“Mmm.”
“Is there a story?”
Daniel smiles at that. “There’s always a story, Bailey,” he says, his fingers stroking a path on my thighs. “Given your line of work, I thought you’d know that.”
It takes difficulty to resist the urge to climb on top of him like a horny monkey. “I’m an anthropologist, not a journalist,” I point out, realizing just an instant too late that mentioning the press around Daniel might not be a good idea.
He remains relaxed, and his hands don’t pull away from my waist. “For work, I research the stories that bind us together. But for fun,” my finger follows the flame of the dragon toward Sebastian’s chest, “I ask hot naked guys to tell me about their tattoos.”
Sebastian sits on the other side of me, and I feel his solid warmth at my side. “I got the dragon when I left home,” he says. Something in his expression warns me against prying more. “And the phoenix six months after I opened my first restaurant.”
“No tattoo for the Michelin stars?”
He shakes his head. “The tattoos,” he explains, “are for moments of personal clarity and growth. Michelin stars are great, but not tattoo worthy.”
“You’ve had two moments of personal clarity in your entire life?” I tease, trying to ignore that Daniel’s fingers are climbing higher on my thigh. “How old are you, Sebastian? You seem to be due for another.”
He grins at that, then his smile fades. “What?” I ask him.
“I was just thinking about your friend,” he says. “The chef at Aladdin's Lamp. Piper, isn’t that her name?”
I stiffen. “Sheesh. Yes, I do want to hear that you are thinking about my hot roommate when we are naked in bed,” I say, trying to bury the faint hurt under sarcasm. “Smooth.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “I’m in bed with the woman I want to be with,” he says impatiently, grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling me close to him to press a hard, passionate kiss on my lips. “I was thinking of her restaurant struggles,” he clarifies when we pull apart. “I’d had already had the benefit of apprenticing under several leading chefs when I opened Seb New York, and the first six months were still insanely difficult. But Piper’s fresh off culinary school, isn’t she?”
I’m mollified by his kiss and touched by his concern for my friend. “Yeah,” I confirm. “She had this crazy aunt who left her the restaurant in the will, but it came with a hundred different conditions. Piper’s already sunk all kinds of money into the place.”
“Would she be receptive to some help?” he asks. “I’ve some friends in the industry who are always looking for new ventures to invest in. They could give her some advice, if she’s interested.”
“What about you? Won’t that hurt you if you send potential investors to Piper?”
He laughs. “Bailey, I have no shortage of people wanting to invest in me. Besides, my best friend is pretty fucking rich.”
Of course. I slant a look at Daniel. “You guys have known each other for a long time, haven’t you?”
Daniel nods. “Thirteen years.” He shakes his head in mild disbelief. “That sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Time flies by and you don’t even realize it. I can still picture this skinny kid cooking in a greasy spoon.”
“How’d you meet?”
Daniel rests his head on my shoulder. “Sebastian’s parents threw him out of the house when he was sixteen,” he says.
“Why?” I glance at Sebastian, shocked.
Sebastian looks uncomfortable at this foray into the past. “I couldn’t sit still in class,” he shrugs. “My mind leapt around during lessons. The teachers decided I was a trouble-maker. I grew up in a small town. Once you were labelled a trouble-maker, that was it. So I scraped up enough money for the bus fare, and ran away to New York.”
I’m riveted. I’ve spent more than a few hours Googling the two of them but I’ve never heard this story.
Daniel continues. “So there’s this sixteen year old kid in New York, and he works odd jobs in restaurants to earn money, and sleeps in a studio apartment that he shares with five other people, just to be able to afford the rent.”
“I worked in a diner,” Sebastian picks up. “One night, a bunch of rich kids come in.” He grins, inclining his head at Daniel. “Including this one. By this time, I was nineteen and cooking during the graveyard shift, and anytime the owner wasn’t around, I’d vary up the recipes just a little. A little more spice, a little more creativity. I wanted to get noticed. Create an opportunity.”
“I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich,” Daniel remembers. “I was expecting white bread and packaged cheese slices.” He shakes his head. “Instead, I got a sandwich that had caramelized onions and real cheese, with a dipping sauce on the side that was about the best thing I’d ever tasted.”
“The next thing I know, I’m getting invited to meet Daniel’s parents.” Sebastian smiles. “The rest is history. Real restaurant jobs, opportunities to learn from top-flight chefs. And when I was ready to open Seb New York, Daniel opened his purse strings.”
I pull Sebastian in so he’s leaning on me, and I’m held tight between them. His story has awed me. He’s achieved so much in such a short time. Unlike Daniel, he wasn’t born into money. Everything Sebastian has now, he’s achieved with hard work.
The story also reveals a side of Daniel that I didn’t know. Even when he was young, he’d realized he could use his money to help others. He didn’t give Sebastian a handout - instead, he offered him a hand up. He was thoughtful enough and insightful enough to do that for Sebastian.
He’s just done the same thing for me with the Hartman Foundation endowment.
“And look at him now,” Daniel beams. “The best chef in the city.”
Sebastian looks faintly embarrassed by that. “I’m not there yet,” he says. “What’d you think, Bailey?” His big hand strokes my thighs lazily, and desire rises anew in me. “Daniel reached out and helped me when he didn’t have to. Even with all the support I had, the first six months of running my own restaurant were among the toughest times in my life. I’d love to help your friend.”
I think about Piper’s sadness earlier today, about her eyes, swollen from a crying jag. If Sebastian can help? If his friends can give her some pointers? I can’t think of something that’d be better.
I kiss him, then turn to Daniel and kiss him too. “You guys are awesome,” I tell them honestly. “What’s the catch?”
Daniel grins lazily. “We might spank you a lot,” he threatens. “And I have a plan for Wednesday’s pool game.”
“Really?” His voice has turned smoky, and I can tell that whatever the plan is, it involves sex. And I’m turned on by that idea. Who am I kidding? I’m turned on by anything these two guys propose.
He gives me a half-smile, but doesn’t offer up any additional detail. Instead, he nudges my legs apart. “I want you now, Bailey,” he says. “I want to sink into you. I want to pound you hard and make you cry out as you come.”
I’m on board with this idea. There’s a wooden side table on either side of the headboard, and Sebastian opens the drawer and pulls out a tube of lube. “Still on board with anal?” he asks me, with a wicked gleam in his eye.
“Now?” I squelch my little prickle of worry. So far, everything they’ve done has been amazing. I have every reason to expect that anal sex will be fantastic as well.
“Just my fingers for the moment,” he says. “But soon, impatient one. Soon it’ll be our cocks, one in your pussy, one buried tight in your ass. Would you like that?”
My nipples are bullets of need, my pussy is dripping with the proof of my desire. The answer to Sebastian’s question is yes. Yes, yes and yes once again.
23
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Sebastian:
It feels amazing to wake up Tuesday morning with Bailey’s soft body curled up between Daniel and me, naked and very tempting. Morning sex is pheno
She rushes away after breakfast, back to her apartment to get changed before heading to work. Daniel leaves as well, leaving me sitting at the kitchen table, filled with a sense of contented well-being, until I make the mistake of checking my email on my phone.
Then my good mood evaporates. A scathing review of Seb New York, a note from Helen that she thinks someone’s stealing from Seb II’s kitchens, and worst of all, Juliette’s set up a meeting with the franchise investors at ten-thirty, and it’s nine-thirty now. I’m going to have to hustle to get there on time.
I call her, wondering why I’m so reluctant to move this deal forward. Juliette’s absolutely right - time is of the essence in these kinds of deals.
“I might be late,” I warn her when she picks up. “I’m juggling multiple crises, Juliette. This is a horrible time for this meeting… Next time, give me a bit more of a heads-up.”
“I admire you for making time for what you think is important,” she says snidely. I frown for a second, wondering what on earth she’s talking about, and then my attention is distracted by another incoming call. It’s Katya, the restaurant manager at Seb New York. I quickly promise Juliette I’ll be there, and switch to Katya, muttering a curse under my breath. Ever since I promoted Ben to be the sous-chef at Seb II, we’ve been lurching about from one crisis to another, and I don’t have the time to baby my chefs.
Sure enough, Katya’s calling about Ben. “Sebastian,” she says when I pick up, “Ben hasn’t shown up for prep.”
“What the absolute fuck?” I swear into the phone, glancing at my watch again to confirm the time. Yes, it’s still nine-thirty. If Ben doesn’t show up soon, we won’t have enough time to set up for the dinner crowd. “You’ve tried calling him?”
“Of course,” she replies, sounding offended. “I do know how to do my job.”
Damn it. Ben’s either passed out from drinking or nursing a killer hangover, and I don’t care which one. He’s the sous-chef at a restaurant that has two Michelin stars, and he’s not at work. Daniel’s advice to fire him sounds increasingly attractive. “Okay, Katya. I’ll be back to the restaurant as soon as I can, but in the meanwhile, can you call Helen? She’ll figure out what to do.”
Mentally, I resolve to give Helen a raise. Every restauranteur in the world is sniffing around my staff, and Helen can work anywhere she wants. The fact that she’s still with me speaks testaments to her loyalty and friendship. I might have had shitty parents, but I’ve been more than fortunate in my friends.
* * *
An hour later, I’m still trying to reach Ben as I wait with Juliette in a beige conference room in some nondescript office building in Greenwich Village. I’ve had to scramble to get here on time from Daniel’s Upper East Side townhouse. As a result I’m wearing the same black t-shirt and jeans that I wore last night, and I’m not happy about it. Damn Juliette. It wouldn’t have killed her to give me more notice. “I’m not too casually dressed, am I?” I ask, my phone pressed against my ear.
She shrugs. “It isn’t your suit they are interested in.”
Maybe. What Juliette interprets as a trivial question about dress code is actually a deeper question about fitting in. Daniel would have understood that, I realize.
I thought getting the first Michelin star would banish my feeling of inadequacy, but maybe the damage is too deep. For the first sixteen years of my life, everyone told me I was stupid and that I’d amount to nothing. My parents. My teachers. The career counselors. Nobody in my sleepy Mississippi town thought I’d do anything with my life.
The scars still haven’t totally healed, not even after the second Michelin star. Maybe they never will.
Juliette lifts her head up. “Get off the phone,” she hisses. “The investors are here.”
There are four of them, all looking like they are cut from the same rich-guy mold. Custom-tailored suits, handmade shoes. Expensive watches on their wrists. One of them, an older man who looks about fifty, eyes the tattoos that peek out from under my sleeves with a look of combined revulsion and fascination. I’m definitely from the wrong side of the tracks.
Once introductions have been performed, Juliette’s crisp voice slices through the small talk. “Gentlemen,” she says. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
The youngest guy gets up. “Chef Ardalan,” he starts, leaning forward and looking intently into my eyes. He’s trying to look sincere, but it just comes across as contrived. “Imagine this.” He presses a button and the presentation starts on the screen in front of us. “A Sebastian Ardalan restaurant in every city in America.”
I listen to the guy talk, disquiet growing within me. He’s giving off a sleazy, timeshare salesman vibe, and while the presentation is flashy, it is devoid of substance and is a complete waste of my time. If I wanted to look at slick graphics and animations, I would have gone to see a big-budget Hollywood movie. What I want are detail and numbers, and there’s none here.
When they are finished, I lean forward, searching for the right words of diplomacy. It’s a lot easier in the kitchen. There, I say what I think, and the rules are much simpler. “Gentlemen,” I start. “I appreciate the time you’ve taken to meet with me. This was a great presentation but before we can move forward, I do need to dive deeper into the details. How many restaurants? How much control will I have over the menu? Where will we source ingredients? I’m sure you can appreciate that I’ve built my reputation on having the highest standards about food quality and service. I won’t risk sullying that.”
I’m not naive. I know that a restaurant chain will have different food standards than Seb New York. I also know that not all mid-market restaurants are created equal. In some of them, you can tell that the owners take pride in the food they serve. Others? Not so much.
“Of course, of course.” This is the guy who was horrified by the tattoos. “Why don’t we set up a meeting in a couple of weeks with all the particulars?” He gives Juliette a meaningful look, but she ignores it. He plows ahead anyway. “Now, as we’ve discussed with Juliette here, we’d like some guarantees before we do a lot of upfront work. If we could sign a letter of intent?”
Earlier this morning, Daniel had warned me about this. “Sign nothing until a lawyer reads it,” he’d cautioned me. Even though he thinks this deal is a terrible idea, he’s still there to help.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I say, keeping a tight lid on my temper. “I cannot sign anything at this stage. If that’s unacceptable to you, then we can part ways now. No hard feelings.”
“No, no, of course not,” the man splutters. “It was just a formality, like I told Juliette. We won’t worry about it.”
Then why’d you ask? I think, but I know the answer. They think I’m stupid. Even now, even after all these years.
* * *
“That was a disaster,” I say flatly to Juliette when we are outside. “Ben’s not at work and Helen’s juggling two restaurants on her own. Juliette, I don’t have time for flashy presentations.” I exhale. “Let’s face it, they weren’t ready.”
“Be a little patient,” she snaps. “This is an incredible opportunity for you. These guys are chomping at the bit at a chance to partner with you.”
“They had no specifics. How many restaurants were they thinking of opening? I have no idea. Will they be pricing to compete with Ruth’s Chris or with The Cheesecake Factory? Guess what? I don’t know.”
“Stop it.” Juliette holds up an irritated hand. “This was an initial meeting. You heard them. They’ll get you specifics.”
“And signing the letter of intent? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Yeah, that was out of line,” she admits. “I warned them that you wouldn’t sign anything. But about the rest of it, I think you are expecting too much too soon.”
“I disagree. Daniel always has details. These guys just weren’t prepared.”
“For fuck’s sake, not Daniel again.” Her voice is thick with exasperation. “Damn it, Sebastian. Have you ever wondered why Daniel doesn’t like this deal? Maybe he’s happy being the only billionaire in the room. You ever think of that?”
I can only shake my head in disbelief. “Not even for an instant. I’ve known Daniel all my adult life, Juliette. You could not be more wrong in your assessment.”
If she’s flustered, she doesn’t show it. “This is an amazing opportunity,” she says again. “It’s my job as your business adviser to bring in these deals.”
“Then do your job. Make sure they have facts and figures the next time we meet. Because Ben’s fucking imploding, and I don’t have time to deal with this bullshit. That’s what I hire you for.”
“You seem to have plenty of time for some things,” she mutters sullenly under her breath. I’d stop to ask her what the fuck she’s talking about, but my phone chimes. It’s finally Ben. I pick up the line, preparing to give him a piece of my mind.
She stalks away to her car, and I let her. I don’t have time to deal with Juliette right now. I’m too busy fighting other fires.
24
Ponder and deliberate before you make a move.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Daniel:
“Mr. Hartman is in your office,” my assistant Sophie tells me as I walk into work Tuesday morning.
I frown. My calendar’s booked solid for the whole morning, which means that Cyrus high-handedly bumped someone. “Who got displaced?” I ask Sophie as I hang up my coat on the hanger and pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot she keeps in the area outside my office.
“Marketing. I can reschedule them to this evening, if you’d like?”
What I’d like to do is see Bailey again this evening, but I nod instead at Sophie. “Sounds good,” I tell her. “And Sophie, don’t let Cyrus bump people again, okay? It’s rude and disrespectful.”
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