competition, they’ve been by your side, and rather than confront your parents with the truth, you’re acting as if the relationship between the three of you isn’t real.” She snorts and drains her glass. “You might as well move back to Louisiana and become the socialite your mother wants you to be.”
My first, instinctive response is to lash out at Wendy and tell her she’s a bitch when she’s drinking.
It takes effort, but I fight that urge, because though her words are harsh, there’s truth to them.
I’ve hidden my relationship with them from my parents.
Wyatt was brave enough to open himself up to me. He told me about his childhood, and he trusted me enough to expose his wounds to me.
Owen has, as well.
But I’ve put nothing on the line, the way they have. I’ve been the biggest coward in the world.
Not any more. I make myself a solemn promise. As soon as Can You Take The Heat? is over, I will tell my parents about Owen and Wyatt.
“You’re right.” I rise to my feet. “Come on. You’ve had enough to drink. I’m hailing you a cab, then I’m going to apologize to Owen and Wyatt.”
“You are?”
“I am.” I hug my friend. “And Wendy, I’ve been afraid, but I’m not the only one. You’re beautiful and successful. You can have any man you want. All you need is faith.”
“Faith,” she repeats. She’s a little unsteady on her feet, but for the first time in a while, she sounds hopeful.
Owen and Wyatt are watching a basketball game on TV when I walk in. “Hi,” I greet them tentatively.
They look up and Wyatt smiles at me. “Come sit down,” he invites.
I sit between them, and Owen pats his lap. “Want a foot massage?”
“I thought you were angry with me.”
“A little,” he admits. “But people can get angry in relationships, and still be very much in love.”
“You aren’t Maisie,” Wyatt adds. “It’s a sensitive topic for me, and I over-reacted. You’re an adult. I trust you to handle your parents as you see fit.”
“I’m going to tell them,” I vow. “As soon as the contest is over.” I stifle a moan of pleasure as Owen’s hands knead my inner arch, and I lean on Wyatt’s shoulder. “I’m not ashamed of you. I’ve just never been good at standing up to them.”
“That’s not true,” Owen says calmly. “You think you aren’t capable of asserting yourself, but when the stakes are important, you are more than capable of it. You attended culinary school despite their refusal to help you with tuition. You took over Aladdin’s Lamp and you persisted with it, even though your parents never valued your efforts. You entered into a partnership with us, despite your mother’s disapproval.”
Hope trickles through me. They’re right. When the stakes are high enough, I’ve managed to defy my parents. And nothing is more important than this relationship.
50
Wyatt
My sun sets to rise again.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
There’s a long line of people waiting to get into Piper’s on Friday. Normally, that should fill me with joy, but I’m nervous and I can’t understand why.
“What do you think Max is planning?” Owen mutters at my side.
I don’t know. Piper’s been protected at all times, and Maisie has taken away the loophole in the public vote process. Part of me hopes that Max has decided to give up, but I don’t really believe it. If Max wins tonight, he’ll be in the finals. Someone ruthless enough to put an innocent woman in the hospital isn’t going to roll over at this stage of the contest.
Sasha, our new hostess, greets each group of people with a smile and seats them promptly. She’s put Piper’s cousin Angelina and her wedding party at the table in the front. They’re loud and giggly and even though they’ve only just got here, they’re already running Gina ragged.
“How are things in the kitchen?” I ask Owen.
“They’re ready,” he replies. “It’s the calm before the storm.”
“I hope so,” I say, as the first of the orders starts to makes its way to the kitchen.
I can’t shake off my feeling that something bad is going to happen.
51
Piper
I’ve just finished calling out a ticket when Gina, the new waitress, walks up to me with a plate in her hand. “Chef Jackson,” she says nervously. “One of the diners sent back their food. He said the meat tasted off.”
I slice off a piece of the offending fried chicken and taste it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. I frown at her. “What’s his problem?” I mutter. “Fine, we’ll make him another. Salim, one order of fried chicken, please. Right away.”
“Yes Chef,” he calls out calmly. I watch him work for a second, then turn my attention back to the pass. Kevin’s brought up two orders of the jambalaya, overflowing with chicken, smoked ham and Andouille sausage. I plate them up with sides of collard greens, and hand them to Kimmie. “Table Nine doesn’t seem to like the catfish,” she remarks as she takes the plates of jambalaya.
Sure enough, in about five minutes, she’s back, carrying three plates of catfish. “They say the fish smells fishy.”
“Seriously?” I bite into the battered fish, and it’s perfect.
Owen pushes the double doors open and comes in. “What’s with the returns?” he asks. “I’ve never seen so much food get sent back. Do you guys need a hand here?”
“Taste this.” I hand him a fork. “Table Nine sent it back because it smells fishy.”
He brings the plate up to his nose. “Smells fine,” he remarks, cutting off a piece of the fish and chewing. “Tastes better.” He grins at me, though there’s concern in his eyes. “Let me go sort them out. I’m good at pouring on the charm.”
I chuckle. “I know.”<
br />
But the problem doesn’t go away. The food keeps coming back all evening long. Fried chicken, battered fish, grilled lamb chops, the strip steak, even my mac and cheese. Whatever we serve, it gets sent back to the kitchen.
Something’s wrong. This has to be Max Emerson’s doing.
52
Wyatt
“I am going to kill Emerson.”
Owen’s voice is low and fierce, his face tense with anger. I feel exactly the same way. Rage fills me at Max’s move. He couldn’t threaten Piper, and he couldn’t stuff his ballot with fake customers. So he’s resorted to this.
There can be no other reason for the returned food. I’ve tasted the dishes sent back to the kitchen, and so has Owen. Over the last couple of months, I’ve eaten many amazing meals at Piper’s, and the food is even better today than it usually is.
“He’s got to be spending thousands of dollars on this stunt. What’s the point? He might get the customers through the door if he wins Can You Take The Heat?, but he’s not going to keep them. His food is garbage.”
Owen doesn’t reply. His eyes are fixed on the judges’ table. Three of the judges, Maisie, George Nicolson and Anita Tucker are digging into their meals with every sign of enjoyment, but the fourth, John Page, has just raised his hand to attract Gina’s attention.
“The fucker,” I rage helplessly, as John Page sends his food back.
We’ve underestimated Max Emerson. I knew he was sleazy, but I didn’t think he was capable of devising a plan this devious. The judges aren’t going to question the low public scores when they come out. Why would they? All evening long, they’ve seen food get sent back to the kitchen.
Owen speaks up, his voice grim. “I think we’ve lost.”
Though I don’t want to face that truth, I’m afraid that Owen’s right.
53
Piper
None of us is as smart as all of us.
Ken Blanchard
There’s total silence in the kitchen at the end of the night. We’re not fools. We can all read the writing on the wall. We’ve been out-maneuvered tonight.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Josef, knowing it isn’t just my dreams that have been dashed tonight.
“The contest was just a shortcut, Chef Jackson,” he says, calmer than I expected. “I’ll go home and drown my sorrows in drink, and tomorrow, I’ll be prepared to take the long way around.” He lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “We played by the rules and the other guys didn’t. How can you win when your opponent is prepared to lie and cheat?”
I pat his shoulder. We wipe the counters down in silence. Josef, Kevin and Salim file out through the back when they are done. I remove my apron, wondering where Owen and Wyatt are, when they step through the doors.
“We’ve lost, haven’t we?” I ask them.
Wyatt nods grimly. “I’m so sorry, Piper,” he says, his voice gentle. He reaches for me, and the two of them envelop me in their arms. We stay in a three-way hug for a very long time.
Finally, we break apart. I turn to the freezer and extract my bottle of vodka. We drank half of it the night we became friends. Tonight seems a perfect time to finish the other half. “Josef said he was going to get drunk tonight,” I tell them. “I think there’s something to that idea.”
“Sláinte,” Owen says with a twist of his lips. “Shall we head home first? Jasper will be wondering where we are.”
I snort and grab the parcel of fish I’ve saved for my cat. “I’m ready to bet good money that Jasper will be fast asleep when we get home. But he’ll wake up to eat this catfish.” My tone is wry. “He might as well. No one else ate it tonight.”
Wyatt puts his arm around me. “I want to beat Max Emerson into a bloody pulp,” he says.
“You’ll have to wait in line.” Owen’s voice is hard. “One way or another, Emerson is going to pay for tonight.” He looks up at me. “Oh, I almost forgot. Your mother said that your cousin Angelina and her friends will be drinking in the Four Seasons bar tonight, and you should come and join them when you’re done here.”
I’m exhausted. I don’t have either the energy or the desire to deal with my family right now. I want to sit on the roof and look at the stars, drink a couple of shots of vodka with Owen and Wyatt, and numb the sting of failure. And when I’ve done that, I want nothing more than to curl up between their warm bodies and fall asleep.
Angelina can wait until tomorrow. “Screw that,” I say decisively. “Let’s go home. I have a cat to feed and vodka to drink.”
54
Owen
We’ve each done two shots of vodka and are contemplating a third when my phone rings. I frown at it. It’s almost two in the morning. Who would be calling this late?
“Owen?” The voice at the other end is hesitant. “Is that you? It’s me, Patrick.”
Patrick Sarsfield. The uncle I haven’t spoken to in seventeen years.
I have so much to ask him. Is he well; is he safe? Does he have a family now? But I bite those words back. My uncle has waited almost three weeks to return my call. I have to believe that he’s nervous about talking to me.
“How are you?” I ask instead. A bland, generic greeting.
“Alive.”
Talk about stating the obvious. “Yes, I see that.” My voice is dry.
“Why did you call?” my uncle asks bluntly. “How did you get my number?”
I leave Aisling Rahilly out of this. There’s no point getting her in trouble. “I heard a rumor that Seamus Cassidy is out of jail.”
“No,” he replies at once. “Your source is wrong. Everyone’s locked up.”
I exhale. Wyatt’s been telling me from the start that Mendez has been lying to me. Now, there’s proof.
“That’s all I needed to know. Thank you.”
“Don’t call me again,” he says harshly. “I have a wife and a daughter now. I want them to stay alive, Owen.”
“It won’t happen again.” My voice is soft. I understand my uncle’s feelings. I wouldn’t risk talking to him if it meant endangering Piper and Wyatt.
For a while after I hang up, there’s silence. Then Piper breaks it hesitantly. “Was that your uncle?”
I nod. “Mendez lied to me,” I say wearily. “There’s no gang activity in Hell’s Kitchen. Whatever he’s looking for has nothing to do with the Westies. He’s been lying to me so that I’ll do his dirty work for him.” My voice is bitter. “Honesty seems to be a thing of the past.”
Piper links her hand in mine. “That’s what Josef said tonight,” she says. “He said there’s no way to win if your opponent is prepared to lie and cheat.”
“He’s right.” I gaze into the distance, angry at Mendez’s betrayal, and at the way I let myself be played by him.
“Here’s a thought.” There’s an intensity to Wyatt’s voice that causes both of us to start. “What if Josef is right? The deck has been stacked against us right from the start, because we’ve insisted on playing by the rules. What if we break them?”
“What are you talking about, Wyatt?”
“For Piper to make it to the finals, Emerson’s needs to be disqualified from the contest. How do we achieve that?”
The realization of what needs to be done dawns on all of us at the same time. “Mendez wanted Max Emerson’s computer records,” Wyatt says. “If we break in and get a hold of them, I guarantee you Maisie Hayes will kick him out when she finds evidence of wrongdoing. Especially if John Page is involved.”
I nod at Wyatt, excitement coiling in my belly. “Now?”
“Are you crazy?” Piper jumps to her feet and glares at the two of us. “John Page was stopped by the cops two days ago. Everyone’s going to be on edge. Don’t you think Max Emerson is going to have guards watching his restaurant?”
Wyatt shrugs. “That’s a risk we’re willing to take.”
“No” She shakes her head. “It’s not worth it.” Her lips turn up in a smile, and her eyes gleam. “There’s a better way.”
“
There is?”
“Yes.” She paces back and forth, her gait slightly unsteady from the vodka. “Max Emerson just screwed me over. What if tomorrow morning, just before his restaurant opens, I’m at his doorstep making a scene?”
Wyatt catches on. “You’re going to be a distraction?”
“Exactly.”
“No.” My voice is flat. “I won’t risk your safety.”
She glares at me. “I won’t be in any danger,” she says. “Max Emerson will be expecting me to react in some fashion. He won’t be surprised when I show up and yell. And while everyone’s busy dealing with my temper tantrum, the two of you can sneak in through the back and grab what you need.”
“This is crazy.”
“It could work.” Wyatt sounds thoughtful. “You remember how Emerson’s is laid out? The back door opens into a corridor which leads to Max’s office. We won’t even have to go past the kitchen to get to his computer. We’ll only need five minutes to get his data.”
“Listen,” Piper says. “If you don’t think I can distract them for five minutes, you don’t know me. I’m great at tantrums. Really.”
My lips twitch at her passion. “Are you, honey?” I ask her. “Show me.”
“Are you going to let me help you tomorrow?” she demands.
I exchange a glance with Wyatt. I don’t like it, but Piper and Wyatt are right. Piper won’t be in any danger.
“We’re in this together, Owen,” she says softly. “All of us. We’re a team. Let me help, please.”
“Okay,” I concede reluctantly. “If we wake up in the morning and still think this is a good idea, you can be our decoy.”
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