Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One (3 page)

Her mother, Mary Margaret Maxwell, patted her dark brown, almost black shoulder-length hair, which had to be dyed. A woman of her age must have at least a few gray hairs after raising four rambunctious boys and Skye, who was no shrinking violet herself. Mary Margaret gave her an
assessing look and must have kicked Skye’s father, Jack, under the table. Either that or she’d goosed him, because he jumped and shot her mother a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you glare. “Is everything okay, Skye?” her mother asked.

Skye could hardly hear beyond the noise in her head—it was as if she went swimming in a pool-sized bowl of Rice Krispies. She reminded herself to breathe and gave the question some real thought. Was everything okay?

Seriously?

Not only no, but hell no! Things were so far from okay, they weren’t even in the same hemisphere, but if her own family couldn’t figure that out, she wasn’t about to tell them. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. You look a little down.”

Just a little? Damn—she deserved an Academy Award for her performance. “Not at all. I’m just stuffed—I can’t believe we’ve completely destroyed that whole cake.”

Patrick, her eldest brother, clapped his hands. “Okay, start opening your presents. I need to get back to the restaurant.”

Of course he did—Paddy was the first to get his restaurant and he was married to the darn place. The only time he let Skye in his kitchen was when he wanted her to come up with the monthly specials for their upscale family-run line of restaurants. Other than that, he loved to stick her back in the business office to handle the books, the human resources, and insurances—something she dreaded. She might be good at it, but it wasn’t where she wanted to be. She wanted her own kitchen, and from the looks of the presents, she wasn’t going to get it.

She opened each package—all thoughtful gifts she would normally love, but not after working her butt off for years to earn her own kitchen. She thanked her parents and each of her brothers in turn.

Patrick had saved his gift for last. He held out a long, flat box. “I had this made specially for you. I hope you like it.”

She eyed it like she would a snake. He held it out to her and she had no choice but to take it. She ripped off the paper, opened the box, and found an engraved nameplate with her name on it above the words
MAXWELL’S BUSINESS MANAGER
.

He took his glass of wine and held it up to toast. “Here’s to you, Skye, and your new partnership position. Congratulations. You’re finally a full-fledged owner.”

Kier, Colin, Reilly, and her parents raised their glasses, and her heart sank. She’d worked to earn her own kitchen, and now she was made the business manager? She swallowed hard. “Don’t you think you should have asked how I felt about this before promoting me to business manager?”

Paddy smirked his I’m-the-oldest-bad-boy-in-the-family smirk. “I didn’t think we needed to. We all know you like to play chef, but let’s face it, Skye. You’re going to want to marry, have kids—all us guys are married to our restaurants. We don’t want that for you. This way you get to play in our kitchens, you can do the monthly specials, and still have a partnership role. It’s the perfect compromise.”

Not for her it wasn’t. But then if she blew off her head of steam here, she’d just come off looking like a brat. She’d be damned if she’d give Paddy the satisfaction of calling her one. No, she’d get through her damn birthday dinner; then
she’d figure out where to go from here. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck in the business office for the rest of her life and coming up with amazing specials for her father’s and brothers’ restaurants—and watch them take full credit for all her hard work. No, she was going to do something—she just wouldn’t do it in a fit of rage. She was a thirty-year-old woman, not some snotty teenager.

Skye looked from one family member to the next, stopping at her mother, who appeared to be fighting a smile. When she stared into her mother’s eyes, she was surprised to see a look that could only be called encouragement. She seemed to be waiting to see Skye’s reaction. She’d have a while to wait. Skye had a lot to think about. Hell, she owned one-seventh of the company—it wasn’t something she could just shrug off. No, whatever she did, she had to protect the investment she’d made. Well, that was if she didn’t let her temper get the best of her. She figured the chances of that happening were about fifty-fifty. Not great, and the odds would only get worse if she didn’t make a hasty escape. She hated pulling the sentimental, gushy woman card. It was so not her, but even the hint of happy tears would have the men in her family scattering like roaches at the flick of a kitchen light.

“Well played, dear,” her mother whispered when she hugged her good-bye. “You are a formidable Maxwell.”

Skye wasn’t sure where her mother was coming from, but chose to abandon any further conversation with the final bite of chocolate cake on her plate. Strong enough to leave the last bite but knowing she would regret it later. She gathered her gifts and made like a mixer and beat it.

*   *   *

“Patrick Maxwell, you’re the world’s biggest asshole.” Skye had held on to her temper through payroll and end-of-the-month financials, but this was the final straw. She pulled a knife through the dish towel and then stuffed it in the sheath. “I quit.” Her brother wore a chef’s hat, probably to make himself look taller, the jerk. As if his six-foot-two frame didn’t tower over her enough.

“You’re not an employee—you’re an owner and you’re family. You can’t quit.”

“Wanna bet? Watch me.” She rolled up the carrying case where she stored her prized knives, and ripped the apron from around her waist before throwing it at his face.

Of course Paddy caught it.

“Have a nice life.”

“I’m calling Dad.”

“Wow, that’s real mature. Go ahead—cry to Daddy. And after you’re finished with your whine fest, tell him I quit. I’ve had enough of you and the rest of the testosterone-charged idiots I’m related to, and Dad’s the ringleader.”

“Stop behaving like a brat. You’re just mad because Dad didn’t give you a restaurant for your thirtieth birthday like he did the rest of us. Someone in the family has to run the business side of the restaurants, and while you like to play in the kitchens, you’re better suited to working in the office—we discussed this. There’s more to being an executive chef than just dreaming up specials.”

“Because you don’t know a balance sheet from a supply list, I’m relegated to the back office? I don’t think so.” Skye shoved the Incredible Hulk impersonator she called a brother as hard as she could.

He didn’t move. The man even had the nerve to laugh.

“Never laugh at a woman carrying knives, Paddy. Now get out of my way before I take one out and practice my carving technique.”

“Fine, go. You’ll just come crawling back after you get over your snit.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” She turned and then smiled. “You know, on second thought, do.” She imagined him passing out due to lack of oxygen. A minor bump on the head would do the trick. Maybe he’d hit something on the way down that would leave him looking like he lost a fight with George Foreman before he started hawking electric grills. That would be sweet. She pictured him with birdies flying in cartoon formation around his head and a huge rainbow-striped goose egg popping out of his thinning hair. She’d noticed him checking it out the other day in his reflection in the stainless steel. Skye made a mental note to send him a bottle of Rogaine for his next birthday. She was thirty years old and what did she have to show for all her hard work? Not a damn thing and the only reason was that she was born without a penis.

Paddy’s laughter followed her through the doors and into the alley, spurring her anger. She was finished. She was going home to pack a bag and then catch the first plane out. She’d show them all. She was going to do what none of her brothers ever did—make it in the food world on her own. She didn’t need her father to give her a restaurant to become a success. She didn’t need to use the Maxwell family name. She already had everything she’d ever need, her talent, her taste buds, and her experience. She’d show them and everyone else interested that she was good for a lot more than managing the business part-time and then spending the rest of her life planning
a benefit, a wedding, or whatever the hell they expected her to do at the country club while her nonexistent husband took over her birthright and added another link to their chain of restaurants. “When hell starts taking reservations.”

“Did you say something, Skye?”

She jumped when the dishwasher stepped out of the shadows, reeking of smoke. “No, Bobby. I’m just talking to myself.” And not paying attention to her surroundings, which was stupid. San Francisco wasn’t the safest place in the world—especially the alley behind the restaurant.

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?”

“Thanks, but no. I’ll be fine.” After all, she was armed and dangerous—not to mention pissed.

*   *   *

Skye’s mad-on lasted until she dragged herself out of bed on her first morning in New York. She sat in her Times Square hotel room eating bad room service oatmeal while she went over the want ads. She smacked her forehead and dialed her best friend.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? Did someone die?”

“No. I’m sorry, Kelly. I forgot about the time change. I’ve been up all night.”

“Time change? What are you talking about? And for your information, it’s still the middle of the night.”

“Not in New York, it’s not.”

“Did you say New York? What does the time in New York have to do with the price of tea in Chinatown?”

Skye stabbed her spoon into the glutinous mess they called oatmeal, walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and looked down from her suite on the fortieth floor. Times
Square was already teeming with people dressed in suits and carrying briefcases, all walking briskly like rats through a maze. “Kelly, I screwed up. Big-time.” Skye heard someone in the background. “Oh God, you’re not alone.”

“Not now, Ted. Just go back to sleep.” There was a rustle of sheets and the sound of a slap followed by a giggle.

Skye sucked in a shocked breath and felt her cheeks heat. She’d never heard her best friend since seventh grade giggle. Ever. “Who the hell is Ted?”

“What’s this about a big screwup?”

“You first. It seems I’m not the only one who’s getting screwed, but I bet you’re enjoying the experience with Ted, whereas I definitely am not. Mine doesn’t involve a slap and tickle.”

“Very funny. Now are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to get out my trusty crystal ball?”

“I quit.”

“It’s about time. You should have done it five years ago.”

“And I left town.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re in New York? Seriously?”

“I’m looking at the Jumbotron in Times Square right now.”

“Holy shit!”

“That’s what I said when I realized the flaw in my plan.”

“You had a plan? What plan?”

“Of course I had a plan—however flawed. I thought I’d come to New York and make a splash in the food
world all on my own. I’m not using my credit cards—I’ve always had the bills sent to my office. It would be too easy for Paddy to steam the envelopes open and figure out where I am.”

“Don’t you have to give them a credit card to get a room?”

“Sure, I gave the guy my card when I registered, but asked him not to run the charge through. It’s amazing what a wink and a smile can get you in this town.”

“And how dare you leave San Francisco without so much as a good-bye?”

“I didn’t say good-bye because I was afraid you’d talk me out of it or do something insane like tell Paddy.”

“I would never rat you out to your lout of a brother.”

“Which lout are you talking about?”

“Any of the four. Take your pick. It goes against the code of sisterhood.”

“So did dating one and you had no problem doing that.”

“Patrick and I are ancient history.”

“So you keep saying. Can we get back to the topic at hand?”

“Fine with me. I’m not the one sticking my nose in someone’s past mistakes. So you flew to New York and you’re using only cash—it sounds very
CSI
-ish but completely understandable knowing your family.”

“Intimately as you do.”

Kelly let out an exasperated huff that traveled through space and sounded so clear, Skye felt air movement. “Again, ancient history. Go on.”

“I just realized that if I got a chef’s position at any of the top restaurants here, word would get back to my family.”

“And it took you how long to figure that out?”

“I was mad. You know I don’t think straight when I’m mad. Just a hint, Kell—this would not be a good time to say ‘duh.’ Work with me here.”

“I’m trying, but you’re not giving me much to go on.”

The tapping of fingernails against teeth filled Skye’s ear. “Stop that. You know it drives me nuts.”

“For you that’s just a slow roll down a low hill in neutral, my dear. Okay, I think I have it.”

“What?”

“An answer to your problem. Don’t get a job in Manhattan.”

Skye rolled her eyes. “Don’t you see, I’d have the same problem in any major city.”

“Duh. Sorry, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Try.”

“Even though your family seems to be unaware of it, there are five boroughs in New York—Manhattan just happens to be the only one they acknowledge. I’m sure there are nice restaurants in all the rest and if you stay out of Manhattan, your family will never be the wiser. Choose one. I hear Brooklyn is Manhattan light. Jump on the ferry or the subway and see what’s across the bay. Brooklyn Heights is upscale and beautiful. Same with Park Slope.”

“You’re a genius. I take back every nasty thought I had about you.”

“Right.”

“Okay, not every one, but most of them. Thanks. You can go back to bed with Ted now.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll call you in a few days. And remember, not a word.”

“I’m sworn to secrecy. I got it.”

“Not even a hint to Paddy. You know you’re the first person he’s going to try to weasel information out of.”