In the Fire

by Eileen Griffin

  “What brings you here? And before you give me your own paltry answer, please say you’re finally going to talk some sense into my bonehead brother.”

  The man standing at the station snorted, unsuccessfully trying to hide his reaction behind his hand.

  “This beanpole is Tyler, by the way. Tyler, this is world-famous chef and a pain in my ass, James Lassiter.”

  Tyler gaped at me for a second, then snapped his mouth shut. “Shit. I knew you looked familiar.” He winced. “Sorry Chef, I didn’t mean to say shit. Shit. Sorry, Chef.” He turned beet red.

  Claire just laughed and I joined her. “Don’t apologize on his behalf, Tyler. Jamie’s well acquainted with Ethan’s rather colorful vocabulary.”

  Tyler ducked his head in embarrassment when I held out my hand to shake his. His grip was loose and palm sweaty and I knew from his nervous look he was a little starstruck.

  “Hey, Jamie, can I talk to you privately real quick. In Ethan’s office?” Claire asked.

  I nodded. “Anything for you.” I was pretty sure I could get the answers I needed from Claire.

  She smiled at Tyler. “Give me ten minutes. Practice your julienne technique but come get me if an official from the health department comes by, okay?”

  “Yes, Chef.” He nodded and returned to his station, eyeing the pieces of bell pepper with intensity.

  “This way, Jamie.”

  I followed Claire to the small but cluttered office I could have identified as Ethan’s without being told. Piles of paper covered his desk, a calendar with staff schedules hung on the wall and a couple of framed pictures sat on a shelf.

  “Yeah, it’s a little messy in here.” Claire laughed as she took a seat in the battered desk chair. “Eth is still a pack rat.” She gestured for me to sit in the chair next to it and grabbed a file folder out of the stack, her expression completely unreadable.

  “You know I love you and my brother, right? Together or apart, you’re still family.” I nodded, touched by her words. I wished I’d kept in better contact with Claire over the years, breakup or not. “And I’d never want to make you uncomfortable.”

  I waited for her to continue. “Ethan would totally kill me if he knew I was talking about this with you. But I don’t know who else to ask.”

  “Okay. How can I help?”

  She handed me a piece of expensive stationery and I tensed when I saw the familiar letterhead of Lassiter Corporation, my father’s company, at the top. All the questions I wanted to ask Claire suddenly disappeared. I’d had no contact with my parents since I left Seattle and had tried not to think about them and the life they had continued living without their son. But seeing my father’s name in black and white brought home all the pain from eight and a half years ago as if no time had passed at all.

  As I scanned the letter, my hands began to shake with anger. Even though it was the acquisitions department of my dad’s company and headed up by a grunt instead of my dad, the offer to buy the restaurant had still obviously earned his blessing. When I finally got to the bottom of the letter, my stomach turned. R. Jackson. It couldn’t be a coincidence, not after all these years. Not after this letter had specifically come to the restaurant where Ethan was head chef.

  “How long have you known about this, Claire?”

  She sighed and pushed more paperwork my way. Bills for repairs. Failed inspection notices. Estimates for new equipment. All of them dated within the last month. “Well, that’s a tricky question to answer. I actually just found out about the letter from your dad’s company this week.” She patted my hand when I flinched at the mention of my father. “The other stuff? Let’s just say it’s been a nightmare of a month. But these letters? E still hasn’t told me about them. I found them when I needed to find a stapler in his drawers.”

  I quirked an eyebrow at her and she snorted. “Okay. I was snooping. But E hasn’t been the same this past month. I know things have been tense since you guys saw each other in New York, but I could tell it was more than that. He always tries to take care of me, but I have to watch his back too.”

  I slipped into the chair next to the desk and reread the letter again. The first two were signed by a Jon Atwood, Esquire. But the third one, dated last week, was co-signed by R. Jackson. The timing was just too damn convenient for Reed not to be a major instigator of it all. He had been a Grade A dick in school and obviously the past eight years had done little to change that. I wouldn’t put it past either my dad or Reed to put pressure on Cal to sell. My dad hadn’t gotten to the top by being a nice guy. In fact, he and Reed pretty much tied for Asshole of the Decade in my book.

  “What exactly are you asking me, Claire? Do I think this all sounds fishy? Yes. Is my dad doing anything illegal? It doesn’t look like it, but the timing is too convenient for me to ignore.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, but since I wasn’t supposed to know anything about this—” she waved her hand at the papers I now had spread across the desk, “—I really didn’t have anyone else to talk to about it. You know how E gets when he’s cornered. It gets ugly fast.”

  I closed my eyes and sat back in my chair. Yes, I knew how ugly things got when Ethan felt cornered. I also knew how ugly things could get when my dad felt cornered, especially by a son he had disowned nine years ago. There was no way I could check into this by myself. I needed help. Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I pulled up my favorites and called the one person who had more connections in the restaurant industry than I did.

  “Jamie? Is everything okay?”

  I ran my hand through my hair, a sudden pang of guilt hitting me. Of course, after a weekend of not talking, Trevor would assume I was calling because I was in trouble. Regardless of what else happened, this was one relationship I had the power to patch up, and his greeting made me realize I needed to salvage it soon.

  “Everything’s fine, Trev. Well, kind of. I’m at Cal’s restaurant and I need help with something. Something I think only you can help with, actually.”

  He paused and all I could hear over the line was his breathing. I was about to tell him to forget it and I was sorry to bug him, when his voice, soft but infused with emotion, came through the earpiece.

  “Of course, J. You know I’ll help with anything. What do you need me to do?”

  Guilt settled low in my stomach, but we had both done damage to our friendship and maybe this was a way for us to work together.

  “Do you think you could come by the restaurant? I have a few documents I’d like you to see. Something about them doesn’t add up, but I wouldn’t even know where to look to begin making sense of it all without letting everyone know exactly what I was doing.”

  After our talk in the car on Saturday, he’d made his feelings abundantly clear. However, he’d also made it clear he now knew the score between us. I hadn’t had to say much in response, but the sag of his shoulders once we’d finished our talk spoke volumes. He had hurt me by keeping things from me about Ethan and for obviously misleading Ethan all these years. But I knew I had hurt him, too, by never noticing his feelings for me.

  “I can be there in about twenty minutes. And, J? Thanks for calling me when you could have called someone else. I promise we’ll get to the bottom of whatever has you this worried.”

  The call disconnected before I could reply. I pulled the phone away from my ear and sat for a minute staring at it, willing it to give me the answers I’d desperately wanted for weeks.

  “That bad, huh?”

  Claire’s voice pulled me out of my self-flagellation. I smiled sadly at her as I slipped the phone back in my pocket.

  “I don’t think it’s been the best month for any of us.”

  She walked around and sat on the edge of the desk, leaning close enough to ruffle my hair the way she had done when I’d lived with her and Ethan.

  “I’m su
re my bonehead brother factors into it. He always does. I think he excels at it, actually.”

  I leaned into her touch, starved for any kind of contact I could get.

  “He is one of a kind. But actually, yes, he’s a huge part of it. It’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about before you showed me all of this.”

  Claire sat up and gathered up all the paperwork and pushed it to the side. “This can wait, but from the way you and E have looked lately, what you want to talk to me about can’t. So lay it on me and let’s see if together we can’t put at least a little bit of this shit straight. Well, about as straight as you and my brother can be.”

  The tension I’d felt in my shoulders and back slowly began to relax as I laughed out loud.

  “Have I told you lately how much I’ve missed you? God it’s good to finally be here with you like this. And honestly, I’m not really sure what’s going on, but I think if I don’t get some answers I’m going to go crazy.”

  Claire smiled like the Cheshire Cat and kicked her feet playfully. “Lay it on me and let’s fix this shit before I neuter both you and my brother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ethan

  I stood in an elevator at the Seattle Four Seasons, watching the floor numbers flash by on the display. Instead of simply being held in a hotel suite, the private dinner was in one of the ultra-swanky private residences located in the top floors of the hotel. Great. The winner of the silent auction was not only rich, but a pretentious asshole too.

  Next to me, a visibly nervous and extra-quiet Tyler held a couple of bags filled with a bottle of wine for each course and some extra fruit for the dessert. I’d had the major ingredients and specialty equipment I’d need sent over ahead of time to make things easier, but I had a feeling no amount of pre-planning was going to make this night easy. I’d originally planned on bringing Claire as my sous after all the shit she’d given me about the fundraiser but she’d begged off, saying she needed a night to herself. Cal had offered to take the night shift after all the crap we’d gone through to get it back up and running, so she was going to take advantage of the unexpected free time. Claire never had plans; she was usually as chained to the restaurant as I was, so I figured a night away from me, the restaurant, everything, was exactly what she needed.

  “Relax, New Guy. Rich people put their damn pants on just like we do. One leg at a time. Just follow my lead, okay?” I tried to reassure him but his body vibrated with nerves. I hadn’t told him yet, but for helping me out he’d have an abnormally large amount of overtime on his next check. The restaurant was bleeding money by the bucket right now. What was one more night of pay for Tyler, who’d pitched in on his day off to help me with the Richie Riches who’d bought my dinner services for the night? Even though I hated being in starched chef’s whites, he looked marginally more uncomfortable in them than I did.

  When the elevator doors slid open and we walked out into a foyer with only one door at our end of the hallway, I let out a low whistle. The sound turned to a curse when I double-checked the room number we’d been given by the front desk. Hotel residence, my ass. I had a feeling this place was going to have more money and square footage than the damn restaurant.

  I knocked on the door, quickly straightening my own pristine chef’s jacket and tried to remember the smiley thing Claire had told me about. I schooled my expression, aiming for less serial killer and more professional. When the door swung open, my smile died.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Trustfund?”

  Trevor stood there in a fancy suit, smiling smugly as Tyler glanced at me in confusion and asked, “Do you know him, Chef?”

  “Unfortunately I do. Fuck this. The dinner is off. I refuse to let this douchebag jerk me around again.”

  I shoved my knife roll higher under my arm and turned to walk away, gesturing for a confused Tyler to follow.

  “Ethan, wait.”

  I froze when I heard Lassiter’s voice. What the hell?

  Tyler glanced back and forth between us, confused as I stared at Lassiter over my shoulder. I whirled on him and demanded, “What’s the deal, Golden Boy? You decided fucking with me would be amusing? Nice of you to have Trustfund here with you for an audience.”

  When I finally focused on Jamie, I couldn’t help but stare. The combination of the tailored dark blue wool, crisp white shirt and black tie made his eyes seem even darker blue than usual. After I snapped my mouth shut, I cursed my libido for even noticing him when he’d brought me here just to humiliate me again.

  This whole situation threw me for a loop and I didn’t like it.

  “In case you haven’t guessed, I was the high bidder, Ethan. No one else. Just me.”

  I looked around the room. “Of course you were. Fan-fucking-tastic. How much did the suite set you back? Three million? No wait, five?”

  “Nothing, actually. I called in a favor. All I did was bid on you to support the charity and the school. Just like everyone else.”

  “Of course.”

  His words reminded me of why I was really here. I didn’t think Jamie would cancel his check if I did leave—he wasn’t that big of a dick—but I owed it to Chef B to cook the damn dinner. Resigned to see this night through if it killed me, I gestured for Tyler to follow me into the ginormous suite. “Let’s go, New Guy. We’ve got some motherfucking mouthwatering food to make.”

  Jamie’s low laugh followed me, sent heat settling low in my stomach. When I walked into the living room of the suite I stared at the huge space. Holy shit. This place is bigger than the restaurant.

  I wandered into a compact but state-of-the-art kitchen and let out a low whistle of appreciation, rubbing my hand over the shiny white marble countertop. With polished stainless Miele and Sub-Zero appliances, it was like I’d walked into cooking heaven. I eyed them all like some guys might eye a sexy car. The moment of kitchen lust was spoiled when Lassiter cleared his throat. I shot him a glare, annoyed at his amused look.

  “Something wrong? I paid a lot of money to watch the famous Ethan Martin in action.”

  I shot him a glare and set down my knife roll as I waved for Tyler to start unpacking the few bags we’d brought with us. “You make one Pretty Woman joke and I’m gone. Got it?”

  Jamie snorted and I felt the urge to simultaneously punch and kiss the hell out of him. But that was Trevor’s job now. No matter what Jamie had said, the fact his favorite lackey was still hanging around proved he’d forgiven him. I rolled my eyes and got to work directing Tyler. I was thankful on one small level it was Lassiter I’d be cooking for so I didn’t have to smile pretty and explain everything to some vapid rich person who had more money than brains.

  Tyler smiled at me nervously, and I squeezed his shoulder when Lassiter left the room. “Relax. Remember once upon a time, both Lassiter and I were scared newbies too. And look what we’ve...well, he’s accomplished. If he can do it, you can too. We all start somewhere.”

  Tyler was quiet while we worked to get everything out and ready to prep. Most guys at the restaurant liked to talk until I was cranking up the music to drown everything out, including conversations I didn’t have time for. Tyler wasn’t one of them. He had been quiet since we’d first met when I’d found him scrounging for food in the Dumpster behind the restaurant. It startled me when he cleared his throat. “Chef? Can I ask you a question?”

  He looked all of his nineteen years as he stood there, the slight trembling of his hands telegraphing his nerves. He was so young and yet so grown-up, and looking at him brought back the memories of fighting for everything I could get.

  “Sure. What’s up? Is someone giving you shit at the restaurant? I swear to god I will maim the—”

  “No. It’s nothing like that. I just wanted to know why...why all this?”

  “I have no clue why we’re trapped in this inner s
anctum of Hell cooking for a guy who enjoys torturing me. Probably my lovely karma coming back to bite me on the ass.”

  He laughed. “No. Well, yeah. We all have karma to deal with. I guess. But my question was, why me? Why, out of all the guys at the restaurant, did you decide to teach me all this?”

  I froze the moment I understood the real question. Why did I give a shit about helping him out when his own flesh and blood couldn’t have given two shits about him? Right then, I would have sold one of my nuts to have Claire in here with me. She handled things like this much better than I ever had or ever would. But Claire wasn’t here, and Tyler had found the courage to ask his grumpy-ass boss an honest question.

  “Honestly—and I’m not blowing smoke up your ass when I tell you this—you remind me of me at your age, working my ass off and never knowing when the bottom is really going to fall out. And through it all, I had Claire—even during the times she wanted to plant her foot in my—”

  Thank god Tyler laughed, because I wasn’t sure about him, but I had needed humor to help diffuse the emotions swirling in the kitchen right now. I locked eyes with him, willing him to believe what I said next.

  “Most of all, you deserved a break. I’ll never be as famous or well connected as our guest in the other room, but I did have the power to help you out back then. And I’ve never regretted it. Not once.”

  The silence hung between us until Tyler quietly replied, “Thanks, Chef.”

  I exhaled in relief that something I said or did had gone right, then picked up my knife to continue prep. For the next twenty minutes we cut, chopped and assembled a few assorted appetizers. When I had planned the menu, I’d decided to go for a mainly Pacific Northwest theme. Most people enjoyed seafood.

  I picked up a tray with the crab cakes with lemon garlic aioli, the small bites of cedar plank smoked salmon I’d arranged with a dill sauce on slices of baguette, and the blue-cheese-and-bacon-stuffed mushrooms. With a wink and an enthusiasm I didn’t entirely feel, I grinned at him. “Wish me luck, kid. I gotta wow the fancy people.”