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

“
A
re
you going to tell me what’s going on?” Wyatt asks as we head back to the office after lunch. “Or are you going to keep me in the dark?”

“What do you mean?” I stall. Wyatt’s going to lose his mind when I tell him about meeting Mendez this morning.  

My partner rolls his eyes. “Come on, Owen,” he says. “I’ve known you a very long time. You didn’t jump to invest in
Aladdin’s Lamp
on Sebastian’s recommendation. Something else is up.”

“Fine.” It isn’t as if I can keep the truth from Wyatt anyway. “I met Eduardo Mendez this morning.”

A hiss of disapproval escapes Wyatt. “Please tell me,” he says, his voice exaggeratedly patient, “that that asshole hasn’t recruited you in one of his schemes again.”

“You don’t have much of an opinion of New York’s finest.”

“I do. Mendez isn’t one of them,” he retorts as we walk into our downtown Manhattan office. “The last time he involved you, you got shot, remember? You spent three weeks in the hospital.”

“It was only a flesh wound.” It had hurt like a motherfucker, but I’ll just be making Wyatt’s point for him if I admit that.

“How many times does it need to happen before you walk away? Mendez is manipulating you; he’s been manipulating you since you were sixteen. He’s using your anger about what happened in the past as fuel, and you are reckless enough to fall for it.” His voice is both disapproving and weary. The years Mendez has been absent from our lives have been good years. Wyatt and I have bought stakes in fifteen restaurants and tripled our net worth. More than that, we’ve helped fifteen chefs live their dream.

But the lure of revenge is always too great.

We enter Wyatt’s office. Wyatt settles into his chair and straightens a piece of paper on his desk so that it’s perfectly aligned with the surface. “It’s been what, five years? I was hoping he was finally going to leave you alone.”

“He’s reaching out for help. It would be irresponsible for me to ignore his request.”

“Irresponsible?” He raises an eyebrow. “After what happened to your parents, wouldn’t staying alive be the best possible revenge? Walk away, Owen. You’ve been lucky so far. Don’t push it.”

“No.” My voice is cold. We agree on many things, Wyatt and I, but this is the one divide so great that we will never be able to cross it. “The Westies killed my father. I will do whatever it takes to see them behind bars. My parents deserve justice.”

“Fine.” He gives up, his tone clipped. “Do what you will. Where does
Aladdin’s Lamp
figure in this?”

“Mendez has a list of restaurants that he wants me to check out. Piper Jackson’s restaurant is on top of that list. Even if she isn’t involved, it gives me an excuse to hang out in Hell’s Kitchen and investigate what’s going on.”

Wyatt looks exasperated. “So now I’m investing in restaurants because of Mendez’s schemes?”

“Oh come on,” I mock. “It’s not that much hardship to help Piper, is it? I noticed the way you looked at her. You want her.”

Wyatt shrugs. “That’s true, but irrelevant. I don’t get involved with people I’m in business with.”

“You don’t get involved at all.”

We both glare at each other, fists clenched. Then I shake my head. Wyatt and I are the best of friends. We normally get along very well. Today’s meeting with Mendez has me on edge more than I’m prepared to admit.

And something’s bothering Wyatt as well. I look around his office for clues. It’s spotless, not even a paperclip out of place. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?” He sounds wary.

“Wyatt, this office is a fucking barometer of your mood. If it’s this tidy, then something’s upset you.”

He sighs. “My father tried to contact me today. Celia said he showed up at Reception and asked for me.”

“What?” My head snaps up. “Are you sure?”

He pushes to his feet and strides to the window. “I reviewed the security tapes before lunch. It’s him alright.” He stares absently at the view of the city streets. “Time hasn’t been kind to him.”

“What does he want?”

Wyatt looks bleak. “Money, I assume. What else do people want?”

I wish I could protest and suggest that his father just wants to reconnect, but I know better. The man has been absent from his son’s life for twenty years. Last month, a reporter did a fawning feature of Lamb & Lawless’ incredible success in the Wall Street Journal. The timing can’t be coincidental.

“You could always talk to him and find out.”

“No.” Wyatt’s lips tighten. “My father walked out on me when I was thirteen. He left me in a house that wasn’t fit to be inhabited, with a mother who was mentally ill. A woman who insisted on saving every newspaper, every plastic bag, every empty tin can. I couldn’t reach the refrigerator without worrying that I’d knock something over. I lived in fear that somebody would find out.” His hands clench into fists at his side. “The time for talking has passed.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I told Celia to call security the next time he shows up.”

When Wyatt was eighteen, he left home, and he hasn’t stepped inside his mother’s house since then. He’s obsessively tidy as a response to the chaos he grew up in. His control never wavers. He never relaxes. It’s not a healthy way to live.

I shake my head. Avoiding his father isn’t going to help, and involving security is just going to escalate the situation. Wyatt needs to confront his demons and face the man.

Still, should I really be giving advice on facing the demons of the past? I’m not doing very well with mine.

T
wo days
after I shake on a deal with Owen Lamb and Wyatt Lawless, my parents fly into town.

“Let me look at you,” my mother orders as soon as she catches sight of me. She surveys me critically for a few seconds, then she sniffs. “You’ve put on some weight.”

I haven’t, but there’s no point arguing with her. “Hello dad,” I greet my father. “How’s the oil business?”

“Volatile.” He doesn’t sound too concerned. My parents are more than rich enough to survive a few temporary downturns.

My mother homes in on my hands. “Piper, your nails,” she cries out. “Honey, surely they have manicurists in New York.”

“I’m a chef,” I respond tersely, feeling the beginnings of a stress headache. In two minutes, my mother’s managed to criticize two things about me. It’s exhausting dealing with her. “I can’t have long nails.”  

She ignores me. “We’ll get that dealt with when I’m here,” she promises. “Now, honey, be honest with me. Are you upset about Anthony and Angelina?”

Oh for crying out loud.
“Mom,” I say, my voice heavy with patience, “Anthony and I went out on five dates. I don’t even know why he proposed, and we were engaged for less than twenty-four hours. I’m not upset. I’m very happy for Angelina.”

“The guy’s an idiot,” my dad interjects. “Piper’s better off without him. How’s the restaurant coming along, Piper?”

“I’m surviving,” I say evasively.

“I talked to Janice,” my mother interrupts before I have to get into detail about
Aladdin’s Lamp
and my new partners. “She said Angelina is going to ask you to be a bridesmaid.”

“I can’t do it.” My reply is immediate. Knowing Angelina, her wedding is going to be a production. I don’t have time for it, and besides, we aren’t close. We haven’t even spoken in two years. I suspect the only reason she’s asking me to be a bridesmaid is to prove to everyone that she didn’t steal my boyfriend from me.

“But honey,” my mother frowns, “you know everyone will gossip if you aren’t part of the wedding.”

“I don’t care.” I’m not used to defying my mother, but I need to hold firm on this issue. I can’t keep flying to New Orleans for wedding events every weekend. Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays are my three busiest days. There’s no way I can leave Josef in charge of
Aladdin’s Lamp
while I’m off on bridesmaid duties. He drinks too much to be trusted. “I’m sure Angelina will understand.”

“Leave it, Lillian,” my father advises, surprising me. My mother’s the more vocal of the two, but my dad doesn’t approve of me living so far away from home either. Still, I’ll take advantage of the respite. “Tell you what, why don’t I take my favorite two ladies shopping, then we’ll have a nice dinner somewhere? Piper, I’m sure you can steer us somewhere good.”

Oh dear
. I talked to Owen Lamb on the phone this morning. The two of them wanted to meet me to discuss changes to the restaurant, and the only time they were available was seven this evening. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay for dinner.” I don’t know why I’m apologizing. It isn’t as if they asked me if this weekend was a convenient time to visit before they showed up. “I have a meeting with my partners that I can’t miss.”

“Partners? Partners in what?”

Of course she’d catch that. “
Aladdin’s Lamp
has two new investors.”

My mother’s eyes narrow. “I thought that was against the terms of the will?” She looks at my dad for clarification. “It was, wasn’t it, Matthew?”

I grit my teeth and count to ten.
What are you going to do, rat me out to Aunt Vera’s trustees, mother?
I want to yell. But well-behaved Southern women don’t raise their voices. “It’s allowed as long as I retain majority control,” I bite out. “I plan to.”

“Oh for crying out loud, Piper. At what point are you going to give up this charade and move back home?” My mother’s eyes brim with the ready tears that she can summon at will.  “Every day, you’re getting older. Angelina is three years younger than you, and she’s already engaged. You don’t even have a boyfriend. At your age, I was married for seven years. Isn’t it time you stopped this rebellion, and got on with your life?”

“I am getting on with my life.” Ten minutes in her company, and I sound like a surly teenager. “I’m doing something I care about very much. You should be happy for me.”

“That’s enough.” My father’s voice is firm. “Piper, you’ve upset your mother. Apologize.”

For what?
 “I’m sorry, mother,” I say, just to keep the peace. “Look, let’s not argue. Why don’t I show you around the city before I go?”

“Can’t you cancel the meeting, dear?” The tears miraculously vanish. “After all, we see you so rarely.”

Oh God.
Cancel a meeting with Lamb and Lawless. They’ve already hinted I’m not serious about
Aladdin’s Lamp
. If I blow them off, they might just walk away from the deal. Nothing’s signed yet. I can’t let that happen. I can’t believe my mother would suggest such a thing.

Of course, it’s not the first time. Three years ago, I’d got a job as a waitress at a high-end French bistro called
Le Papillon.
I was working my second weekend shift when my mother called me in a panic because my father was having a heart attack. Of course, I flew home immediately, only to find out it had been nothing more severe than acute indigestion. Worse, my mother had known it wasn’t serious before I boarded the flight, but didn’t tell me because she thought it was nice that I was coming home.

I know what I should do. I should put my foot down, tell my parents that I can’t have dinner with them, and get to that meeting. But I’m really,
really
bad at direct confrontation, and when my mother starts to cry, I just want to capitulate.

“What if we do an early dinner?” I bargain instead.

I can eat a quick meal and still be on time, right?

I
’m not on time
. It’s almost eight by the time I make it to
Aladdin’s Lamp
. Part of me desperately hopes that Owen Lamb and Wyatt Lawless have given up on me and gone home. I’m not in any shape to confront them, not after enduring several hours with my parents.

No such luck. They’re seated in a corner booth, identical disapproving expressions on their faces.

I am in such trouble.

“I’m so sorry.” The last time we met, we didn’t get off on the right foot. I resented their implication that I wasn’t taking the restaurant seriously. Today, my tone is contrite. I’m fifty-five minutes late to a business meeting, and they have every right to question my commitment.

Wyatt looks up. “Glad you could join us.” His tone drips sarcasm.

Owen is blunter. “Piper,” he says, “I don’t know where to start. This is bullshit on so many levels.” He draws a breath and proceeds to lecture me as if I were five. “First,” he says, “what kind of head chef has plans on a Saturday evening? You’re supposed to be here at dinner service, Piper. Chefs don’t get weekends off.”

I guess he does know where to start after all,
I think snidely. Inwardly, I curse my mother. I told her I had to leave. I warned her I had an important meeting. Did she listen? No, she disappeared into the Saks Fifth Avenue dressing room with a pile of clothes to try on right when I had to leave, and all I could do was fume silently and wait for her to finish.

Not true, Piper. You could have left.

Wyatt cuts in, his voice still icy. “If you are laboring under the misconception that this is a nine-to-five job, you need to rethink your career choices.”

Ninety seconds. It’s taken ninety seconds for me to go from apologetic to full-on-fury. They’re giving me grief about my hours? Kevin only works Fridays and Saturdays since I can’t afford to pay him for more than that. Josef is massively unreliable. For the last six months, I’ve started work at ten in the morning, and I’ve left at midnight, every single day of the week except Mondays.

I swallow a lump in my throat.
No excuses, Piper. Just keep quiet.

“Then, there’s this food.” Owen gestures to the plates in front of him with an expression of distaste. He hands me a fork. “Taste the lamb.”

Shit.
Josef must have improvised a special, but I know for a fact that we don’t have any fresh lamb in the refrigerator. Did he really use frozen meat for a special?

I chew into the lamb and grimace as soon as I taste the over-seasoned dish. It’s frozen alright. What on earth was Josef thinking?

I’m in my personal episode of Kitchen Nightmares. “The mussels haven’t been cleaned,” Owen continues grimly, gesturing to a fish stew. “The lentil soup tastes like the cook dumped a cupful of salt in it. The lettuce in the salad is wilted and the dressing tastes like it came out of a bottle.”

Every single thing he’s saying is true, but his words sting.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Piper.” Wyatt takes over the task of chewing me out. “I’m quite perturbed by this.”

Seriously, who talks like this guy?
Quite perturbed?
He sounds like a stiff, uptight Colin Firth. Except Colin Firth is yummy, and Wyatt Lawless is a jerk.

“I’m looking for passion and commitment from you, a burning desire to make this restaurant succeed.” His eyes flicker in the direction of my Saks Fifth Avenue bag. “I can’t have you skip out on work to go
shopping
. Two thirds of all restaurants in New York fail in the first year. The clock’s ticking.”

I sit there in silence, fighting the urge to defend myself.

They think I don’t want this, but they’re wrong.
I want this more than anything in the world.