A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I spent all night and hours into this morning trying to figure out how those peaches suddenly, magically made it to the restaurant on time. It finally dawned on me that it had to be you. It was, wasn’t it, Hope? After Dano told me that we couldn’t get them, you did whatever rich person thing and got those fucking peaches delivered.”
He seemed awfully upset for a man who’d gotten what he wanted—the peaches arrived in time, after all. “Were they rotten? In bad shape? Bruised?”
He blinked. “No, they were fine.”
“Then what is the problem?” I picked up some papers from my desk to give myself something to do with my hands. What were they? No clue, but it didn’t really matter because I used them as a prop.
Max shook his head, some of his brown hair falling in front of his eyes. He brushed it away. His dark locks looked thick and soft.
“I never asked you to do that.”
The conversation circled back, but it still didn’t make sense. “No, but I had a way to help you, so I did.”
“You wanted to help me? Why would you do that? Don’t you get off on ruining lives?” He sneered at me, and it wasn’t a good look for him. I didn’t know Max, but there were ways to tell when people behaved in a way natural to them or not. It was like the muscles on his face didn’t really work in that direction.
Max was a smiler. Just not at me, which was fine. “Maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf?”
“That’s what you want to say? That you’ve turned over a new leaf.”
I sighed. “You sought me out, Max, not the other way around. What is it you want me to say? I’ve apologized. You’ve said there is no making it right. I get that, and I agree because I can’t undo my past actions. But I could get you the peaches, so I did.”
He took a long deep breath like he was counting to ten. I’d certainly done that enough myself over the years.
“Do you know how hard it is to run a restaurant?”
I shook my head as I sat down on the edge of the desk. He was right—I really should get more furniture. It would be nice to have something more comfortable for things like the lecture I was currently sitting through.
He was waiting for an answer. “I don’t, actually.”
“There are a million things that go on beyond cooking and serving food. The financials are miserable. I have investors to answer to—a highbrow problem, considering how lucky I was to find any after what happened with Hayley’s. Nationwide, sixty percent of restaurants don’t make it past their first year. The odds against success are higher here.”
I nodded. Most things were harder in Manhattan. “You have a hit. My guess would be you’re going to make it.”
“Yes, but my point is, I can’t have you fucking with my life again, Hope. Maybe you meant to do a good thing, and yes, I needed the peaches. So thank you for that. It did make desert one hundred times easier. But whatever this is? Whatever game you’re playing, it needs to stop.”
Now that I could answer. “It’s not a game.”
“Just stop. Stay out of my life. You can’t make things better for me. That’s not a possibility. If you actually want to make things right, leave me alone.”
I swallowed. “Listen, maybe you’re right—maybe leaving you alone would’ve been smarter, but I don’t agree that it is. I don’t want to make things harder for you, but I believe that I can make at least small reparations for my actions. And you can’t stop me from trying to make little things, like peaches, better.”
This time when he spoke, he pointed at me. “You’re not welcome in my restaurant, so you’re never going to know what I need again.”
Unfortunately, he was likely right—it wasn’t like I could magically predict what Max needed for the dang restaurant. Drat. He had a point. He turned to leave, and I took a long look at his tight ass. Fuck. There was something wrong with me. That man hated me. The first guy I was sexually attracted to in five years, and he didn’t even want me to get him any more fruit.
Max stopped, turning around. “Do all rich heiresses have this much security? Someone want to steal your designer bags?”
Now that was low, and he hadn’t gone to that level before. I’d take abuse where it was earned, but not in that way. “No, actually. But see, twenty-one months ago, my sister was kidnapped at gunpoint in Paris by Russian mobsters. They held her for two days and shaved her head. Then that security you’re pointing to—the one on the left specifically, with the dark hair? He was part of the group that got her out, also at gunpoint. Now, my father, who is a fugitive from the law, is hiding in Russia with my brother. The Russians could show up at any point to kill me.”
I deliberately told him the story like I was recounting a funny anecdote and not recounting the worst memory of my life or the new situation that made me constantly on edge and under surveillance. He’d obviously searched for me on the Internet to get my office address, so it surprised me that he might not know. Maybe Max had a singular ability to focus on small things or maybe he hadn’t looked hard enough when he’d searched?
All of that information was pretty quickly accessed about me. I knew it was, because I occasionally looked to see what people were saying. I had a reputation to uphold, which was why my clients came to me to begin with. The socialite with the bad past who could get attention to their causes. The full circle of my life.
His mouth fell open. “Really?”
“Yep.” I smiled. “So you see, I’ve had kind of a shit life. I’m not an heiress. My father is broke, and he’s hiding from the FBI. I earn a ton of money. I made my famous-being-famous self rather wealthy based on my skills. The same sheer determination to not end up a cautionary tale means that if I want to send you some hard to get fruit, I’m going to, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”
This time, he stormed from my office.
I forced myself to not stare at his ass again. I had to learn to control myself. If my sex drive was back online, I could get in trouble if I weren’t careful.
Control was, after all, how I got through every day.
It was why the world worked for me.
I sat listening to my friends gab over tapas. I drank my seltzer while watching them enjoy their sangrias, but my mind kept traveling back to Max. What was I going to do about the fact that I couldn’t figure out how to help him again?
“So I finally got to eat at Hyperion last night.” Kylie smiled. “You know Hope and I got thrown out of there a few days ago.”
As if they didn’t know? It was on social media, as I could have predicted. So far, I’d had no blowback from the incident. “How was it?”
“So good. The best food ever.” Kylie winked at me like we shared the same joke. None of it was funny, but sometimes I lived on another planet from the rest of them. That was fine. Story of my life.
“It was,” my friend Jessie piped in. “The best lobster risotto I’ve ever eaten.”
I sighed. Yes, this could get worse. I loved nothing more than food. Truly. It was the single biggest joy in my life outside of my nephew and my sisters. I supposed I’d put my brother-in-law in there too. He was pretty cool.
“Hope, are you listening?” Kylie touched my knee.
No, I really wasn’t. I got to my feet. “Sorry, ladies. I think I’m not feeling well tonight. I’m going to go. Enjoy the food. See you later.”
I turned and walked-slash-ran from the restaurant before any of them could stop me. I hustled to the car, directing them back to Hyperion. Max had said that I couldn’t go inside or be in his alley. Nothing said I had to obey his orders, after all.
I just had to wait for the garbage to go out.
It didn’t take long. Dano, the nose ringed guy, came out a few minutes after I arrived. I jumped out of the car.
“Hey, Dano.”
The shocked man turned to stare at me, his mouth falling open. “You again?”
“Yes, right, me again.” I rushed over. “I know I’m not supposed to be here. I get
it. I’m going. Here.” I handed him a hundred dollars with my business card. “That’s for you texting me, at the number on that card, anytime the restaurant needs something it can’t get. Okay? Like the peaches. I’ll get it for you. Can you do that? Hundred dollars every time you do.”
He stared at the money and then back at me. “You’re serious?”
“As cancer and a heart attack. Yes, it’ll be our secret. I’ll never tell Max who told me. Can we do this? Our little secret.”
Dano shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like a bad thing.”
“It’s not. Your chef is just being stubborn. I want to help.”
He was quiet. “He is stubborn, but I heard you’re why his last restaurant failed. I think he called you a meddling nuisance.”
“Well, that was nicer than he had to be. Look, have you ever screwed up so badly that you didn’t think you’d ever make it better? That’s what I did. But I want to try. This is a small thing.”
Dano pocketed the money and my card. That was when I knew he was going to do it. “I’ve fu—screwed up a lot. So, yes, I get it. I do. I’ll help.”
I’d never felt so relieved in my life. “Thank you.”
I rushed back to the car. Max couldn’t catch me, or he’d ban me from the whole street.
I leaned back in my seat. The smell from Hyperion had been fantastic. My stomach grumbled. I’d never get to eat his food, and that was a huge bummer.
When I got dropped at home, I tried to only lock the door once. But my head wouldn’t clear until I’d gone three more times. I was stuck at four. As long as it was four, I wasn’t calling the doctor. I took a long breath.
This night called for romantic comedies and ice cream. Who needed dinner when I could skip right to dessert?
My phone dinged. It was Bridget. Something is going on with you. You still haven’t told me what you did.
I texted back fast. I don’t want to. How are you?
I’ve had five bad dates in the last three weeks. I swear I’ve done something karmically to only meet terrible men.
That was probably true. Bridget’s dating life often seemed almost unreal. She was beautiful and smart, not to mention she absolutely wanted to find a true partner for life. I was never looking, not lately, and Layla was off the market. It seemed ridiculous that Bridget couldn’t find someone, since she tended to massively succeed at everything she tried to accomplish.
Hang in there. Somewhere in Hong Kong is a man worthy of you.
I could practically see her eye roll from across the world.
Chapter 3
Muffy liked to meet at my office and then go to lunch. It was how we did business. She had placed more money than most people would ever see into an account so that I could throw her choice cause a party. That meant she could do whatever she wanted in terms of meetings. Today, she brought her son with her and his nanny, Berta, as well. Timothy was five years old, cute with his chubby cheeks, blue eyes, and bright smile. He had the blondest hair I’d ever seen. It was practically white, and he looked just like Muffy’s husband, who was never with her and I had never seen, other than when I’d searched for them online in the beginning of our business relationship.
We’d never known each other before this all started. It wasn’t like my father had a social life or was ever seen in public. My sisters and I had created personas—sometimes on purpose in my case, sometimes not in theirs—which grew to the point where the public called us The Redheads. Why not make that work for us? Layla had run from it because that was what she needed, and Bridget didn’t care one way or another about it. But I’d managed to get the attention of people like Muffy, and that was helping me to A, save the world, and B, support myself very well in the meantime. Sure, maybe I wasn’t actually saving the world, but I did believe I helped.
That had to mean something.
For now, as we sat in Tatty’s, the lunch place where I liked to take Muffy because she enjoyed the wine list, I half listened to my client, instead sort of focusing on her son. He played quietly with his mother’s phone while his nanny ignored him. He was really, really cute. I loved kids, always had, even if I was fairly certain that I had no business raising them.
I was a mess. Hands down. And I wasn’t going to leave children to survive in the wake of my mess like my mother did. Besides, it wasn’t like I had a slew of men lining up to have babies with me. I wasn’t going to become a parent unless I had a partner to share the experience with me. Single parenting with my already uphill battle of issues was out of the question. I wasn’t strong enough for those challenges. I admired those who did so much, but I knew I wasn’t up for that task.
It would have to be the right person too. I wasn’t going to maybe leave behind a bunch of kids with someone as inept at parenting as my father had been. Nope, I needed to cut off that train of thought immediately. It wasn’t helpful.
Muffy treated Tim like an accessory. In truth, she was more concerned with her purse than her son, not that it was any of my business. It really, truly, wasn’t. She was my client. What I thought of her parenting didn’t matter. Besides, what did I know about raising kids?
She liked to talk, and I could usually manage to take breaks from paying attention for periods of time. I cued back in right as I needed to. “Yes, we can find someplace unique. Tell me what kind of venue you are thinking about?”
Now that I’d finally nailed her down on a date—Muffy was flighty—I could work on where we were going to host the charity night. In the next month, I’d booked out the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the roof of Chelsea Piers. There were lots of subtler places, but Muffy wouldn’t want subtle. I could just about guarantee it.
“What is the newest, hottest venue?”
The waiter chose that moment to set down my tuna tartare in front of me. I stared down at it. This was just what I’d intended to order the other night at Max’s place. I hadn’t gotten to eat it there.
Max’s place…
I stared at Muffy and smiled. “Well, you know lunch is the new dinner, when it comes to charity events.”
Her mouth fell open. “Really?”
“Really.” I nodded. I was totally lying, but if I could pull this off, everyone would be happy. “It’s cheaper, and it shows the person who is throwing the event cares more about giving the money to the cause than the venue. Just a thought. It might not be traditional or what you’re looking for, but…”
She nodded fast. “I’m in.”
“Then I just might be able to suggest the absolute perfect place.” I took a bite of my tuna. It wasn’t fantastic. Next time, I’d order something else.
Max wasn’t done with me. Not yet. I was determined to do something to help him, whether he liked it or not.
I knocked on the backdoor of Hyperion again. This time, Anna answered. She lifted her eyebrow by way of greeting, and I lifted both of mine back.
“I’ll get him.” She stepped away from the door and motioned for me to follow her. “Don’t stand on the street. It looks funny to have people at the door. This is a classy place.”
It looked funny? It was two in the afternoon. No one was there to eat yet. Still, I wasn’t going to argue with her, so I followed her inside where she stopped me with one look. “Stand here.”
Okay. I’d never been in the back of a restaurant before. Visible in the distance were two offices, and beyond that, an active kitchen. Ten people busily prepared food, and although it was quiet, two people spoke in low voices as they chopped.
My phone dinged, so I looked down at it. My secret accomplice had texted me. I smirked. He had no idea I was there, but they needed green onions. Why were green onions short? I could do a whole study on the food that could suddenly go scarce and still not understand it. How did these things work?
I sent a quick message to my cousin, who responded he’d take care of it for me. That was right. I was the provider of missing food. I was the source for it. Smirking, I shook my head. The things that happened in life could be real
ly downright weird. Who would have ever thought I’d be doing this?
“What now?” Max leaned against the wall, looking far too sexy for so early in the afternoon. How was it his whole body screamed sex when he was doing nothing but leaning against the wall? He once again sported a chef’s uniform.
I smiled, even though I knew he wouldn’t return the effort. It was just polite. Our nannies taught us to use our manners, especially in difficult situations. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Sex won’t replace my restaurant, no matter how good you think you are at it, so if that is the proposition, you should leave right now.”
I sucked in a breath. Ouch. Okay. “I’m not…I’m not offering you that.”
If only he understood how absolutely I would never, ever offer sex to anyone. It was completely off the plate.
Anna walked by and hit him hard, right in the arm. “Not funny.”
He winced. “Sorry.” Max walked toward me. “Sometimes other people don’t appreciate my sense of humor.”
“Because it’s not funny, Chef,” Anna called over her shoulder as she disappeared into one of the offices.
“I…” I cleared my throat to give myself a moment. “I raise money for a living. For people’s charities, for the causes they care about.” Or as Bridget might have said, the rich’s pet projects, but I wasn’t going to disparage my career in front of Max. Especially not if he was going to start accusing me of offering him sex. “I need a place to hold our latest event. The payout for the venue would be significant.” I grabbed my business card out of my purse and wrote down a number. I intended to pay ten thousand dollars an hour to cook and use his space. That was well more than the going rate for a place like his. Muffy wouldn’t mind. She wouldn’t even know, honestly. At the end of the day, she’d get the press she needed and her cause would raise millions. If I could throw thirty grand at Max in the process, I would. I’d give her back ten thousand, from my fee, so I wouldn’t be stealing from her.
Redheaded Redemption (Redheads Book 2) Page 3