Holly Jolly Lycan Christmas

by Alicia Montgomery

  It seemed Dante Muccino’s celebrity status had grown over the years, thanks to the success of his restaurant. No one had heard of him until five years ago when he somehow secured some funding for his restaurant. And, now, everyone wanted to be there to hobnob with the rich and famous. It took weeks to get a dinner reservation at the Italian restaurant. There were even rumors of a new branch opening up internationally.

  Who the heck was Dante Muccino? She’d never heard of him until two days ago. She knew his type, though. Hotshot celebrity chef who let his success get to his head. Probably only worked in the kitchen if there were cameras around and went out with an endless parade of girls.

  A commotion outside shook her out of her thoughts, and Holly rose from her chair, frowning as irritation began to scratch at her. What the heck was going on out there?

  She yanked open the door and marched into the hallway that led to the kitchen. Her eyes narrowed as she saw her crew gathered around the cold prep table, obviously not working.

  She cleared her throat loudly and crossed her arms over her chest. Several pairs of heads turned around, their faces registering surprise and then fear. Before they could scatter away, she held up her hand. “What’s going on here?”

  “N-n-nothing, Chef,” her commis chef Julian said, his eyes darting left to right.

  “Nothing? Then why are you all standing there—what is that?”

  Christina, the pastry chef, quickly put her hand behind her. “I-It’s nothing, Chef,” she stammered.

  “Show it to me,” she said, walking closer. “C’mon now. If it’s not drugs or something illegal, you shouldn’t be scared to show it to me.”

  The rest of the staff looked at Christina with wary eyes. Though she hesitated for a second, her shoulders slumped under Holly’s icy stare. Reluctantly, she held out her hand.

  “A phone?” Holly asked. “This is what’s distracting you all from work?”

  Christina heaved a sigh and then turned the phone on. A hush fell over the kitchen as the video began to play.

  Holly squinted, trying to see what was on the small screen. The room where the video was taken wasn’t brightly lit, but it was obviously inside a restaurant. Whoever was taking the video was seated, the camera pointing up to the man standing in the middle, dressed in chef’s whites. Though the picture was grainy, the audio was quite clear.

  “I see the restaurant across the street’s re-opening,” A voice from off camera said. “I heard from my real estate guy it’s gonna be some fancy shmancy French place. Is that true?”

  “Yeah, and are you scared of the competition?”

  “Me, scared? Nah.” Dante Muccino’s arrogant profile focused into view. “And French cooking? Please. Talk about uptight, overpriced, and bland.”

  “So you think they won’t last the year?”

  “Won’t last the month,” Dante said, then let out a laugh.

  Holly was glad for years of practice of keeping her emotions in check. She didn’t flinch, didn’t say a word or turn red, even as she felt the anger bubbling at the surface. “Get back to work,” she said to her crew in a calm voice, then handed the phone back to Christina with a curt thank you.

  She wasn’t sure how she got back to her office, as the edges of her vision were turning blurry. But, somehow, she made it inside without losing her cool. Walking to the closet in the corner of her office, she opened the door, walked inside, pressed her face against her wool coat hanging on the rack in the corner, and let out a scream, followed by muffled curses that would have made any sailor blush.

  A few seconds later, she sighed, wiped her face, and opened the door, determined to go back to work and show her staff she was still The Ice Queen. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Sharice standing by the door, hands on her hips.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, her face drawn into a frown. “You saw the video?”

  She nodded.

  “That motherfucking scumbag,” Sharice cursed as she stomped into her office and slammed the door behind her. “Just because he’s hot, he thinks he can say things like that? And to think I told my friends his cannoli was orgasm inducing. The pastry,” she clarified, when Holly shot her a dirty look.

  “How could he put up that video?” Holly asked.

  “It wasn’t him,” Sharice said. “It was some diner over at the next table. A blogger, apparently, of some fame. Put it up on his blog and social networks. He even named you and Petite Louve.”

  “How did he know my name?”

  “Probably got it from our website or our press release,” Sharice guessed. “Anyway, the video’s been shared by about a hundred thousand people. So far.”

  This time, Holly couldn’t help herself. She felt the heat creep up her spine, and her fists curled at her side.

  “Holly?” Sharice’s brows drew into a furrow. “What are you thinking? Are you all right?”

  She let out a long breath. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? Do you need the evening—”

  “I said I’m fine,” she insisted, smoothing her hands down her shirt and straightening her shoulders. But Dante Muccino won’t be, she added silently.

  Chapter Three

  Dante rushed into the kitchen of Muccino’s, tossing his coat carelessly onto the rack. A few pairs of eyes looked up as the staff sat around the large table in the middle of the kitchen, giving him nods of acknowledgment as they looked up from their newspapers, smartphones, or cups of coffee.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said. Traffic back into Manhattan from Jersey was a bitch, especially since he caught the worst of the morning rush hour wave. Having lived in New York City for the last couple of years, he had forgotten how he hated the drive over and going through the Lincoln tunnel.

  Still, he didn’t have any choice. Frankie’s youngest, Julianna, had fallen and broken her arm the other day. Her Lycan healing hadn’t kicked in yet, so she was rushed to the hospital. His sister usually did the pre-weekend meeting with the staff at their original Jersey location, but she couldn’t make it. Thus, it was up to him to head over there and make sure everything was okay. They’d recently hired a new sous chef to help Nonna Gianna with the cooking duties. The old bird had been resistant at first, but she just turned eighty-two last month. Despite being spry for her age, there were certain things she simply couldn’t do anymore so she had agreed to some help.

  But what was supposed to be a three-hour meeting turned into an overnight trip as Nonna Gianna used the greatest weapon all matriarchs possessed—guilt. While she didn’t say outright that she had been feeling abandoned by her only blood relatives, she certainly implied it. Dante chuckled to himself, thinking of the sly old woman. It was nice though, chatting with his great-aunt late into the night, sipping some Chianti, and talking about old times. Nonna Gianna didn’t let the opportunity pass to scold him about not giving her grand nephews and nieces, which he jokingly brushed off.

  Nonna Gianna’s questions stuck in his mind, even now that he was miles away from Jersey. Of course he wanted kids. That feeling that crept up on him months ago was growing stronger, that exhaustion with his life and running around in circles. He tried dating, but he kept going back to his old habits, his restlessness making him unsatisfied with each date and hookup.

  An image of blond hair and frosty blue eyes appeared in his mind. Damn. Why did Holly Taylor suddenly pop into his mind? That was happening a lot lately, but for different reasons. He cringed, thinking of that video. It was a private conversation, a joke that was taken out of context. When he saw it online, he wanted to kill that blogger who put it up. He told Enzo to never let that douche come back ever again.

  Surely Holly had seen it by now. He could only imagine what she was thinking and feeling. Even his own damn wolf was mad at him, growling and snapping inside him. Fuck. He had scrounged up all his courage to go over there and explain. And then Frankie had called to say Julianna had been hurt, and he had to set aside his feelings to deal with things. Family was fir
st, after all.

  Was it too late to apologize? Should he bring some sort of peace offering? Holly seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t be happy with anything less than his head on a silver platter. Well, if that’s what it took to make her forgive him and make this tightening in his chest go away, then he’d bring the platter, the chopping block, and his best knives over himself. But he’d figure it out later. Right now, he had to get ready for lunch.

  “Greg, where’s the swordfish?”

  “I got it, Chef,” he said, getting up from his seat. He disappeared into the walk-in freezer and came out with a tray.

  Dante frowned as he looked at the tray. “What the fuck is that?”

  “Swordfish?”

  “I know that’s swordfish.” He lifted up the piece of fish. “Look at that. It’s tiny. And the color is off. Did Guiseppe bring this crap this morning?” he asked, referring to their fish monger.

  Greg’s eyes widened. “Y-y-yes, Chef! He dropped it off. There was no one else around so I signed for it and—”

  Dante let out a sigh. “It’s fine. We can put it in the stew. Tell Enzo the swordfish is off the menu. Now, did you prep the beef tenderloin?”

  This time, Greg’s face went ashen and his lower lip trembled.

  “What now?”

  “Chef, er … Bruno … our meat guy … he said he didn’t have any beef tenderloin today.”

  “What? How am I supposed to …” He rubbed his palm down his face. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

  Greg looked like he wanted to faint.

  ***

  Dante slammed the door open with his fist and marched into the alleyway behind Muccino’s. Lunch service had been a nightmare, as half the ingredients for his carefully-planned menu had been missing. Needless to say, he had to get creative, but there were definitely a few disappointed regulars who made their displeasure known.

  Something was off. He spent years cultivating relationships with his suppliers. It was like the Goddamn mob, and he did everything he could to get an in with the best fish mongers, butchers, and farmers in the city and ensure they came to him first so he could get the choicest ingredients. Sure, they all had off days, but four of them on the same day? Something was wrong.

  The door to the alley burst open and Enzo stepped out. “Yo, Dante, tough lunch service, but you got through it.”

  “Let’s give our guys a call and see what’s up, yeah?” He hated to have to find new suppliers. “And I—” He stopped as he saw something familiar across the street.

  Enzo followed his gaze. “Hey, is that what I think it is?”

  “Let’s go and find out.”

  The two brothers crossed over to the other side of the street. They peeked into the alley that led to the back of Petite Louve. The familiar white and blue truck with the fish logo stopped by the doorway and its driver hopped out, then opened the back to remove a crate.

  “What’s Giuseppe doin’ here?” Enzo asked.

  Dante didn’t answer, but he had a feeling. A stinking feeling, which proved true enough when the back door to the restaurant opened and Holly stepped out. She greeted Guiseppe warmly, and the old man smiled back at her, proudly showing off his crate of goodies.

  “That sonafa—” Enzo rolled his sleeves up and attempted to march over to Holly and Guiseppe.

  “Enzo!” Dante hissed, grabbing his brother’s arm. “Stop.”

  “Stop? Stop! That double-crossing asshole! He’s giving her the best of his stock I bet! And leavin’ us the dregs! I bet she did the same with Bruno and all our other guys. Who are these people runnin’ this restaurant? Everyone knows you can’t snipe other peoples’ suppliers.”

  Dante sighed and shook his head. “Enzo, just let it go.”

  “Let it go? What do you think she promised him? Think she’s got something on the side with him?”

  He dragged Enzo away from the alley. Even if Guiseppe had been forty years younger and not happily married, he wouldn’t have suspected that. Surely Holly would never stoop so low. His inner wolf growled, and he told it to pipe down.

  “We gotta get ‘em back,” Enzo said.

  “No.”

  “She can’t just—”

  “Basta. No, Enzo. It’s …” He deserved it, he supposed. Besides, letting her get away with this seemed much easier than crawling over there to beg for forgiveness.

  Coward, an inner voice said.

  Shit. He was a fucking coward. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, and he already had a reason to. He could have gone over there and said sorry. But no, it was better this way, he supposed. They should just stay out of each other’s way.

  Chapter Four

  “Any tickets coming in yet?” Holly asked in an irritated voice.

  “No, Chef,” one of the waiters who was waiting by the door said.

  “Have none of our reservations come in?”

  The young man shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Chef.”

  Holly turned back to the kitchen. Her sad, quiet kitchen. All the staff members were waiting by their stations, ready to work. But there were no orders coming in yet.

  This is ridiculous, she thought to herself. She kept a neutral expression on her face, not wanting to alarm her staff. If they thought she thought something was wrong, they might panic. I’m the Ice Queen. Nothing fazed her.

  Holly waited another ten minutes before nodding to Pierre, who took her place by the window. She walked out into the empty dining room and barked to one of the waiters to call Sharice, who was in her office in the back room.

  “Holly?” Sharice stopped and looked around, her jaw dropping. “What’s going on? Why didn’t anyone tell me we don’t have any diners yet? We’ve been open over an hour.”

  “I thought we had some reservations tonight?” Holly asked. “I know it’s Sunday, but still …” She looked around, confused. An empty dining room in New York? One night could be disastrous, and their waitstaff would riot if they didn’t get any tips.

  “Did I miss anything on the news?” Sharice asked. “Is there a snowstorm forecasted? Subway and buses being shut down?”

  “I don’t understand …” Holly frowned and then looked outside. She hardly stepped foot in the dining room, especially when she had to run the kitchen. She never realized that they had a perfectly clear view of Muccino’s dining room from here. They seemed to be having no problems getting customers tonight. In fact, despite the dropping temperatures, there were a few people waiting outside their door. “Wait a minute …” She narrowed her eyes and then marched toward the door. She yanked it open and stepped outside, ignoring the frigid air. Her eyes widened as she saw a piece of paper stuck to their window.

  “Sonofa—”

  “Holly?” Sharice asked as she followed behind her. “What’s going on?”

  “This.” Holly shoved the paper in front her. “This is what’s going on!”

  Sharice grabbed it and wrinkled her brows. “‘Closed by the Health Department of New York?’” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. This was written with a Sharpie.”

  “Apparently it was convincing enough to scare our customers away,” Holly said, ripping the sheet from Sharice’s hands.

  “But who would do this?”

  “Oh, I know exactly who!” She nodded at Muccino’s.

  “Dante? But why?”

  “Because I … kind of stole his suppliers!” Holly confessed. “Well, I didn’t steal them! I just made sure they came to me first.”

  “You did what?” Sharice exclaimed.

  “He started it!” Holly shot back. “With that stupid video.”

  “Holly!” Sharice admonished. “You said you didn’t care about that video.”

  “I didn’t!” she lied. “But this is going too far!” Stupid Dante Muccino and his stupid handsome face.

  “Holly … are you okay?”

  “I’m fine!”

  “Then why is your face red?”

  She let out a frustrated si
gh. “I’m going over there.” She tuned out her friend’s protests and marched across the street. Slamming the door open, she ignored the looks the diners were giving her, and, when one of the wait staff tried to approach her, she sent him an icy look that stopped him in his tracks.

  Being familiar with restaurants, she knew exactly where to go to get to the kitchen. She pushed on the door, sending it swinging inwards as she entered the room like an avenging angel.

  The activity inside the bustling kitchen trickled to a stop as they realized an outsider had come in. Dante was in front of the stove, watching several pans, not realizing what was happening. Someone nudged him, and he stopped, then looked toward Holly. Shock registered on his face, his blue and green eyes wide.

  “I want to talk to you,” Holly growled.

  “Andres,” he called to the man on his right, who quickly took over the station as he stepped away from the pans. He strode over to her, but before he could say anything, she slapped the paper on his chest. He frowned. “What’s this?”

  “Don’t play innocent with me!” she said with a snarl. “You did this.”

  He frowned, took the sheet from her hands, and read it. “What is this?”

  “This was posted outside my restaurant’s door! We’ve been empty for over an hour.”

  “And you think I did this?” Dante asked.

  “Who else would it be?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “And why would I do this?”

  “Because I—” She closed her mouth. Damn.

  “Because you what, Chef?” he asked.

  Anger built up inside of her, and she took the paper from him and ripped it up. “This is going too far!” She turned around to leave, but a strong hand gripped her arm. Tingles shot up her skin where they touched, and Holly suddenly felt dizzy. What was happening? She whipped her head around and felt claustrophobic. Or more like prey being trapped in a corner.