Betting on Bailey (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing For Love Book 1)

by Crescent, Tara

  I want to tell Steve to hurry up and get to the point. “And instead?” Sameer prompts, suppressing a smile at my impatience. Steve’s legendary within the department for telling the longest, most rambling stories.

  “Instead they gave it to Liberal Arts,” Steve announces, sounding thrilled. He’s almost dancing a jig in his excitement. “One hundred and fifty million dollars over the next five years. The official press conference is tomorrow, but I wanted to thank you personally, Bailey. George told me that Alexa Hartman mentioned in passing that you were a friend of her son.” George is the president of the NYU.

  Steve winks at me and leans in, continuing his sentence in a lowered voice. “Good job, Bailey. I won’t forget this when it’s time to evaluate your tenure application.”

  When he departs, Sameer looks at me curiously. “What did Steve say to you at the end?”

  I swallow back the sour feeling from my mouth. “That he’d make sure to keep in mind at tenure time that a billionaire name-dropped me. You know, because the work I do doesn’t matter at all.”

  Sameer shrugs. “Bailey,” he advises calmly, “these are tough times to be an anthropologist. Stop sweating it and use every advantage you have. NYU won’t give you tenure if your work isn’t good enough.”

  The feeling of bitterness doesn’t go away. As I think about the situation, I start getting angry. If Daniel wanted to apologize, a bunch of flowers would have done admirably. He didn’t need to spend a hundred and fifty million dollars.

  I’ve already dated one guy who thinks that his money makes him better than me. I don’t need another one.

  * * *

  Things don’t improve when I get home. Monday night drinking is at our apartment, and Piper’s emptying a packet of chips listlessly into a bowl. Gabby, Katie and Wendy are due any minute now, and Miki’s going to Skype in.

  I’ve barely seen Piper all week. When I’m home in the evenings, she’s working at her restaurant, and in the mornings, she’s still asleep when I leave for work. “Are you okay?” I ask. “Is something the matter?”

  She turns to me. Her eyes are red, as if she’s been crying. “Can I talk to you for a second, Bailey?”

  “Of course, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

  “Sebastian Ardalan ate at my restaurant on Saturday,” she says. Her voice is oddly flat. I would have thought that she’d be squealing and dancing a little jig. A two-star Michelin chef eating at Piper’s restaurant? That’s huge, and her lack of excitement is conspicuous.

  ”Why aren’t you more excited?”

  “I was waiting on his table because Kimmie didn’t show,” she says. “And I overheard a little bit of his conversation.” She doesn’t meet my gaze. “Sebastian Ardalan said that Aladdin’s Lamp wouldn’t last six months. A year tops, he said.”

  “Oh honey,” I put down my laptop bag and envelop her into a hug. “He doesn’t know that. Don’t listen to him.”

  “No,” Piper’s voice is muffled into my shoulder. “He’s right. His words hurt because he’s absolutely correct. And I don’t know what to do to prevent it.”

  I love Piper. She’s like a sister to me, but she’s at her best in the kitchen, comfortable with her herbs and spices, combining ingredients and enjoying the creative process. Unfortunately, it takes more than creative genius to run a successful restaurant. You have to formulate a menu that’s familiar, yet exciting. You have to find and hire attentive wait staff in a city where it’s hard to find good talent. You have to know how to get reviewers to review your restaurant, and how to create buzz. There’s so much more to it than just cooking and the New York restaurant scene is a cauldron. It will burn you.

  I wish there was something I could tell her, something I could do to make this better. She was there for me, readily and without question, when I needed her after I left Trevor. She’s always been there for me. It kills me to see her hurting like this.

  “What can I do?” I don’t know what else to say. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make this better.

  She sighs and pulls away. “I don’t know, Bailey,” she confesses. “Sebastian Ardalan loved my food. Once upon a time, that would have been the highlight of my month. Now, all I can do is stress about what he said.” Her expression turns wistful. “It used to be so much simpler.”

  “You are doing a great job,” I say loyally. “You had the place dumped on you. You are doing fantastic.”

  She shakes her head. “No,” she corrects me. “He was right. I’m going to fail.”

  A sudden flash of anger runs through me at the power of careless words. Trevor’s corrosive words convinced me I couldn’t play pool. Daniel’s warning about the press on Friday night had sent me into a tailspin. And now stupid, gorgeous Sebastian Ardalan has hurt my friend with his throwaway words. Guys should not be allowed to talk, ever. Their only use is to look pretty and open jars with too-tight lids. “Listen to me. You cannot let some stupid arrogant celebrity who probably hasn’t been inside a kitchen in months knock you off your game. You are a fucking excellent chef, and everything’s going to be okay.”

  She nods, unconvinced at the start, but as I stare into her eyes, willing her to believe me, she nods with more faith. “Okay,” she giggles, “If I agree with you, will you stop staring at me? It’s getting creepy. Oh, by the way, there was a FedEx slip on the door. They tried to deliver a parcel for you.”

  I let her go, barely registering her words. I’m angry with Sebastian and this time, I’m not going to run away. I’m going to do something about it. “I’m not expecting anything,” I tell her, going into my bedroom to grab my coat.

  “Where are you off to?” Piper asks me. “Everyone’s going to be here in a few minutes.”

  “I am going,” I say grimly, “to find Sebastian and Daniel, and give them a piece of my mind.”

  “What did Daniel do?”

  “He told me to keep our threesome out of the tabloids, then gave our department millions of dollars to make up for being a dick.”

  Piper looks confused at my brief explanation. “I know it doesn’t make any sense,” I say over my shoulder, walking toward the front door. “I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow. I’ll swing by the restaurant.”

  “Hang on,” she grins, “are you dropping out of Monday Night Drinking so you can get laid?”

  “Are you even listening to me?” I ask in exasperation. “I’m really pissed off with them. I’m going to kick their asses.”

  “Sure, Bails, whatever,” she says. Her eyes twinkle. “Somebody's going to get laid. I can’t decide if I should sing ‘bow-chika wow, wow,’ or tell you to ‘go forth and fornicate.’”

  “There’s going to be no fornication,” I insist weakly. “You have the situation all wrong.”

  But the words feel like a lie as they leave my mouth, and judging from the amused grin on Piper’s face, I’m not doing a very good job convincing her.

  20

  Wealth is the ability to fully experience life.

  Henry David Thoreau

  Daniel:

  At seven, not too long after I walk into my home, there’s a knock at my front door. I go downstairs to find Sebastian standing there, a frown on his face. “I need to punch something or someone,” he says. “I thought I’d come here instead.”

  “I have beer.” I stand aside and he walks in. “What happened?”

  “You know Mina, the restaurant manager at Seb II? She fired a waiter who is a buddy of Ben, and Ben was a surly bitch the whole day yesterday.” Sebastian clutches at his hair. “Don’t tell me to fire Ben.”

  “Fire Ben.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Lead me to the liquor, Hartman.” He enters the kitchen and grabs a beer out of the refrigerator, handing me one at the same time. “Any word from Bailey?”

  “No.” I’m nervous. I thought I might hear from her today about the package I sent her, but there’s been no word. And if news of the Hartman Foundation grant has reached her? I shudder to think of the conclusion she
will draw.

  Sebastian reads the expression on my face. “What did you do, Daniel?”

  I tell him about the grant and he laughs out aloud. “Daniel,” he shakes his head at me, “did you really spend a hundred and fifty million dollars to apologize?”

  “Of course not.” I even sound defensive, damn it. “I sent her a gift with an apology. The NYU grant has been in the works for a long time. I merely suggested to my mother that she shouldn’t give it to the business school. They would have just built a fancy building and named it the Hartman School of Business. An endowment to Liberal Arts is much more useful. They’ll hire professors and fund scholarships for graduate students.” I roll my eyes. “You know, the actual purpose of higher education.”

  “Dude, I wouldn’t know about any of that,” Sebastian says. “I didn’t finish high school, remember? Despite my lack of education,” his voice is laced with sarcasm, “I’m going to hazard a guess that Bailey isn’t going to be thrilled when she finds out that the billionaire who owes her an apology gave her department a hundred and fifty million dollars.”

  “Come on,” I protest, “she can’t possibly hold the grant against me.” I down the beer as I think through his words, a sinking feeling going through me. Then I get a short, terse text message from Bailey, asking if I’m at home and announcing that she’s coming over. She says she wants to talk to both Sebastian and me. I quickly reply in the affirmative. “She’s coming over,” I tell Sebastian, showing him my phone. “She sounds irritated, don’t you think?”

  Sebastian looks puzzled as he reads her message. “Why does she want to know if I’m here? You fucked up, not me.”

  “Thank you for the support, asshole,” I reply, but there’s no energy in my words. Sebastian is right. I’ve fucked up, not once, but twice.

  * * *

  “I can explain,” I say as I open the door.

  She sweeps in without saying a word. She’s dressed in her usual black. The only jewelry she’s wearing are silver hoop earrings and a chunky bracelet. Her hair’s loose and soft over her shoulders. She smells like flowers and for an instant, all I can see is her beautiful, naked body lying on my pool table, sweet and open. The only sounds I can hear are her breathy moans.

  Then I see the ire in her violet eyes, and I grimace. Yeah, as Sebastian predicted, she’s furious.

  She stalks in, her back held ramrod straight. I lead her toward the kitchen, where Sebastian waits. It might be cowardly of me, but I need support here and I’m counting on my best friend for help. Though, in fairness, he’s had to do some heavy lifting in the last two days.

  “I really want to get published in the Smithsonian Institute Press, Daniel,” she snaps. “Can you buy me a spot?”

  Sebastian snickers and she shoots him a look that’s filled with hatred. “I’m not thrilled with you either,” she bites out.

  “What’d I do?” he protests, looking confused.

  She’s not listening. No, our redhead is on a rant. “What is wrong with you guys? You,” she points to me, “who the fuck bets fifty grand on a pool game? Oh wait, I know the answer. The kind of guy who has so much money that he’ll spend a hundred and fifty million dollars on some kind of half-assed apology.” Her coat flies across the room. “I just spent,” she hisses, “eleven months with a guy who measured my worth by how much money I made. And you try to buy my forgiveness with an endowment to the university?” Her voice trembles with rage. “Do you know how angry that makes me?”

  I open my mouth to cut in and tell her that I did not give the university the money as a gesture of apology, but she’s whirled to face Sebastian. “And you.” She points an accusing finger in his direction. “You thought my friend’s restaurant wouldn’t last six months? What kind of asshole would say that and crush her dreams? Now that you have two Michelin stars, do you think you can wander around the city and insult struggling chefs? You don’t know anything about Piper’s circumstances. How dare you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sebastian blinks. “Is that Hell’s Kitchen dive run by a friend of yours?”

  “Yes.” Her voice makes ice look balmy in comparison. “My roommate Piper.”

  “Ah.” Sebastian digests that with an embarrassed look on his face. “Shit. I didn’t know that.”

  Bailey isn’t mollified. She transfers her glare to me. “A hundred and fifty million dollars?”

  Her voice catches just a little, and I can tell she’s really upset. “Okay.” I hold up my hands. “Stop. Sit. Listen to me, please.”

  She settles down on a chair, a guarded look on her face. I open a bottle of vodka and pour the three of us a drink. “I shouldn’t have said what I said the other day,” I say quietly. “I’m very sorry. It was stupid and uncalled for, and it was a dick thing to do.”

  “You gave my school a hundred and fifty million dollars because you were sorry? Daniel, in the real world, people send flowers to apologize.”

  “I did,” I run my hand through my hair in frustration. “Well, not flowers. It took a while to arrange, but the package should have been delivered today.”

  She opens her mouth to say something, then she shuts up. “Wait a second,” she says slowly. “Piper did say something about FedEx. You sent me something?”

  “I did.”

  “And the hundred and fifty million? Did that have anything to do with me?”

  I have to be honest with her. “Yes.” I put my hand up before she starts yelling at me again. “Please let me finish. I didn’t spend any time thinking about the funding gap in liberal arts until I met you. Then I read the blog you kept while you were in Siberia, and I found it fascinating.” I kneel in front of her and take her hands in mine. “The work you do is important. It deserves to be funded.” I shrug. “The money for the endowment was already earmarked. I just suggested to my mother that we give it to the liberal arts school instead of the business school.”

  Her expression is still wary. “What did you send me?” she asks. “What was in the package?”

  I gesture to the untouched drink in front of her. “Take a sip.”

  She drinks, and a look of startled surprise fills her face. “Daniel,” she says softly. “What is this?”

  I slide the bottle over her way. It’s a bottle of Five Lakes, a small brand of vodka that’s very hard to find outside of Russia. From reading Bailey’s blog posts, I know that this particular brand is one of the things she misses about Siberia. It took all weekend to locate a dozen bottles in Moscow and fly them to New York. After all that effort, FedEx just stuck a delivery notice on her door, and it’s probably languishing in one of their pick-up centers. This has to be the textbook definition of irony.

  “You found this in New York?”

  “Moscow.”

  “This weekend?”

  I smile at her. “Yes, Bailey.”

  “You read my blog?”

  I can’t quite make out her tone. Is she angry? “I did.”

  She digests that silently, then she turns to Sebastian. “Why did you eat at Piper’s restaurant?”

  He’s been silent so far, watching the two of us. Now, he answers Bailey’s question. “I have a very unstable chef at one of my restaurants, and I’ve been hearing good things about your friend’s cooking. I thought I might eat there and look for a replacement at the same time, in a low-key kind of way.”

  She finally cracks a smile. A small one, but at least she’s not frowning any more. “Sebastian, you do know that people recognize you, don’t you? There’s no low-key way for a two-Michelin-starred chef to eat in a restaurant in the city.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that,” he replies. He takes a sip of his vodka and looks up. “Hey, this is good,” he says to me. “Nice work, Daniel. Appropriate big gesture.”

  “Big gesture?” I stifle the urge to kill Sebastian as Bailey looks at us with a curious look.

  “Daniel here,” Sebastian teases, unabashed, “goes for the big, dramatic gesture.”

  Ignoring
Sebastian’s amusement, I give Bailey a serious look. “I screwed up, but it won’t happen again. As multiple people have pointed out to me, I’m not the only one that stands to lose if this thing between us becomes public knowledge. That is, if you are still interested in pursuing it…” I hesitate, almost holding my breath waiting for her answer. I’m not the only one. Sebastian is waiting expectantly too.

  She surveys the two of us. “Tell me what you want,” she says finally. “This situation isn’t typical for me. Billionaires and celebrities don’t stumble into my world. Hot guys aren’t interested in me, and as you already know, I don’t have wild, crazy sex. I don’t know how to navigate all of that.”

  I kiss the pulse that beats nervously in her wrist. She’s not as calm as she appears. Neither am I. “I find everything about you fascinating, and I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “Me too,” Sebastian says from his corner.

  “Both of you at the same time? That wasn’t a one-time thing?”

  “Is that bad?” Sebastian asks, his words a challenge in her direction as I brace myself for her answer. There are a lot of women out there who think they want to try a threesome, and some of them even will. A longer commitment to something so unorthodox? That’s a rarity. “Can you handle something outside the norm?”

  She looks intrigued. “I’m a cultural anthropologist. Outside the norm is my bread and butter.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “No more big gestures, Daniel. If I do this, it isn’t because of how rich you are.”

  “If I thought the reason you were here was my money, we wouldn’t be doing anything.”

  She smiles. “Thank you for noticing. And Sebastian? Be nice to Piper.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  It’s far too early to talk about serious relationships or the future, or where this thing between the three of us is headed, but there’s one thing I need to make clear. “While we are dating,” I tell her, “I’d like us to be exclusive.”