Playing with Piper (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing for Love Book 3) (20 page)

A
fter Owen leaves
, I contemplate his words for a long time, and I make a decision. I’ve been avoiding talking to my mother about this situation, but if my father’s back in New York, my mother needs to know. Jack Lawless abandoned both of us when he left, not just me.

I dial her work number and she picks up on the second ring. “Wyatt,” she says happily, “what a surprise. You’re never going to guess what happened.”

I rub at my temples. I have a bad feeling about this. “What happened?”

“Jack came by the house to see me. After all these years, he came back. I can’t believe it.”

The hair at the back of my neck stands on end. “When was this?” I ask carefully.

“On Tuesday.”

I do some rapid calculations in my head. I told Stone Bradley to get my father evicted on Friday, exactly a week ago. Almost immediately, my dad had countered. “And you’re happy about this?”

She exhales. “I’m not a fool, Wyatt. I know your father left us when we needed him. But I can either be angry at the past, or be happy in the present, and I’m choosing the present.”

I’m getting schooled about letting go of the past from a woman who owns three dozen tennis shoes with holes in the soles, because they might be useful one day.
Fucking great.

“I see.” I keep my tone neutral. “What did he want?”

“To help me, dear,” she replies fondly. “He knows one of the producers of
Hoarders
. He’s going to get me on the show.”

I clench my fingers into a fist. I don’t want my mother on
Hoarders
. I don’t want the world laughing at her, as if she was some kind of strange animal in a zoo. I don’t want the cameras zooming in on the piles of torn underwear that she can’t bring herself to throw away. I don’t want the host of the program making my mother cry in order to titillate the TV-watching public. “If you wanted help, you just had to ask me.”

“Is that true, Wyatt?” she asks sadly. “Maybe I’m too proud to ask for help from a son who is obviously ashamed of me. You don’t think I know how bad the house is? Knowing that I have a problem is a lot easier than doing something about it.” She sniffs, and I can picture her at her desk, her hair in a tight knot, her clothes neat to a fault, all carefully designed to keep her illness hidden from her friends and co-workers. “Your father was kind to me when he visited.”

My father is lying scum. “Did he take photos of the house, mother?”

“Of course, dear. The producers of the show need it. He came in with an SLR camera and took enough photos for two rolls of film. I laughed at him about upgrading to a digital model, and he was quite indignant. I’d forgotten what a camera buff he was.”

So my father has pictures now. Ammunition to blackmail me, in case his little display at
Piper’s
isn’t enough. If I didn’t hate him so much, I’d almost admire his diabolical cunning.

“Mom.” I stare out of the window. “I’m sorry I haven’t been very kind.” I draw a deep breath. “It was hard for me to grow up in that chaos. It was easier to try and forget about my childhood than to make peace with my past.”

My words wound her; how could they not? But I’ve been silent for too long, holding on to my simmering resentment. If the distance between us is to be bridged, I need to tell her the truth. I can’t nurse my anger until it hardens into bitterness.

When I was seven years old, I’d moved a stack of newspapers in the laundry room to reach the washer so I could do a load of laundry, and unwittingly, I’d disturbed a nest of mice. They’d scattered with squeaks in every direction, some running over my feet in their haste to flee. To this day, I remember how terrified I’d been, all because my mother couldn’t bring herself to throw away a pile of old papers.

She doesn’t reply. I hear a click on the other end of the line. She’s hung up on me.

Yet I’m not sorry. I’ve finally stopped pretending, and it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I
’ve spent more
time thinking of the Westies and Seamus Cassidy in the last few weeks than I have in years. I can’t seem to focus on anything. A thousand thoughts chase each other in my head.

Wyatt’s right. Mendez isn’t good for my peace of mind.

Getting a hold of my uncle is turning out to be more difficult than I thought. Michael O’Connor doesn’t know anything. No one is giving me a straight answer and the truth seems impossible to find.

The images flash through my head constantly. My father’s body sprawled on the floor. My mother’s hand linked in his, fear and horror etched on her face. Aileen looking puzzled, not understanding why someone would want to kill her. The blood seeping out of their bodies, staining the faded shag carpet.  

I will never allow that to happen again to someone I care about. If Seamus Cassidy is out of jail, then I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to neutralize him as a threat. I don’t care how bloody my hands get. This time, I
will
protect the people I love.

The people I love.
Piper? Can it be true that I’ve fallen in love with her?

A slow smile breaks out on my face as I search my heart. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but even in that short time, she’s become precious to me. When I’m with her, the ghosts of the past recede and my pain fades.

She makes me happy. She makes me feel whole, undamaged.

I draw a deep breath. I didn’t think I was capable of falling in love. I was too wary of letting people in. My heart had been ripped into pieces once — I couldn’t risk that kind of pain again.

But Piper slid into my life when I wasn’t looking. When she let her walls down and cried to us, she destroyed my barriers.

I will do anything to keep her safe.

There are two restaurants on Mendez’s list that I need to investigate,
Emerson’s
and
The Pear Tree.
It’s time to get to work.

I
spend
most of Saturday with Carl Marcotti, working with him on the design and layout of his new kitchen. Once we’re done, he asks if I want to grab a pint of beer at the local pub. “How about
Emerson’s
instead?” I ask casually. “The last time I talked to Max Emerson, he boasted that he was going to win
Can You Take The Heat?.
He talks a big game. I want to see if he can back it up.”

Carl frowns with distaste. “If you insist,” he replies. “I personally don’t want to give that thug any of my money.”

I raise my eyebrow, alerted by Carl’s tone of dislike. “I didn’t know that you knew him.”

“I don’t. A couple of my waitresses used to work there. I hear things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Emerson has a private room in the back of his restaurant. Tammy was assigned to work it, and she hated it. The customers would grope her and she was expected to put up with it. Max more or less told her that those men were his high-rollers and if she complained, she’d get fired.”

“High-rollers? Is Emerson running a gambling ring there?”

Carl gives me a confused look. “I thought that’s why you decided to pass on him,” he replies.  “Everyone knows Lawless and Lamb run a clean shop, and
Emerson’s
is dirty as shit.”

I shake my head. “We only met Max Emerson once,” I tell him. “He was too cagey about his numbers, and Wyatt and I didn’t get a good vibe from him.” I’m cursing myself as I speak. I’ve been so busy fixing Piper’s restaurant that I’ve missed the obviously illegal activity at
Emerson’s
.
What else have I overlooked?

We get to the pub. Even though it’s six in the evening on Saturday and the neighborhood is packed with people enjoying the warm weather,
Emerson’s
is almost empty. “Max told me on the phone that this place was doing great,” I remark. “It sure as hell doesn’t seem like it.”

Carl rubs his chin but doesn’t say anything. We settle in and order pints of beer, nachos, and chicken wings. Carl checks his phone while I look around discreetly. There’s only one waitress working the place, and she’s so surly that she makes Kimmie look friendly and welcoming. The place smells like stale beer and depression.

Max Emerson himself is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn’t surprise me. Max doesn’t cook and he doesn’t manage the front either. He’s an absentee owner, someone who wants the rewards without doing the work. I have no respect for people like him.

In comparison, Piper’s in her restaurant every single day, working her ass off so she can be successful. When we’re done here, Carl will go back to his restaurant and work for another five solid hours, making sure everything’s okay.  

Our food arrives. The nachos are lukewarm and the chicken wings are bland. Carl grimaces in disgust as he eats. “How did this place even get on
Can You Take The Heat?
I can name a dozen places that are more qualified than this one.”

Another interesting question, and this time, I know who to ask. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to have a long chat with Maisie Hayes.

O
wen threatened
to beat me to a pulp if I didn’t take him along when I went to see my father. I’m fairly sure he was joking, but I still knock on his door Sunday morning.

He opens it, barely glancing up from his phone. “Have you read Maisie’s blog post today?” he asks me.

I shake my head. I’ve been so stressed out at the thought of meeting my father that it’s completely slipped my mind that the results of the first round were going to be announced today on Maisie’s blog. “Piper made it through, didn’t she?” I demand.

“She did.” He gives me a pointed look. “You still haven’t called her.”

“Not yet,” I confess. “I want this mess out of the way first.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Wyatt, do you like Piper?” he demands.

“Of course,” I reply automatically. I don’t just like Piper.
I really like her
. Whenever I think of her, I smile like a silly fool. Every time I hear someone with a Southern accent, I’m reminded of her. When I see someone on the street with curly blonde hair, my heart starts to pound.

“Then call her, because I don’t want to lose her.” He looks at me seriously. “For the last seventeen years, I’ve resisted getting involved. But I’m in love with Piper, and I think you are too.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to mess things up with her.”

Am I in love with Piper?
I ask myself that question and the answer is instantaneous. Of course I am. I’m madly, crazily, head-over-heels in love with Piper Jackson. I’m also, unfortunately, a control freak who likes to compartmentalize his life in tidy little boxes. “As soon as this situation with my dad is sorted out, I will.”

“She’s too important to risk, Wyatt.” Owen’s voice is urgent.

He’s absolutely right. I don’t want Piper to think I’m still angry with her. I’ve known Piper for a little over two months, and I’ve been happier than I’ve ever been in my life. The three of us have attended restaurant auctions together. We’ve painted her restaurant and chosen the dishes on her new menu. All the hours we’ve spent together in the evenings after her restaurant has closed has brought us together. I can’t imagine my life without her in it.

“I agree.” I don’t intend to fuck this up. I care for Piper too much. “What were you saying about Maisie’s blog?”

“I was looking at the list of winners,” he says with a frown. “
Piper’s
beat
Soul Kitchen
, no surprise there. But
Emerson’s
beat
The Queen’s Beaver,
which seems strange to me.”

My lips twitch involuntarily.
The Queen’s Beaver
is a cheeky name for a British pub. “You didn’t expect that?”

“No,” he replies. “I’ve eaten at
The Queen’s Beaver
before. Their chef is very concerned with local and seasonal ingredients. The food there is light years better than
Emerson’s
.” He gives me a troubled look. “Carl Marcotti told me yesterday that Max Emerson ran a gambling ring in the back of his restaurant.”

I grow still at that. “Mendez put
Emerson’s
on the list for a reason,” I say slowly. “Max Emerson is a sleazeball, but I didn’t think he was dangerous.”

“Someone picked
Emerson’s
as a contestant on
Can You Take The Heat?
, even though there are better choices. Max has advanced to the next round, though he shouldn’t have. None of this makes sense, and I want answers.” His voice is hard. “I need to talk to Maisie.”

“Good idea. Let’s visit her after I deal with my father.”

Owen seems surprised. “You’re coming too? You don’t approve of Mendez.”

“No, I don’t,” I agree grimly. “I think he’s lying to you about Seamus Cassidy, and I don’t think the Westies are operating in Hell’s Kitchen. But if
Emerson’s
is in the contest, then eventually, Max Emerson will be competing against Piper. I want to know what we’re dealing with.”

T
he security guards
have been instructed to escort my father upstairs. He shows up precisely at ten, and a guard brings him up to the conference room I’m waiting in. Owen’s seated at my side. On our way here, I’ve filled him in on the most recent developments. He knows my father took photos of the chaos in my mother’s house, and he’s reached the same conclusion I have.

Embarrassing me isn’t enough. I’m about to be blackmailed.

“Hello son.”

His greeting sends a fresh surge of rage through me, but I take a deep breath and calm down. I know that my father is needling me deliberately. He’s trying to make me angry and throw me off my game.

Jack Lawless notices Owen and he stiffens.
Good.
He expected that we’d be alone today. In this game of cat and mouse, I’m done being chased and I’m ready to be the predator. “Who’s this?” he asks, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

“Owen Lamb, meet Jack Lawless.” I perform introductions blandly.

They don’t shake hands. My father takes a seat at the table. “I thought you’d want us to have this discussion in private.”

“On the contrary, I’d like Owen to be part of this discussion.” I feel a faint sense of satisfaction at my father’s consternation. Let’s see how well he does when he’s off balance. He thought that I’d meet him in secret and he’d make his demands. He’s counted on my sense of shame about the way I grew up.

He takes a deep breath and launches into his spiel. “I know you want me gone from your life, but I’m broke. If you could help me with that, I’ll leave New York, and you won’t hear from me again.”

“How much?” From the start, I knew this was about dollars and cents. The Wall Street Journal article had spoken admiringly of our financial successes, and my father had thought he could make some easy money.

My bluntness takes him by surprise. “Three million.”

At my side, Owen stiffens with outrage. “You’re fucking insane,” he snaps.

I hold up my hand. “What’s the ‘
or else?’”

“What do you mean?” my father blusters.

I meet his gaze squarely. “Let’s lay our cards on the table. You’re trying to blackmail me for three million dollars. Why do you think I’m going to agree to your demands?”

Is he going to mention the photos?

He does. “If you don’t,” he says, “I will sell photos of your mother’s house to the tabloids. The entire world will know that Wyatt Lawless’ mother lives in squalor. Everyone will whisper and talk.” He sneers at me. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, Wyatt.”  

Owen’s hands clench into fists.

When I hear the threat, my heart breaks. A small, stupid part of me had hoped that it wouldn’t come down to this. But to Jack Lawless, I’m nothing more than a walking wallet.

“I don’t have ready access to that kind of cash,” I reply, lying without a twinge of guilt. “My money is tied up in investments. It’ll take me a few weeks to free it up.”

“How long?” Greed is making my father stupid. He doesn’t stop to think that I might be bluffing.

“Three weeks.” I want Piper to win
Can You Take The Heat?
before I see my father again. We promised her we’d be there for her and I intend to keep my word.

“I can’t wait that long,” he argues.

I get to my feet. “That’s the offer,” I say flatly. “Take it or leave it.”

He gives me an assessing look. Perhaps he’s trying to figure out how much he can push me. After a long pause, he gives in. “Okay. I’ll meet you here in three weeks.”

“There’s a condition.” Owen cuts in, his voice hard. “If you try and contact Wyatt before then, the deal’s off.”

My father opens his mouth to protest, then thinks better of it. He nods tersely, rises to his feet and leaves the room.

Jack Lawless thinks I’m going to pay him.

I’m not.

What I need is a plan.

I’ve bought myself some space. This is a chess game, and I have twenty-one days to figure out my next move.

“What are you going to do?” I ask Wyatt as we head to Maisie’s apartment.

“I don’t know.” He walks forward, his hands in his pockets. “My father hasn’t apologized for abandoning me. He hasn’t once said he was wrong to walk out on a thirteen year old child. All he cares about is himself.” He shakes his head, looking frustrated. “If it were just me, I’d tell him to go to hell. But I have to think about my mother. She’s spent her entire life trying to hide her illness from her friends and her co-workers. How is she going to feel when her house is being mocked in the tabloids?”

I’m surprised that Wyatt cares about his mother’s reaction. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s barely mentioned her. They only see each other a handful of times a year and Wyatt always returns from these meetings tense and angry. “So you’re going to pay him off?”

“Two impossible choices,” he mutters. “I need to find a third one.”

“Can Stone Bradley help?”

He shakes his head. “Stone won’t do anything illegal.”

“Will you?”

His lips twist. “I’d prefer to stay within the law. We’ve built a successful business over the years, you and me. We have restaurants that depend on us. I’d hate to risk all of that for my father.”

We walk the rest of the way in silence. When we reach Maisie’s building, Wyatt presses the buzzer.

“Hello?” Maisie’s voice sounds from the speaker, tinny and crackly.

“Maisie, it’s Wyatt and Owen. Can we chat with you for a minute?”

She sounds surprised to hear from us. “Umm, sure. Come on up.”

She buzzes us in and we make our way up to her apartment. Maisie’s standing in the doorway, waiting for us. “This is unexpected,” she says, surveying us with narrowed eyes. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I want to talk to you about
Emerson’s,
” I reply.  

“Oh boy.” She steps aside. “You better come in.” We follow her inside, and she waves to the couch. “You guys want a cup of coffee or something?”

We both decline. “What do you want to know?” she asks.

“I read your article this morning,” I tell her bluntly. “I also ate at
Emerson’s
last night. How did it make it into the contest, and how on earth did it beat
The Queen’s Beaver?
”

“The first question is easy to answer,” she says, flopping into an overstuffed armchair. “There were sixteen restaurants in the contest. I picked eight. Yelp, as one of the sponsors, chose four, and the Hell’s Kitchen Business Association, as the other sponsor, chose four more. Yelp was transparent in their selection process; they put up a poll on their website, and the four restaurants with the most votes were chosen. The association wasn’t. John Page gave me four names with no explanation on how they were picked.
Emerson’s
was one of them.”

Interesting.
“How did it advance to the next round?”

“That,” Maisie sighs, “I can’t explain. I eat at
The Queen’s Beaver
all the time, and I love the food there. But when we showed up on Friday to judge them, the kitchen was off its game so badly it was unrecognizable. There’s no explaining it.” She grimaces. “They might have still made it through, but
Emerson’s
won the public vote by a landslide.”

“What?” The contest has been designed quite carefully to make sure the only people that can vote on a restaurant are the people that eat there during the week. At
Piper’s
, we’ve been given a stack of comment cards to hand out to our patrons, each with a unique identifier to prevent fraud. “
Emerson’s
was nearly empty last night.”

She nods dourly. “They’ve got to be cheating.”

“Aren’t you going to do anything about it?” Wyatt demands in outrage.

“What do you want me to do?” she snaps, giving us an irritated look. “Do you expect me to stand outside
Emerson’s
, counting the number of guests each night, and making sure only the diners get a comment card?” She shrugs. “It sucks for
The Queen’s Beaver
. However, in the final round, there’s no popularity contest. The winner will be decided by the four judges and no one else.”

Wyatt frowns at Maisie. “You’re awfully calm for someone whose contest is being fucked with,” he growls.

“You should have seen me last night,” she retorts. “There was screaming.”

“
I
t doesn’t add up
,” I tell Wyatt as we head back to our offices. “Why did
The Queen’s Beaver
screw up? Greg Tennant has thirty years of experience. Maisie’s contest isn’t going to throw him off his game.”

Wyatt glances at his watch. “Let’s go ask him,” he suggests. “And I want to call Piper after that.”

“That’s good,” I tell him with a smirk.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, but a smile plays about on his lips. He raises his hand for a cab and we make our way to Hell’s Kitchen. With any luck, we’ll talk to Greg, then head back home in time to cook Piper a nice meal.

When we get to
The Queen’s Beaver
, everything’s oddly quiet. The restaurant is busy, but the waitresses, normally cheerful, are walking around in hushed silence. Something’s the matter.

We take a seat at the bar and Wyatt pulls a business card out of his wallet. “Is Chef Tennant working today?” he asks the bartender, handing her his card. “If he is, could you tell him I’d love to see him?”

She barely looks up. “The chef is extremely busy this morning.”

“We’re old friends.” I give her my best persuasive smile. “We only need a minute.”

“Fine.” Reluctance drips from every syllable. “I’ll see if he’s available.”

In about three minutes, Greg Tennant appears, wiping his hands on his apron. When he sees us, he gives us a strained smile. “Wyatt Lawless and Owen Lamb. I’m honored.”

Greg and I had lunch together only a few weeks ago. He looks tired this morning, a lot greyer than the last time I saw him. Something’s going on and I’m determined to get at the root of the matter. “Greg, can we talk to you in private?”

“Let’s go to my office.”

Greg’s office is tiny. The two of us squeeze in and take a seat. I eye the piles of paperwork threatening to overflow the battered wooden desk with amusement, but at my side, Wyatt flinches in discomfort. The place probably reminds him of his mother’s home, and after this morning, he’s especially vulnerable to chaos.