Fighting Fire (Finding Focus Book 3)

by Jiffy Kate

  “Dani, baby,” I warn, gathering her hair on top of her head so I can see her perfect mouth.

  “Turnabout is fair play,” she notes as she continues to kill me softly.

  She doesn’t make me wait long. Her hand wraps around my shaft and she begins to stroke as her lips gradually find their way to the tip. Slowly, she sinks her mouth down and all I can think about is her tight, wetness wrapped around my cock.

  This won’t last long. I need to be inside her. I need it more than my next breath.

  “I want to be inside you,” I tell her, voicing my instinctive demand.

  Without hesitation, Dani crawls forward until we’re face to face. “Like this?” she asks as she lines up with my cock and slides down, completely engulfing me in her warmth, until her hips hit mine and we’re one.

  “Just like that.” Grabbing onto her hips, I help her set the pace, finding our rhythm, just like we always do. And just like always, it’s perfect and the best sex I’ve ever had.

  But it’s not just sex, this is making love. I know the difference now. This is more than carnal gratification, it’s a connection of the soul. It’s two halves finding their place in the world.

  Dani feels it too. I can see it in the way she looks at me. As if on cue, she laces her fingers through mine and holds on as we reach, chasing that moment of ecstasy. Her hips rock against mine, gaining the friction she needs. I know she’s close when I feel her thighs tremble. Her hands squeeze mine and her head tilts back. I feel her shatter and I let myself go, following her lead, every piece of me belonging to her.

  She collapses on my chest and I hold her to me, breathing heavy with my head in the clouds.

  “I swear, every time feels like the best yet . . .” Dani mumbles.

  “Until the next time,” I reply, kissing the top of her head.

  “Yes.” She chuckles lightly and I hug her tighter to me.

  We lay like that for a while, my arms wrapped around her, like I’m still trying to hold onto her. The few hours between Piper calling me and finding Dani in that bathroom were the scariest and longest hours of my life. I don’t ever want to feel that way again, but I know life has no guarantees. I know I can’t put her in a bubble or tether us together. But I can make sure she knows how much I love her. Every day. And I can do my damndest to always keep her safe.

  If Dani’s dad was alive, I’d tell him that. Even though she wasn’t close to him, I’d still tell him. But it’s Dani’s granny I would want the most approval from. I wonder what she’d think of me. Dani seems to think she’d love me, but she’s biased. I hope whoever is looking down on her thinks I’m doing a good job. I know I’ve made mistakes, messed up and made messes, but I’m trying.

  “I love you,” I whisper into her hair, following the words up with a kiss to hold them there. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you,” Dani mumbles, half asleep.

  Sitting up, I pick Dani up off my lap and place her on the pillow beside us, tucking her under the blankets. When she stirs, she looks up at me with the warmest, sleepy smile. Her hair is half in her face and I brush it back, kissing her on her forehead.

  As I settle in beside her, I feel the exhaustion set in, but I can’t force my eyes closed. It’s like I’m afraid if I shut them, she won’t be here when I wake up. So, I lay there watching her until my body takes over and I succumb to sleep.

  Micah

  THE LAST FEW DAYS HAVE been crazy. Shit, make that the last few months. But it’s all been worth it, because it’s brought me to this day—the soft opening of Lagniappe, and the first day of the rest of my life.

  The craziness still isn’t over, but it will be soon.

  Normally, I’m a morning person, but leaving Dani asleep in bed before the sun’s up is on my list of least favorite things. But she’ll be here soon enough. She’s coming early to take some official pictures of the restaurant for the new website. Cami’s also meeting her here with a brand spanking new painting for the back wall. All of the final pieces are falling into place.

  Until then, I have business to attend to.

  Alex is supposed to meet me here at eight. I’m betting she’ll be at least half an hour late, but I wanted to have enough time to brew a pot of coffee and get my head on straight before she gets here. Mr. Wells and I have been over the contract a dozen times. Our offer is solid, with his additional investment and a loan we secured from the bank, it’s nearly ironclad. She’s not going to like what we offer her, so I’m prepared for a tantrum. However, in the end, I’m hoping she’ll see the light and cut her loses.

  Opening the back door, I’m met with a fresh, clean smell, exactly what I like. The staff has done a stellar job getting this place ready. I’m pretty sure we could pass any white-glove inspection. The health inspector was thoroughly impressed, so it was good getting off on a right foot with him. Deacon and I have learned over the years whose ass we need to kiss, and the health inspector is one of them.

  Coffee is first on my to-do list. So, I go in and get the pot set for a full-brew. It’s just me, but I can put away some coffee. I might even need a splash of whisky to combat the nervous energy inside me. This is New Orleans, after all, and it’s always drinking time.

  As a matter of fact, I had to wait three minutes for some drunk bastards to cross the street on my way here. At seven o’clock in the morning.

  I love this city, even the dirty parts. It’s always drawn me in, and as I stand here in the new kitchen of my new restaurant in the French Quarter, I have to pinch myself.

  This is real. I’m doing this.

  I also have to take a moment of gratitude, because shit could’ve gone down so differently. My long-time love and obsession with having a restaurant here almost got me in trouble. I was so close to losing everything that really means something to me, and if that would’ve happened, this place would’ve meant nothing. It’s been a fight, but nothing in life worth having comes easy.

  You have to fight for your dreams.

  You have to fight for what you believe in.

  And you have to fight for happiness.

  Walking down the back hall to my office, I take out the contract that Alex, Mr. Wells, and I signed back in October, I give it one last glance, now knowing it almost verbatim. Then, I open the file cabinet and retrieve the paperwork Mr. Wells and I have been working on the last couple of days—the purchase contract with our offer on the building and all of the necessary paperwork to transfer ownership to me. Mr. Wells will remain a silent partner.

  With my coffee cup in one hand and paperwork in the other, I feel armed and ready for Alex’s arrival. Sitting at the bar, I wait.

  To my surprise, at five after eight, Alex walks in the back door, calling my name upon arrival.

  “At the bar,” I tell her, feeling a bit of nerves making my heart beat a little faster, not because I’m afraid of Alex—that’s a joke—but because I want this so bad and I know how she can be—conniving, manipulative, and self-serving. I can see her declining the offer, even if it means jail time over her tax debt, just to spite me. But I’m hoping her self-preservation kicks in.

  She’d never make it in prison.

  “Good morning, Micah. Happy Opening Day!” She beams as she rounds the corner, coming into view. In her right hand are two cups of something hot from the coffee shop down the street and in the other is a large bouquet of over-the-top flowers. The large sunglasses on her face hide her eyes, but I can see her disappointment when she notices the cup of coffee in my hand.

  Setting the drink holder down, she snatches my coffee cup and sets one of her own down in front of me. “I brought you coffee. Much better than that old stuff, trust me.”

  For a second, I just watch her, as she takes over the space and fills it with her annoying high-pitched voice and offending perfume.

  “God, Micah . . .” she gushes. “This place is just, ah . . . you know? I mean, isn’t it wonderful. I had no idea it’d turn out this good. When you started talking industrial
meets modern, I was just like, what? I couldn’t see it. But now that it’s all done, I see it. It’s really great.” She’s standing in the middle of the dining room, looking around at the place, and I realize she hasn’t seen it since all of the finishing touches have been made.

  No thanks to you. That’s what I want to say, but I don’t. I want this meeting to stay as amicable as possible. Somehow, I need to make this sound like it’s her idea, because that’s all Alex hears—her own voice. At the very least, it needs to serve her needs, because she can’t see past the tip of her nose. It’s all her, all the time.

  Without a word, I pick up her fancy coffee and sit it back in the drink holder, retrieving my trusty mug and taking a long sip. The splash of whisky is sounding better by the second, so I get off my barstool and walk around to peruse the shelves. Settling on some Maker’s Mark, I add a generous pour to my cup.

  “Drinking already?” she asks with a smile, like she’s privy to an inside joke.

  “Yep,” I say shortly, trying to think exactly how I should start this conversation.

  “So, why did you need to see me so early? Are we having a private celebration?” Her tone says she’s teasing, but again, knowing Alex, she’s not. While busying herself with re-arranging the already arranged flowers, she suddenly notices the papers on the counter. “What are these?”

  “Contracts.” I take a drink of my whiskied-down coffee and a deep breath. “I asked you to come here this morning, because I have an offer for you.”

  “What kind of offer?” The confusion is thick on her face, her eyebrows drawing tightly together, as she sits on one of the barstools and levels me with a stare.

  “An offer I’m hoping you can’t refuse.” Clearing my throat, I pick up the initial contract, deciding to start there. “This building can only be sold to a partner,” I begin and watch the shift in her demeanor. Her eyebrows that were knitted together relax until one is raised in question. Slowly, she crosses her arms, picking up on where I’m going. “I’d like to buy you out. I want to buy the building.”

  I just go for it—split-second decision, last-minute play call. But sometimes, those earn the best results.

  “You can’t afford it,” she says with a laugh—haughty and full of herself.

  “Mr. Wells—” I begin, but she cuts me off.

  “Mr. Wells?” she seethes, pushing away from the bar to stand. “Mr. Wells is in on this?”

  “He’ll be my partner, my only partner,” I confirm, crossing my arms to match hers.

  “You both can’t afford it. Do you know how much this building is worth?” Her voice is even higher-pitched than normal and it’s rising in volume. “I’m not selling.”

  “We’re offering you seventy-five percent of the appraised value,” I tell her, holding out the purchase contract with our offer. “It’s more than generous, considering all of the money I’ve put into the remodel.”

  “I could get way more than that! I mean, look at this place,” she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. “Maybe I’ll sell.” It’s a threat. Everything about her words is a threat—the way she squares her shoulders, her tone, the resolve in her expression.

  “You can’t. Not for five years. It’s right here in the contract,” I remind her, sliding the papers across the bar since she refuses to take them.

  Her chest heaves as realization sets in. She’s stuck. And now, for the winning blow.

  “I know about the tax debt. I don’t know how much, but Mr. Wells seems to think you’ve been evading the IRS for a while.”

  “How do you know that?” Her question is incriminating. I can tell by the tone in her voice that she feels caught.

  “Someone from the IRS stopped by last week looking for you,” I tell her, handing her the business card. “He said they’ve been trying to reach you for quite some time.”

  “They . . . they must be looking for someone else.” She stutters and bats her eyelashes, looking at me and then away. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Mr. Wells seemed to have an idea, something about an old investment you sold and never paid taxes on and that you haven’t filed in two years.”

  “What would that old man know?” she sneers, like a caged animal who knows they’re trapped.

  “Everything, seeing that he’s been your financial advisor for the past five years.”

  In a very un-Alex move, she screams—arms down at her side, hands balled into fists, and eyes screwed shut. It’s like one of Carter’s fits he used to throw when he didn’t get his way. I said used, because he’s outgrown those, and he’s six. “We were doing great! We’re great together, Micah, you just can’t admit it. It’s always been some kind of game with you—cat and mouse. Admit that you love the chase as much as I do!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I do know what she’s talking about. Deacon called it from the get-go, but I’m not giving her that satisfaction, because it’s never been that for me.

  She laughs, inhaling deeply and shaking her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’d let something like a restaurant come between us. You don’t see us like I see us.” Her tone that was obstinate and incredulous is now desperate and grasping. “We have history together. I know you better than you know yourself, definitely better than your girlfriend does.”

  “Don’t bring her into this,” I seethe, now turning defensive.

  “Does she know about your past? Or do you have her convinced that you’re some prince charming.”

  “Alex,” I warn.

  “You don’t know what you’re passing up. I’m a good catch and I’m perfect for you. I’ve always seen it and I thought you did too. I thought you’d admit it when you were ready.”

  This is getting ridiculous and going nowhere. “Take the offer, Alex.”

  “No.” Her arms are back crossed over her chest, like a shield.

  “Do you know what the penalty is for tax evasion?” Apparently, she needs some real talk, because I doubt she gets it from anyone else in her life. Definitely not her daddy, but I don’t think even he can bail her out this time. From what Mr. Wells said, she’s been cut off. “Prison orange really isn’t your color, Alex,” I continue, driving home the knockout. “Take the money and bail yourself out. Cut your losses and walk away. The restaurant business isn’t your thing, anyway. And as for Dani, she’s it for me. I’m gonna marry her. So, you’re fightin’ a losin’ battle.”

  I watch as she darts her eyes from one end of the room to the other, probably trying to think of a rebuttal, but coming up empty handed. She knows I’m right. I can see it in the way her shoulders slump in defeat. “Fine.”

  “What was that?” I ask, unsure if I heard her clearly, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Fine, I’ll sell.”

  If I didn’t dislike her so much, I might hug her, but that’s not gonna happen. Instead, I slide the other set of papers across the bar and slap a pen down on them. “Sign everywhere there’s a yellow tab. If you’d like, I’ll have a copy sent to your lawyer. The money will be transferred to your account by next week.”

  With a little more force than necessary, she grabs the papers and begins to scribble her signature on the dotted lines. My heart contracts and then releases as relief floods my body. I feel like I can breathe again, but I’m also scared as shit, but in a good way.

  I own this place. Well, me and Mr. Wells, but it’s mine, and Alex can’t mess shit up anymore.

  When she’s signed the last line, she slams the pen back down and glares at me. “You’ll regret this. We could’ve been great partners.”

  “You don’t even know the definition of a partner. But I do want to thank you,” I tell her, earning a look of surprise. “I might’ve gone about this all wrong, but the end result is the same. I got my restaurant in New Orleans. So, thanks for showin’ up and makin’ the offer. It’s been nice doin’ business with you.”

  Reaching my hand across the counter, I offer her a business-li
ke hand shake. She doesn’t accept, of course. Instead, she glares at me, grabs her sunglasses and purse and stomps out of my restaurant.

  My restaurant.

  “Oh, Alex,” I call out before the back door closes. “You’re not invited tonight. Friends and family, only,” I add, unable to keep the smile off my face as she growls out her response.

  When I know for sure she’s gone and not coming back, I make a note to change the locks and security codes before I pull out my phone and dial Dani’s number.

  “Hello.” She answers on the first ring and her voice sounds like I felt just fifteen minutes ago—anxious, nervous, hopeful.

  “Ding dong, the witch is dead,” I sing-song into the phone.

  “Oh, my God,” she gasps. “You killed her? Do you need me to bring a shovel?”

  That’s my girl—my ride or die, my partner-in-crime.

  “Yeah, and do you think you can edit out a little blood?” I ask, continuing our ruse.

  “Definitely, I’m really good at Photoshop.”

  We both laugh and then Dani sighs. “So, she’s gone?”

  “For good,” I reply.

  “That easy, huh? Seems a little too good to be true.” That’s also Dani, always the realist, always seeing the bigger picture and never taking anything at face value.

  “Well, it wasn’t a cakewalk and I can’t promise she won’t try to pull some shit, but she signed on all the dotted lines, so she won’t have much to stand on.” I hold the papers up and double-check what I’m telling Dani. Sure enough, every lined is signed. Every “t” crossed. Every “i” dotted. “Mr. Wells has already sent a copy to her lawyer and he had an iron-clad purchase contract signed up. My dad even looked over it and gave his stamp of approval, so I think we’re in the clear.”

  “That’s music to my ears.”

  “The only thing that would make this moment any better is if your sweet ass was here so I could kiss the ever-lovin’ shit out of you. I’m ready to celebrate,” I tell her, wishing I could pull her through the phone.

  “I’m leaving in five minutes and picking Cami and the painting up at the art studio on my way,” she says. I can hear her shuffling around as she speaks.