Challenged by You: A Fusion Universe Novel

by Tracey Jerald

  “Well—” Karlson slaps the arm of the chair as he stands. “—no time to loaf around. Better get to work on that list. Otherwise, I think that woman might carve you up and serve you to yourself.” He makes to leave.

  “Wait, Karlson.” Shoving myself from the chair, I walk around the desk and plant myself right in front of him. “Once we see where this thing goes, I really want you to meet Trina and her kids.”

  He swallows so hard, I can see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I’d love that.”

  “Good. And one more thing?” I lean forward awkwardly and give him an one-arm hug. “Thank you for being the kind of man who took in two rambunctious kids, who taught them everything, and loved them through their snotty stages.” Pulling back, I apologize. “I’m sorry mine just ended recently. I just want to say thank you for everything. I’m proud to be a member of this family.”

  My uncle can’t speak. Flapping his hand, he leaves the room. Julian comes up next to me. Breaking the tension in only the way he can, he asks, “Can I help make the list of crap you have to eat?”

  I elbow him and call him a short, pithy expletive before saying, “Yes.”

  Then we set down to get to work.

  It takes a while to come up with the perfect list for Mia, but I’m adamant about the ingredient for the dessert dish.

  It has to be apples.

  I just can’t let myself think about what Trina’s reaction’s going to be when she’s told the news.

  Chapter 28

  Trina

  We’re all crowded in Chef Sterling’s office when the call from Mia Palazzo comes through. Remembering the conversation Jonas and I had where he took me into his confidence about why he hates apples, I’m about to pass out in front of my colleagues.

  Apples. The decree from the mothership just came down. My signature dessert has to include the food Jonas associates with his mother dying. My mind is swimming with the implications to what this means not only to Jonas and me but to Seduction.

  “Is this some kind of joke,” I finally manage.

  Andre, our head appetizer chef, chokes out, “I only wish it was. Did you read the way he ripped into the last restaurant for serving him poorly prepared food with jelly on top?”

  “I can only imagine.” Knowing Jonas’s wicked way with words, he must have done a number after a particularly awful disaster. “Why does it have to be these foods?” I demand.

  There’s a general consensus around the room. “Why, Chef Paxton, how good of you to ask.” Mia Palazzo’s voice floats through the speaker. “You’re being given this challenge because I demand the best from each of you, regardless of the circumstances. It doesn’t matter who your audience is, you don’t cook for them. You cook for yourselves, and for this restaurant, from your heart. If you can’t do that, well, Chef Sterling will show you the door. We grew Seduction not because we went with the trend—we set the trend. Let me make something clear: this is how the team at Seduction New York will perform from this point forward. If I send menu changes to Chef Sterling tomorrow, I expect them to be implemented immediately. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, Chef,” we all respond immediately, including Sterling.

  “You have your assignments and one week to transform these ingredients. But let me encourage you to not hide them. Highlight them—shove it down Jonas Rice’s throat that the chefs at Seduction are better than anywhere else in New York. Do you understand?”

  Murmurs of agreement intermingle with ideas of recipes being bounced back and forth. I hear the word matcha and give a shudder. That’s when I hear my name being called from the box on Chef Sterling’s desk. “Yes, Chef Palazzo?”

  “The article Jonas Rice was going to write about you? It should come out the same day as the review.”

  “What do you mean?” Jonas has only been to the restaurant a handful of times. More often than not, our conversations ended up with us talking about who we are personally.

  “Just what I said. Now, if that’s all for now, I have a kitchen to manage here.” There’s a distinct click.

  As I’m trying to process this new information, Sterling lets out a whistle. “Okay, everyone. I know this is big news. Two things before you all go back to your stations. The first is, this information is to remain in this room. No talking about this with your colleagues or whomever you tell your recipes to.”

  “Hey, didn’t Elle declare Trina talks in her sleep,” Andre jokes. “Do we need to buy a muzzle for the next week?”

  “I think she can be excused for reciting it to her children. Barring that, no one outside this room,” Sterling reinforces sternly.

  The room begins buzzing with excitement, recipes being bandied about. As for me, the only thing running through mind is whether or not serving Jonas Rice a dessert made with apples is going to ruin not only the meal but what’s forming between us.

  Unable to stand anymore, I leave the glass office and head back to my station to get my mind back on something—anything—but apples.

  It doesn’t take long for something to happen to knock some sense into me.

  “No hospital,” I moan, even as I grip the ice pack under my chin for dear life. “Where’s my bag?” is what I try to ask, but it comes out all warbled due to the swelling under my chin.

  “Shut up, Trina,” Elle says bluntly. I’m squashed between her and Sterling on my way to the ER located at St. Luke’s-Roosevelt Hospital. “Just hold the ice pack under your chin and keep quiet.”

  I moan as our cab driver hits a particularly nasty pothole. “Annie, Chris,” I manage to get out.

  “Shh,” she soothes me as I squeeze her hand. In the recesses of my mind, I recognize I have to let it go since if I break it, there may not be anyone who can bake. Just as I’m about to slip mine from hers, she screams, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you daft bat?”

  I writhe in agony. It’s Sterling who takes over when she says, “I think if you calm the yelling down to mere barking instead of screeching, Bruder?”

  I want to nod, speak, but the more we drive, the more agonizing the pain is. Instead, I just hold the ice pack under my chin and let the tears I’ve been holding back all day fall.

  “I swear, you work in a blasted kitchen. How the hell do you not ensure the tabletop KitchenAid is off before you plug it in, I’ll never know,” Elle berates me.

  “Distracted. Apples.” It’s no less than the truth.

  “Apples aren’t on the damn menu!” Elle’s voice is hitting that pitch that causes me to shudder.

  Sterling interrupts. Thank God. “Maybe she was thinking of her children. Either way, just let her hold the ice in place until we…ah. Finally.” The cab pulls up to the ER entrance. Elle leaps out one side while Sterling aids me by grabbing me gently under the elbows. Slowly, she eases me out carefully until we’re all facing the ER doors.

  I don’t want to think about how woozy I feel, yet I know it’s almost better than what I was thinking about before I plugged in the mixer.

  Three hours later, I’m pronounced with a mild concussion and orders to stay at home for a week. “But what about the restaurant,” I mumble around an ice pack tied around my head.

  “We’ll manage to survive without you,” Sterling says as we all squash into the back of the cab on the way back to Seduction.

  “Christ, T, don’t you ever scare me like that again,” Elle begins. “I’m not ready to become a mother. I mean, I’m their godmother, and I love your kids, but I’m not ready to become a mommy. I’m in awe of you every single day you manage to be you and do this and…”

  I do the only thing I can to silence her for the sake of my throbbing head. I smush three fingers on her lips and say, “Shhh. Need to think.”

  It’s a silent in the cab as it can be in New York City. “Cancel sitter,” I declare.

  Sterling asks, “Do you think that’s wise?” just as Elle volunteers, “I can do that,” and reaches for my phone.

  “Stop!” I yell as loud as on
e can when they look like they’ve taken a sledgehammer from a cartoon character.

  Unfortunately, it’s the one person in the car I don’t want to pay attention who does. The cabbie slams on his brakes. My stomach lurches when he does. “Not you.”

  The car behind us blares its horn, and between the cursing from the driver, the arguing of Sterling and Elle over me, and the knowledge I’m going to lose Jonas when I just really found him, I just want to cry.

  So, when I see Jonas lingering at the back door frantically texting when we pull up at the back of Seduction, I don’t care about pain. I don’t care about perception. All I think about is getting to him as fast as I can. Which, when you consider I have gauze wrapped around my head to hold an ice pack in place, isn’t all that fast. But it doesn’t matter. Soon, I’m able to rest my head against his chest and hear the perfect cadence of his heartbeat.

  “Are you okay? What happened?” Unlike Elle, his voice is low in deference to the pain he realizes I must be in.

  “Accident” is all I manage to get out.

  “What can I do?” Such a simple request and about as perfect as it gets because I can answer it in one word.

  “Home.”

  Nodding at Elle and a gaping Sterling, Jonas settles an arm around my shoulders and guides me to his car. After tucking me into the front seat, I tip my head back against the headrest and trust him to get me back to the Bronx and my babies.

  Apple dessert ravioli with crème fraîche filling? I tentatively smile as I slide the dish in front of him.

  Jonas sneers at me before pushing it away.

  Apple raspberry bars with a shortbread and merengue on top?

  He takes a bite and spits it into his napkin.

  Apple muffins?

  A loud guffaw greets my presentation.

  An apple Paris-Brest? Hmm, that idea might have some merit.

  But when I cook my choux dough, my hair gets caught in the mixer wheel. I feel a familiar throbbing as the paddle whacks my face again.

  “No, no,” I moan amid my nightmare about all things apple.

  “T. Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

  “Popovers are for pussies!” I startle myself awake. The room is mostly dark, with the kitchen lights keeping it lit with a mild glow.

  “Now I get why the doctor wanted someone to check on you every few hours. Are you sure they said it was okay for you to come home?” Jonas crosses the room and sits on the edge of my bed. Carefully smoothing my tangled hair away from my face, his voice is pitched low. “You’ve been mumbling recipes in your sleep.”

  “What have I been saying?” I’m suddenly panicked.

  His soft laugh brings a tentative smile to my lips. “You were mumbling about pâte à choux octopus. I think you can skip that for dinner. I’m sure the kids will vote for mac’n’crap instead of that.”

  I want to laugh, but instead my eyes flood.

  “What are we going to do with you?” he murmurs.

  “I’m not sure there’s a lot you’re going to want to do with me.” I pause for a moment. “That sounded pretty good.” Wiggling my jaw, I wince. “Ow. That sucked.”

  “No wonder. You look like half of a sumo wrestler.”

  “Just half?”

  “Well, since the paddle only caught you under one side of your jaw, half.” I groan as Jonas begins to quietly blast me. “I don’t give a fork what you were thinking of, Trina. You could have done some serious damage. You could have knocked out your teeth.”

  “I’d have managed,” I try to reassure him. His fingers grip mine hard.

  “What if you’d lost an eye?”

  “I still could have seen.” And even if I couldn’t, I would have remembered the look in your eyes the first time you made love to me.

  “What if you caught your head the wrong way, and…” He shoves to his feet.

  “And what, Jonas?” I struggle to sit up, but the piercing glare he sends me pins me against the pillows instead.

  “You could have died. Then what, Trina?”

  “It was an honest mistake, Jonas. Is there no room for forgiveness?” My question has so many layers he’s unaware of.

  He opens his mouth and then closes it right before shattering me into a million pieces. “I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”

  “What do you mean?” I hold my breath as he makes his way over to me.

  “Nothing. Everything. Your mother’s coming in to watch over you and the kids for a few days. Mrs. McPhearson will help if you need to as well. Please don’t upset either of them by arguing; they both were distraught when they saw me carrying you up earlier.”

  “You’re not staying?” I’m frantic as I clutch his shirt.

  “I can’t.” And there’s something my head’s not letting me understand in those two words.

  But since my heart is dying and I don’t want him to witness it, all I whisper is, “Then go.”

  He leans in, presumably to kiss me, but I slam a hand in his chest. “I said go. You don’t get to come into my life and then hurt me more than this.” I point at the injury to my face. “Because why? Did you suddenly get scared? Guess what, Jonas. I get scared every single day I walk out the door. I have to leave my children to go to work. So did your mother. Accidents happen—some of them tragic. That doesn’t mean you lock yourself away and give up on love. If anything, it means you love more fiercely every chance you get.”

  Jonas stumbles back from where I’m lying. “No. You don’t get it.”

  “What don’t I get? That you’re running away the very second something happens?” I cry.

  “Sweetheart, that’s not it.”

  Wearily, I run a hand down my face and wince when I feel the swelling. “Just go.”

  “Trina, right now, you don’t know what you’re saying—”

  “What does it matter what I’m saying? You said you’re leaving. The door’s right behind you.” Turning onto my uninjured side, I pull the throw that was tangled around me up to my ear, waiting for the door to open and close.

  “Trina, you don’t understand.” His voice is breaking right along with my heart.

  “No, and I’m too tired to try. As you so eloquently put it, Mr. Rice, I have children to explain my injuries to in the morning. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest.” I close my eyes to dismiss him. If only it were so easy to remove him from our hearts. As it is, I don’t know what I’m going to say to explain what happened if I look as bad as Jonas indicated.

  “This isn’t the end of this discussion,” he warns me.

  No, that will be when I bake you a dessert made from apples. I mutter, “Okay. See you when I see you, I guess.”

  With a muffled curse, he opens the door to my apartment. “She’s awake and she’s upset,” I hear him say.

  There’s a response before, “No, it’s my fault. I started to lecture her instead of taking care of her, Marla.”

  I realize he’s talking with my mother, but I can’t find the right words to scream or the energy to do so. Instead, I lie quietly as I’m breaking inside piece by piece. Will a few weeks of Jonas Rice be enough to sustain me for the rest of my life? I think desperately. Because I sure as hell don’t plan on putting myself out there emotionally ever again.

  As a weight settles next to me on the bed, I speak for the first time since I heard the door close behind my mother. “I hate apples.”

  “Why, Trina? Did something with them cause your injury” Startled by the caring in her voice, I rip down the blanket.

  “You could say that.” When she winces, I tell her belligerently, “That bad, huh? Well, you can walk right out the door too.”

  “The bruising is bad, but it’s the pain I see on your face that’s making my heart hurt, Trina.” Hesitantly, my mother reaches for my hand. Startled, I let her take it. When has my mother ever shown me this level of care—the kind I expected from Jonas? Quickly, I slam the door on those thoughts. “When I got the call from the restaurant you were on the way
to the hospital, it scared me. But that’s not for now. Right now, you need to rest.”

  “Mom? It hurts so much.” And I know I’m not just talking about my face.

  “Shh, Trina. We’ll talk more after you rest. I’ll be here.”

  As I drift off holding her hand, part of me is glad someone will be. Even if it feels like the wrong someone.

  Chapter 29

  Jonas

  “How do I fix this?” I ask my brother, who’s lying on my couch while I text Trina again.

  And again.

  Still with no response.

  “Did you think that maybe, just maybe, she’s listening to doctor’s orders and not looking at her phone?”

  Lifting my head up from my phone for the first time since Julian got here a half hour ago, I say deadpan, “Not a chance in hell. If it wasn’t for the fact her boss was with her the night of the accident, I know the stubborn woman would already be back at work.”

  Julian shifts from the negligent position he’s been in to sit at attention. “You haven’t said what happened, Jonas.”

  Ducking my head, I type out, I miss you. I miss the kids. Please talk with me, T. Pressing Send, I find my own eyes looking at me from a few feet away without the turbulent emotions in them. “I panicked,” I confess.

  “What do you mean?” Julian sits up , bracing his elbows on his knees.

  “I took her home after her run-in at Seduction. She was having a nightmare.”

  “Understandable under the circumstances. She took a KitchenAid to the chin.”

  “Because of me!” Flicking my phone to the table next to me, I stand and gesticulate wildly. “She was mumbling about apple recipes in her sleep. Apples,” I fling out in disgust.

  Dawning comprehension lights Julian’s face. “And you…”

  “Blamed myself,” I groan. “Intellectually, I know she was doing her job, but why did it have to be her practicing recipes for the review?”