“You said that about Will,” I remind her.
She smiles before whispering, “And you got two miracles asleep because of him. Would you do anything differently if you knew you’d have Annie and Chris?”
“No.” I close my eyes and lean forward. “I just want more for them than—”
“And you’re going to give it to them, T. You’ve always thrived on the challenge. So, get to work figuring out what you did to impress Jonas Rice.”
Stomach churning, I get out, “Right after I vomit,” before I race to the tiny bathroom to relieve my stomach of all the horrid wine I consumed.
Elle follows me to hold my hair back, whispering in my ear all the ways she’s proud of me. It’s not long before I’m passing out, dreaming of how to seduce a man.
With my desserts, that is.
The next morning, I wake up alone, tucked safely into my daybed. It’s a little after seven. “Jesus.” I shoot up like a rocket. Then my heart slows down when I hear Elle in the kitchen saying, “This is a special treat.”
I groan. “What processed garbage are you feeding my kids?”
“Mama!” is shrieked from two identical mouths. Soon Annie and Chris are bounding up on my bed. Their faces are smeared with powdered sugar.
“I no longer have to guess,” I drawl, as Elle comes in with a familiar pink-and-orange box and drops it in between us as she crawls back next to me.
“It’s a special day, my friend. We had to celebrate.” She takes a donut hole and pops it into my mouth.
“Why?”
“Because while you were passed out…asleep,” she tacks on as two little bodies settle in to listen to her every word. “My phone was blowing up. When I went to get donuts, I connected to the Wi-Fi since your building hates giving me a decent signal. Anyway, when I did, all these messages came through. Here, catch.” Elle chucks her phone in my direction.
I unlock it since we both know each other’s password. After all, we’re each other’s person. We have been since pastry school years ago. We’ve lived together in hovels, we’ve burned our first attempts at pâte à choux together, we fell in love around the same time. And when first her relationship with Erik, then mine with Will, came to an abrupt end, we still held on.
And Erik and Will had each other.
It takes a certain kind of love to be able to withstand that, I muse as I quickly pull up her message app. Then I choke on the donut as I read some of the comments in the string she has going with some of the other people at Seduction.
Holy crap, Spencer’s gone!
He was such a dick. Can’t believe he managed to keep his job as long as he managed to.
Please, oh, please Elle. Tell me it was Trina who got him canned. I’ll carve her name into my workstation as a shrine.
I can’t prevent my smile as I read more comments about how much of a peach everyone thought Chef Spencer really was. Then I still even as my eyes dart back and forth.
That’s bullshit about Trina getting fired!
What??? No. Freaking. Way. If Trina’s gone, I’m out. I’m not working for some long-distance assclown who doesn’t stand up for their people.
According to the new EC, she’ll be back, but I won’t believe it until we hear from Elle.
What a damn mess.
Elle plucks the phone out of my hands. “Ahh, should I put them out of their misery of searching for new jobs? I didn’t want to be presumptuous and do so without asking.” She wings an eyebrow at me, but her thumbs are poised ready to type.
I nod, my damn emotions causing the donut to stick in my throat.
Her fingers fly. Turning her phone, she shows me her text to just Pasquale. Confirmed. Can you text everyone? No internet; can’t get on the app. Trina is staying. She’ll be back on Saturday. We’re celebrating with kids and donuts in that order.
“Yeah, that works,” I croak, just as Annie’s little arms wrap around my neck. Younger by six minutes, she’s delicate where her brother is much more sturdy. But to look at them both is like looking at myself at that age. And I’d do anything to make sure they never live a single day the way I did—feeling unwanted and unloved.
“Mama sad?” She traces her dusty fingers over my cheeks.
Waiting until just the perfect moment, I twist my head and pretend to munch on her fingers. “Nom, nom, nom!”
Annie squeals in delight. “Mama! No eat!”
Chris, not wanting to be left out for a second, dive-bombs us both. Instead of waiting, he aims his chocolate-filled fingers for my mouth. He manages to get one up my nose. That’s okay. I nibble on the other four. “What tasty children you are. What do you say, Elle? Do you think we could bake something tasty with them as the center?”
Elle lets out an evil cackle. “Why yes, my pretty. Something delicious.” She immediately crooks her fingers at my babies, who go screeching and shooting off like a rocket.
Elle immediately gives chase, giving me a chance to get up out of bed.
Chris, the little demon, comes toddling down the hall on his chubby legs. I block his way and yell, “I got one, Elle!”
He shrieks and turns around, dashing past his sister, who yells, “Wait! Wait!”
Elle blocks the bathroom door as they both race into the single bedroom. Soon, my twins begin flinging all of their stuffed animals as missiles to keep us from baking them into some delicious dessert. “I can’t,” I gasp to my best friend as she wads up toilet paper to toss in my direction for me to wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes.
“Just remember what I said last night,” she reminds me.
“I can barely remember my own name. What is it you expect me to remember?”
“The next month is putting you on the path to change your life.”
Surveying the mess in my dingy little apartment, I know I have something so precious so many people will never lay their hands on, no matter how much money they have.
I have love and loyalty. And no amount of money is worth giving that up.
So, maybe there’s not that much I’d want to change. I just want to be able to give them more because they deserve it.
And maybe I do too.
Chapter 4
Trina
“Trina, there’s a man in the front of the house to see you,” Baptiste, our head waiter, calls before disappearing through the swinging doors whistling.
I frown down at delicate tart crust I’m forming. “Whomever he is, he’ll have to wait. This crust will be ruined otherwise.”
Chef Kelly Sterling walks behind me and gives a rough laugh. “That’s dedication, Chef,” she drawls approvingly before moving on to the workstation next to mine. “A slightly finer chop on the asparagus, please,” she asks one of our appetizer sous chefs.
“Yes, Chef,” comes the cheerful reply.
The difference a few days makes is a remarkable one. When I raced with my usual exuberance into the back door of Seduction, the kitchen speakers were playing the Killers on full blast. With a grin, I traded my purse for a chef jacket before stepping into a kitchen filled with movement. And not the frantic kind from a few days before.
People were chopping or stirring in time to the sexy voice of Brandon Flowers. Almost skipping to my station, I pulled down my list of items to prepare and immediately got to work with a smile tugging at my lips.
Sterling passes by me again as she finishes her lap around the energized space. “Need any assistance, Chef?” she asks, just as I slide the tart crust into the oven.
Whereas before I’d never dream of asking Chef Spencer for a thing, I admit, “Baptiste said someone is here to see me. Would you mind pulling this out when the timer goes off?”
“Not in the slightest.” She waves me off with a smile. “That’s what we’re here for—to support one another.” Frowning thoughtfully, she picks up a tasting spoon and dips it into the champagne filling I prepared to pour into the crust once cooled. “That and the food. Chef Palazzo would kill me on the spot if I didn’t remind everyo
ne of that occasionally.”
With a quick chuckle, I walk away. But as I pause at the exit door to the main dining room, I glance back and feel a glow of pride when Sterling reaches for another tasting spoon to dip into the filling. So, it’s not a surprise a smile is curving my lips when I find Baptiste at the main bar in deep discussion with a tall dark-haired man who’s leaning negligently against the antique wood.
His head lifts, eyes roaming over me from the top of my hair, caught in its ponytail net beneath the toque, down to my black leather Docs as if he already knows who I am. He nods to Baptiste before shifting back away from the bar, face somber.
Confused, because I assumed he just asked to speak to the pastry chef on duty, I feel the smile slip from my face. Am I supposed to recognize him? Panic assaults me. Maybe there’s something wrong with Annie and Chris—but then the rational voice kicks in. He wouldn’t be holding a lowball if he was a cop. I move forward enough to let the kitchen door swing shut behind me, but I don’t say anything.
Let the first move be his—whoever he is.
Releasing the grip he has on the tumbler, he murmurs to Baptiste before approaching me.
Still unable to get a read from the expression on his face, I don’t immediately take his hand when he holds it out and says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you officially, Chef Paxton.”
“I might be able to return the sentiment if I knew who you are.”
But the man in front of me doesn’t scream lawyer. I take my time sizing him up in return. I’ve been back in New York long enough to wager my triple-chocolate cake recipe the pants hugging his legs are custom-made. The edge on them is as sharp as one of my knives while still appearing fluid. He’s paired them with a black shirt and jacket that mold to his body. He screams owner or investor or…
“I apologize; I assumed Baptiste informed you who was waiting.” His jaw is so tight, it’s ticking. “My name is Jonas Rice. I work for City Times as their…”
“Food critic,” I say flatly.
The hand in between us drops. There’s something almost human about the move that annoys me. “Yes. I wanted to offer my personal apologies to you due to the editing mishap—”
My laugh comes out like a slap in the quiet dining room. Jonas Rice winces. “A mishap? Is that what you’re labeling it? Well, let me take a moment to school you on what happens with your little faux pas. I don’t know how it was fixed—”
“The error was pointed out to me by another journalist,” he breaks in.
“Tell them thanks,” I fire back. “Because they’re the ones who saved me from being homeless in a matter of weeks. I was fired on the spot as a result of your words, much as I’m sure the chef at the restaurant they were intended for eventually was. I don’t know them—I’ve never been to Super Sticky—but their dessert chef has my empathy after what happened the other day. I have two children to support, and this job is the only income that does that.” My fury is palpable as I stare up at Jonas Rice. After all, this is the man whose cavalier words set off a chain of events that led to Chef Spencer’s actions.
But they also led to his termination, a voice inside me gently rebukes. Shoving it aside, I glare up at the man whose words cause so many lives to change on a dime.
“I came in to apologize,” he grits out.
“Well, isn’t that magnanimous of you. You know what, Mr. Rice, I’ll earn that apology and more in a month when you review Seduction again. This team”—I fling my arm around to encompass the entire restaurant—“is worth more than a few pithy lines. And we know it.” I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.
“I did my job, Chef.” His voice is low. And damn me, each time he opens his mouth, I feel an unwelcome punch low in the gut.
“So did I,” I counter, spinning to face him. “So do we all every night we come to work. But you seem to embrace demeaning people in print as much as Chef Spencer did to my face. And here’s something for you to think about: I bet neither of you could live the way I do for a week— no, a month—without breaking.”
Tilting his head, he studies me intently. “You fascinate me,” he finally says.
“Well, whoop-dee-do. I can rest easy tonight after I’m done with my shift. Oh, wait, I have to catch a subway home to the Bronx first.” While his eyes narrow, I step back. “See you in a month, Mr. Rice,” I dismiss him, this time actually heading back into the kitchen to get back to work.
Within minutes, I’m focused on pouring the delicious champagne cream into the perfectly flaky crust. Sliding it into the blast chiller, I shove Jonas Rice out of my mind as I mix up the ingredients for the meringue topping.
By the time that’s complete and I make certain Jerome and Abby have started prepping what we need for the next items on our list to prep for the dinner rush, I’ve almost forgotten about the encounter. I just wish the sinful chocolate I was working with didn’t remind me so much of his eyes.
Maybe then I could dismiss the incident entirely.
When I clap my hands together, they look up simultaneously. “Okay,” I proclaim. “Who wants to dip the eclairs, and who wants to start the meringues?”
There’s a quick squabble which I allow to go on because I know the work will get done to the standards we set for ourselves which is much higher than anything a ridiculous food critic could impose on us.
Ever.
Five days after my encounter with Jonas Rice, the energy spent adapting to a new normal at work plus my normal routine at home has me exhausted when I shrug off my chef’s jacket for my final shift for the next few days. Wearily, I call out, “Sleep well!”
“You too, T. Kiss the babies for me. I’ll call you tomorrow,” Elle calls back just as I shove the back door of Seduction closed behind me.
It’s a after eleven, and I’m dead on my feet. “Thank God I’m done. Now if only Annie and Chris will sleep in,” I pray aloud as I walk briskly down the back alley toward Grand Central to make the 11:19 train. Despite the well-lit and populated area Seduction is located in, I’m always anxious heading home late at night.
It was never something I worried about when I lived outside the city. I’d drop the kids off at the local church-run daycare early, zip off to where I managed a small bakery in Wilton from morning until midafternoon, and pick up my babies with enough time to enjoy cooking dinner, all while getting to watch them grow up peacefully. My life in Connecticut was so different than the one I live here in the city. Here, I feel like I’m always racing to get somewhere or do something just to catch up, I think bitterly as I wrap my purse over my shoulder and then tuck my spring coat over it, hiding it neatly away. Though there’s hardly more in there but my ID, my keys, and my subway pass, there’s enough for someone to threaten my family.
I don’t know how people raise their families here. It constantly amazes me when I listen to the other chefs talk about it at work. “Maybe with this raise, I can save up a little more, a little faster. If I can keep holding on, maybe I’ll have enough saved soon to give them that life back,” I whisper to the inky darkness of the alley before I take off at my normal quick pace.
Then, when hard fingers grab hold of my arm, I scream. A male voice asks out of nowhere, “Where are you off to in such a hurry, Trina?”
Even as panic pumps through my veins, I whirl around and swing out with all my might, my fist connecting with solid flesh. I hear a grunt, but he doesn’t let go. “Jesus, woman.” Jonas Rice steps into the pale light at the end of the alley. “What the hell was that for?” he demands.
“What are you doing here scaring me half to death?” I ask. Before he can speak, I hold up my hand. “No, don’t bother. I have a train to catch. I don’t have time for this.” I jerk my arm away and step back.
“So, we’re getting a train.” He nods. Reaching down, he grabs a black laptop bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“What do you mean we?” I ask suspiciously. “I’m going home to my children, Mr. Rice.”
“Jonas,” he
counters. Stepping right back into my space, his voice is low. “You challenged me to living your life for thirty days, Ms. Paxton. I believe the clock just started.”
“What are you talking about? Don’t be ridiculous. Now let me go so I can make my train.” I scoff.
“I’m rarely ridiculous. But why don’t we elaborate on what I mean on the train? I don’t think too many run that late out to the Bronx.” I hear a touch of disdain in his voice that raises my agitation level.
I want to take the time to have it out here and now, but the beeping of my phone reminds me I have less than ten minutes to get to the station. “Fine. You want a lesson in the reality I live? It starts now.” I don’t wait for him to respond before I turn my back and begin sprinting.
Curses follow me, but I have to make that train. I’ve already dipped into this month’s savings too much to afford to pay my mother more overtime watching my children. Barely winded, I duck inside the doors of the majestic Grand Central station. I ignore, as I do every night, the beauty built by Cornelius Vanderbilt as I head toward my track. Behind me, thundering footsteps even out as Jonas catches up. “Where are we going?” He barely sounds out of breath, much to my annoyance.
“We’re taking the 6 train.” I groan, realizing my smart-ass comments from the other day means I’ll have a companion for the ride home tonight. Despite not being entirely comfortable with Jonas Rice following me, I’ll have close to forty minutes on the train to explain why he’s going to have to find an Uber to head back to wherever he lives.
“Did we miss it?” he asks politely.
“No, but we will if you don’t have a MetroCard though.”
Raising a dark brow, he slides his hand into his pocket. Pulling out his phone, he flips it around, displaying the tap-and-go app. “Covered.”
I don’t bother with the million and one questions I have. I figure those can wait for the relative quiet of the ride out to Parkchester.
Challenged by You: A Fusion Universe Novel Page 3
