Undercover Bromance

by Lyssa Kay Adams

  Then gravity did its thing.

  And the cupcake landed in Gretchen’s lap.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Liv dropped to her knees next to Gretchen’s chair.

  “It’s okay,” Gretchen told Liv. She held her hands aloft, fingers coated with frosting.

  “This is my fault,” Mack said. “I knocked the tray out of her hands.”

  “Olivia, go to the kitchen,” Royce barked. “We will have another one made for you.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Gretchen said, lifting the cupcake from her chocolate-stained lap to her plate.

  “Can I help clean it up?” Liv asked. “Please. Let me—”

  Royce cut her off. “Obviously your entire meal is on us tonight.”

  Liv groaned.

  “And please allow me to cover the cost of cleaning your dress.”

  “Truly, that’s not necessary,” Gretchen said. “This was an accident.”

  “This is my fault,” Mack said again.

  “My staff is trained to handle anything,” Royce said. “Clearly that failed tonight. We will make this right.”

  “There’s nothing to make right,” Gretchen said smoothly. “Accidents happen.”

  “We will send someone over to help clean up the mess immediately.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Liv said once again to Gretchen.

  “That will be all, Olivia.”

  Liv turned another homicidal glare in Mack’s direction before retrieving her tray. Then she spun on her heel and quickstepped toward the kitchen without so much as a backward glance. Liv figured she had roughly a ninety-second head start on Royce. Maybe it would be enough time for him to calm down.

  Liv headed straight for the employee locker room and tore off her hat. She sank onto a bench of front of her locker as Riya rushed in.

  “What happened?” Riya asked, unbuttoning the chef’s coat Liv had given her.

  “You’re not going to want to be around me.”

  “Oh shit, why?”

  “I dropped it!”

  Riya winced. “Oh, Liv.”

  The slamming of the swinging doors outside made them both jump. “OLIVIA.”

  Liv braced herself. She stood tall as Royce stormed into the locker room. He shook from head to toe, and his face was as red as a lobster in a pot.

  “You,” he said, pointing at Riya. “Out.”

  Riya squeezed Liv’s arm in sympathy before leaving.

  Royce wagged a finger in Liv’s face. “My office. Twenty minutes.”

  Then he turned and stormed back out, shouting as he did, “Find me Jessica!”

  * * *

  * * *

  Shitshitshit.

  Mack had nearly followed Liv to apologize again, but then he remembered Gretchen. He turned around and found her wiping her hands on her napkin.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, crouching down next to her chair.

  “I had a cupcake dropped on me, Braden. I wasn’t shot.”

  “No, but this isn’t how I wanted tonight to turn out.”

  “I’m a little more worried about how this night is going to turn out for your friend Liv.”

  “She’s not my friend.”

  Gretchen responded to that with furrowed eyebrows. Mack rushed to clarify. “I mean, I barely know her. But yes, of course I hope she doesn’t get in trouble for this.”

  Gretchen braced her hands on the arms of her chair and started to stand. “I’m going to run to the restroom to get cleaned up.”

  “Right. Of course.” Mack stood and held out his hand to her to help her rise.

  The extent of the damage to her dress became clear when she stepped away from the table. A dark-brown splotch marred the delicate green silk. He knew enough about fine fabrics to know the dress was a lost cause.

  He shrugged out of his sport coat. “Do you want this to cover it up?”

  She smiled but shook her head. “I think that would just make it a little more obvious.”

  Mack watched her walk away and then sat back down. Great. Just fucking great. Things had been going perfectly until that moment.

  Two busboys dressed all in black arrived with plastic tubs and wet rags. With quiet apologies for the mess, they began picking up the remnants of the cupcake from the floor and Gretchen’s chair.

  Mack stepped out of their way and softly cleared his throat. “Do you, uh, do you know if the woman who made the cupcake—is she getting in trouble for this?”

  The two young men shared a nervous glance and had an unspoken conversation. One of them shrugged then and shook his head. “We don’t know anything about that.”

  When they left, Mack dropped a couple of twenties on the table. Just because they were getting their dinner for free didn’t mean the staff should be shafted their tips.

  Gretchen returned to the table a few minutes later. A wet spot had replaced the chocolate frosting.

  “Are you ready to go?” Mack asked. “I was thinking I could drive you home to change and—”

  “Mack,” she said, calmly cutting him off. “How much did that cupcake cost?”

  Ah shit. That was a loaded question if he’d ever heard one. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because a woman in the bathroom told me the Sultan costs a thousand dollars. Is that true?”

  Mack felt like he was about to enter a minefield. He tested the ground with the tip of his toe. “I wanted you to have the full Savoy experience.”

  Gretchen started fanning her face as if she was going to pass out. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “You were going to spend a thousand dollars on a cupcake?”

  “Everyone I’ve talked to said it’s worth it.”

  “No cupcake is worth a thousand dollars!”

  He cracked a smile and tried to ignore the glances of other diners. “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t have to pay for it, then, right?”

  Oops. He’d found a mine. Gretchen gathered her purse, and there was a finality to her movements that made him sweat.

  He stood with her. “I’m sorry if it was too much. I just wanted everything to be perfect tonight.”

  She shook her head. “I need to go.”

  He trailed after her as she walked away from the table in the opposite direction. This time she was most definitely leaving.

  “Gretchen, wait.” He caught up with her on the stairs. “Do you want to go home and change?”

  She smiled but shook her head. “I think I’ll call an Uber.”

  Mack marched ahead to open the door for her. Then he followed her outside. “Let me drive you home. I don’t want tonight to end like this.”

  She turned around and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m going to be honest with you.”

  Yikes. That didn’t sound good. It sounded like the sort of thing someone said before they dumped you. He wouldn’t know, though, because he’d never been dumped.

  “I’ve had a lot of fun.”

  “So have I.”

  “But I feel like I don’t really know you very well,” she finished.

  That threw him for a loop. He opened and closed his mouth twice before responding. “Me? No way. I’m Mack. I’m an open book.”

  “You’re not, actually.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  Gretchen shrugged. “I mean, I know about your businesses, your cars, but I don’t know anything about you. We spend so much time talking about me, but when I ask anything about your life other than the surface stuff, you clam up.”

  “No, I don’t. I just want to learn more about you.”

  “You had more meaningful interaction with Liv in the five minutes she stood there with that cupcake than you and I have had in three months.”

  He was busy processing that statement when she glanced down at her phone. “My driver
is almost here.”

  “I read romance novels,” he blurted.

  Gretchen’s looked up. She blinked twice. “You . . . you read romance novels.”

  “I do. I’m part of a book club with other men who all secretly read romance novels.”

  “Um, okay.”

  “You said you wanted to know something about me. That’s something.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “It certainly is. And it also explains a few things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The fancy dinners, the expensive wines, the nonstop flower deliveries.” She tucked her purse under her arm.

  “What about them?”

  “They’re perfect.”

  “And perfect is bad?” Jesus, why was everyone so opposed to perfect all of a sudden?

  “It is if it doesn’t mean anything.” She looked at the street in search of her car.

  “Gretchen, wait. What makes you think they don’t mean anything?”

  She turned. “Look, it all makes sense now. The sex was amazing, and I’ll be honest, it’s one of the reasons I stuck around. Because, wow, every time. I felt like you must have read a textbook on female pleasure.”

  He did. Everything he knew about sex, about how to please a woman, he’d learned from reading. No one had ever complained before. He prided himself on making sure no woman ever left his arms unsatisfied. “How the hell is that bad?”

  The car pulled up and she opened the back door and turned around. “Because no woman wants to feel like she’s just been sexed up according to an instruction manual. Eventually she wants it to feel real.”

  Mack planted his hands on his head. This was not happening.

  “You know how to romance a woman, Mack. But I’m not sure you know how to be with a woman.”

  She slid into the car without giving him a chance to respond. As if he could respond. Because she’d basically said exactly the same thing Gavin had said yesterday.

  Mack watched the taillights of the car merge with traffic.

  What the hell had just happened?

  Del just made five hundred fucking dollars. That’s what just happened.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “If I don’t come out alive, I want you to have this.”

  Liv handed Riya her favorite whisk. Her friend accepted it without all the bullshit platitudes someone might be tempted to offer in a situation like this, and Liv loved her for it. Everyone knew what it meant when Royce summoned you to his office. Even if she came out with her job intact, she was now officially on Royce’s shit list. Which meant that either way, her life was about to become a swirling turd pond. She’d get stuck with the worst shifts (as if there were a good one at Savoy), the worst tasks, and the worst verbal abuse. All her hard work, all the bullshit she’d endured for a year, was going to count for nothing.

  Because of Braden Mack.

  Liv felt her lip curl. It probably wasn’t fair to blame him, but none of this would have happened if he hadn’t ordered the stupid cupcake. He deserved to take the blame for something.

  Riya gave Liv a quick hug. “Good luck.”

  “You know it won’t help.”

  “No, but it feels rude to say I’m glad it’s you and not me. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Liv would feel the same if their situations were reversed. It was every man for himself at Savoy, even among friends.

  Liv took the elevator to the third floor, where the administrative offices were located. The doors opened at the end of a long, dark hallway—an omen if she’d ever seen one. Most of the administrative staff had already left hours ago, and their cubicles now glowed an eerie shade of blue from their computer monitors. Liv had only been up here twice in the entire year she’d worked at Savoy. The first time had been when she was hired and had to fill out a bunch of employment paperwork and sign a nondisclosure agreement. Which had seemed like bullshit at the time, but now she understood why. The only way Royce was able to protect his perfect image was by ensuring that no one would talk after they left.

  The second time she’d been up here was for a mandatory sensitivity training for all kitchen staff, which had been an hour-long test of her self-restraint. Had these people ever heard Royce in the kitchen? The human resources staff was either totally oblivious or completely hypocritical.

  Royce’s office was at the end of the hallway. It took up the entire length of the floor and overlooked the bustling street below. The other two times she’d been up here, she’d been able to see inside through a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that she suspected Royce had installed just to show off his luxurious digs and make the cubicle losers feel like shit. Tonight, however, the blinds had been lowered on every window.

  Liv dragged her feet closer. She just needed to get this over with. Whatever awaited her inside, she could deal with it. The office door was mostly closed but for a small crack that let out a sliver of light. Liv raised her hand to knock, but the low murmur of voices inside brought her fist to a halt inches from the door.

  “Please, Royce. I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was supposed to tell you that he was here.”

  For fuck’s sake. He was still berating poor Jessica?

  “You like this job?” he asked.

  “Y-yes.”

  “And you’d like to keep it?”

  “Yes, but not like this. Please.”

  Cold sweat dampened her armpits. What was going on in there? Liv slid to the left of the door so she wouldn’t be seen through the crack and cranked her head to press her ear toward the opening.

  “I need to get back to work,” Jessica said.

  “Your shift is over, honey.”

  “But I still have some things I need to do.”

  “You’re a hostess. What’s there left to do?”

  “I-I have to log my time card in and—”

  “If you want to keep your job, you know what you have to do.”

  Rage turned Liv’s stomach to pure acid as indecision grabbed hold of her racing thoughts. There was no way she could walk away. Liv would never forgive herself if she left that poor girl in there to deal with this alone, but confronting Royce would definitely mean the end of her career. He wouldn’t just fire her. He would make sure she never worked in the industry again.

  “Royce, wait,” Jessica suddenly pleaded.

  Liv held her breath. What was going on in there? Who was she kidding? She knew exactly what was going on in there, and Royce sounded way too practiced at it.

  “I could help your career,” Royce said in that snakelike voice. Liv’s stomach churned as she imagined what he meant.

  “Please, Royce. I need to go.”

  “You’re not interested in learning . . . new things?”

  “I just want to do my job.”

  “I think you want more than that.”

  There was a rustling sound. A shuffle of feet on carpet. A whisper she couldn’t hear.

  “Please stop,” Jessica suddenly begged.

  Liv had heard enough. She threw open the door just in time to see Royce slam his mouth down on Jessica’s.

  “Get your slimy, disgusting hands off her, you asshole.”

  Jessica wrenched away from him with a gasp. She stumbled back so quickly that she collided with the edge of his desk and knocked over the framed picture of his wife. Royce whipped around and—

  “OH MY GOD, PUT IT AWAY.”

  Liv slapped her hands over her eyes as her retinas burned with an image she’d never unsee. Royce’s pants undone, his shriveled penis flapping like a raw piece of scrod.

  “Oh my God. I saw it. I saw it. I’m going need therapy.” She peeled her hands away and looked at Jessica. “Just go. Get out now. I heard everything, and I will help you make a report.”

  Jessica’s eyes began a rapid blink. “I—a report?”

 
Royce took his time tucking in his dick and zipping his pants. “This is none of your business, Olivia. I suggest you back out of the office and come back when I told you to.”

  “I did come here when you told me to. Luckily for Jessica, you obviously can’t tell time.” Liv looked at Jessica. “Human Resources has an emergency after-hours line.” Liv narrowed her eyes at Royce. “He won’t get away with this. Though something tells me he already has many times.”

  Royce approached in a slow, menacing way. “I suggest you leave now.”

  “Not a fucking chance, asshole. How many women have you done this to?”

  “Watch yourself, Olivia,” he sneered.

  “Let’s go, Jessica,” Liv said, backing toward the door.

  “No.”

  The refusal was so quiet, so reluctant that both Liv and Royce did a double take. “What?”

  “It’s—it’s nothing,” Jessica stammered, straightening her shirt. “You misunderstood. It’s all a misunderstanding. I-I walked in on him when he was, um—”

  “Coming out of the bathroom,” Royce finished.

  “There’s nothing to report,” Jessica said in a fragile voice.

  Disbelief slammed into Liv and stole her breath. “Are you serious?”

  “It’s fine. Please—”

  “Jessica, I heard everything. Jesus God, I saw everything. He’s sexually harassing you. He can’t do that to you.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Please just leave it alone.”

  “He won’t stop! Who knows how many women he’s done this to before or will after you?”

  “You’re done,” Royce hissed. “I was going to let you beg me tonight to keep your job after your little fuckup earlier, because despite your shitty attitude, you’re a helluva pastry chef, but this is it. You’re done. You’re fired.”

  “No,” Jessica said. “Royce, please.”

  Royce stalked around to the other side of his desk, picked up the receiver to his phone, and hit a button. “Get in here.”

  “Please, Royce,” Jessica said beseechingly, grabbing his forearm. He yanked away from her so hard that she stumbled again.

  She looked at Liv. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”