by Maggie Gates
Maddie was at the other end of the U-shaped bar and was climbing up onto it. I had to give it to her—either she was a very competent drunk or she had done this a time or two. I was leaning toward the latter. She hoisted a beer bottle in the air, her blonde hair flying around her as she screamed, “Turn it up!”
Someone punched a song into the old school jukebox and the bar went wild. I had no earthly clue what the hell was going on, but apparently everyone else did. Tables were shoved to the wall and even Bridget and the other bartender came out from behind the bar. Either I had missed the line dancing memo, having grown up in Brooklyn, or I had walked straight into some kind of backwoods cult. What the hell is happening?
I looked up and watched Maddie’s hips sway as she grapevined across the bar top to the country crooner squalling about moonshine, his granddaddy, and some place called Copperhead Road. The song picked up, and she slapped her heels and scooted across the two-and-a-half-feet of oak like she wasn’t three sheets to the wind. She let out a whoop, and the crowd cheered her on.
Maddie looked down from her stage and shot me a grin. The song ended, and Bridget hurried back behind the bar as the crowd lined up for refills. I reached up and offered Maddie my hand. “You ready to head home?”
“Why Luca Deeeeeee Rossi,” she squealed. “You plan on takin’ me home?” Maddie swayed into my chest and I wrapped my arm around her waist to hold her up. I didn’t know how much longer she’d last on her feet. If she got her hands on another drink, I’d be carrying her out of here. Not that I was opposed to Maddie being ass-up over my shoulder.
“C’mon, Footloose,” I groaned as I shifted her into my other arm and reached for my wallet. “I’ve got your keys.” I spotted Steve headed for the door and I knew I only had a short amount of time to get Maddie’s tab settled before he peeled out, and I’d have to depend on someone who was five minutes away from passing out to guide me around the winding back roads.
I slid Bridget my credit card and told her I’d be covering Maddie’s tab and the one drink I’d barely touched. She handed me a receipt, and I shoved it in my pocket. I led Maddie toward the door. Just before we stepped out into the night air, I glanced back and gave Chase a nod. Maddie stumbled across the gravel, and for the first time, I caught a glance at the vanity license plate on the front of her Jeep. HER-RICANE. If there was ever an accurate description of Madeline Dorsey, that was it.
Steve’s Challenger roared to life beside us as I reached across her body and clicked the seatbelt across her lap. I hopped behind the wheel, and she propped up those long legs of hers on the dash.
“Where we going?” She pouted. Passing headlights illuminated her face every few seconds as I pulled out onto the road. “I was havin’ fun.” Her head lolled across the back of the seat, and she looked at me. “You didn’t look like you were havin’ fun. Why weren’t you havin’ fun, Luca DeRossi?”
I stifled my laugh, not wanting to spoil the quiet of the night. “I had fun watching you have fun.”
“You likeeeee me!” She sing-songed.
“‘Course I like you, Mad,” I grinned. “I just can’t figure out why you don’t like me.” It’s like the old saying went: the only honest people are little kids and drunks. Maybe she’d spill whatever it was she was holding on to, and we could clear the air. I hoped we could, at least. I wasn’t a choir boy—I’d had my fair share of fuck-ups. For some strange reason, though, whatever happened that Maddie hated me for was one fuck-up I wanted to un-fuck-up.
Maddie huffed like a three year old and closed her eyes. “I can’t decide.”
“Can’t decide what.”
“If I still hate you or not.”
“Tell me why you think you hate me then.”
“Mel says I’m loyal to a fault, and maybe you’re okay.” What the fuck did that mean? Before I could ask her to elaborate, she added, “I tweet about you alllllll the time. I wanna tell everyone what a dick you are, but you’re makin’ it hard now ‘cause you’re real nice, and you’re a lotta fun, and you’re a real good kisser.”
Okay. Progress. I could work with that. Maddie’s comment about me being a good kisser made my dick stand up proudly like it was accepting a fucking award. Down, boy. I cleared my throat and shifted in the driver’s seat. “I know. I follow you on Twitter.”
Maddie’s mouth gaped open, and she shrieked so loud I thought the windows were going to shatter. “Oh my God!”
“What?”
She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, and her drunken thumbs flew over the screen in a frenzy. “I have to tell everyyyyyybodyyyy!”
“Tell them what?”
She looked at me dumbfounded. “That Luca DeRossi follows me on Twitter!”
I chuckled and slowed when I saw Steve’s brake lights flash in front of me. I turned off the road and guided Maddie’s Jeep down a long driveway. A house came into sight and Steve slowed to a stop. “Mad?”
“Hm?”
“Where’s your house?” I asked, hopeful for a coherent response. She said that Steve was her neighbor, right? That’s what everyone else said too. But the driveway ended, and there was no other house in sight.
Maddie’s arm flopped toward the left, where the headlights glinted off the water. “Over there.”
I cracked a smile, “So you are a mermaid.”
“No, silly,” she giggled. “My houseboat.” Her laugh turned into a pout as she said, “She doesn’t like it when I get tipsy ‘cause they're ‘fraid I’m gonna fall off the side and drown.”
“Who’s she? Do you have a roommate?”
Maddie shook her head, “My mom.”
“Does your mom live here with you?”
“No, but she worries when she remembers me.”
Well, that was cryptic as fuck. I reached over the center console and unhooked her seatbelt. “Come on, let’s get you in your… houseboat.”
I helped her down and locked the doors behind me. Maddie stumbled across the dock before a streak of sobriety hit her, and she leaped like a ballerina onto the deck of her houseboat.
That was where her gracefulness ended.
She giggled as she held onto the doorframe and wobbled inside. Curious about what houseboat living was like, I followed her inside. She flipped the lights on, and everything came into view. The deck was big. She had a charcoal grill and patio furniture, and string lights were mixed with the vines from the plants she had everywhere. Inside, a tiny kitchen barely big enough for the two of us to stand in opened to a dining room table that could seat four and a sitting area covered in even more plants. I followed her down the narrow hall, passing two doors that I assumed to be a bathroom and closet. The hall ended at a bedroom that was surprisingly spacious. I didn’t know what to expect–I’d never been on a houseboat before, but her place was nicer than most apartments. Maddie stumbled through the bedroom door and flopped face-down on the bed like a dead fish.
I thought she had fallen asleep and was prepared to call an Uber and make my escape when she rolled onto her back and smiled. “Luca?”
“Yeah?”
“You came to the funeral today.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Why?”
I sighed and scrubbed my palm over the beard on my face. I needed to shave before I looked like a werewolf in a few hours. “I, uh, I dunno. Wish I did.”
“You’re in my house.”
“Yeah. I brought you home from that bar.”
“Why?”
I chuckled, “Because you had a little too much fun, and I wanted to make sure you made it home in one piece.”
Maddie smiled lazily. “You’re making it hard to hate you.” She let out an exhausted huff and added on, “You’re wearing me down, Luca.”
“That’s the plan,” I grinned. Maddie grabbed the hem of her tank top, but in her drunken state, it got twisted and stuck around her head, putting her full tits and lacey black bra on display. I swallowed hard, but couldn’t be a gentleman and look away.
“Stay still,” I muttered as I tried to free her from the twisted shirt. Maddie was a hot fucking mess. How is she so organized and rigid at work, but so reckless off the clock? If you had told me that the drop-dead gorgeous blonde I’d met in the gym, the severely focused chef competing in Pastry Throwdown, and the girl who danced on top of bars was the same person, I’d say you were bat-shit crazy.
I pulled her shirt off her head and tossed it to the side. Maddie looked up at me with those big gray eyes of hers, and I fucking melted. I hooked my fingers in the belt loops of her denim shorts and pulled them down her legs. Her matching black thong came into view, and I knew I either had to cover it up or take it off—preferably by dragging it down her tanned thighs with my teeth. There was no in between and my self-control was waning.
“Are you gonna sleep with me, Luca DeRossi?” She yawned. Goosebumps flooded her skin, and all I wanted to do was massage them away.
I shook my head and pulled the covers back so she could get comfortable. “Not tonight.” I pulled the covers up and added on, “But only because when I fuck you, you’re not gonna be three seconds from falling asleep, and it’s gonna be damn memorable.”
Maddie smiled listlessly, “Can’t wait.”
Neither could I. Before I could say anything else, I heard the steady rhythm of her sleep-induced breathing. I pawed around her kitchen and filled up a glass of water. I was a little surprised that her kitchen was sparse. Takeout containers filled her fridge, and she had very few dishes and utensils. My apartment in New York and my condo in L.A. both had commercial-grade kitchens. Granted, I rarely used them, but still—they were there. I carried the water back to her bedroom, stopping in the bathroom to grab some ibuprofen.
I was shocked to find a clawfoot tub squeezed in the small bathroom. Moonlight streamed in from a window above, and I could make out the many plants that made it look more like a jungle than a bathroom. I left her provisions on the bedside table, plugged her phone into the charger, and locked the door behind me on the way out. Luckily,the Uber was already waiting outside for me. I’d barely been able to control myself. Another minute around Maddie and I would have been a goner.
13
———
MADELINE
The pounding in my head had nothing to do with one of my bakers making croissants and everything to do with the massive hangover headache that made me waver between wanting to throw up and wanting to turn all the lights off. Those two desires had nothing on the memory of Luca undressing me and saying that when he fucked me, it would be memorable. I drank more last night than I had in a long, long time, but even the fifty gallons of liquor and beer I’d downed hadn’t erased the feeling of Luca’s hands pulling my shorts off and tucking me into bed.
I yanked open the door to the walk-in freezer and stepped inside. The sub-zero air was a welcomed reprieve from all the thoughts that made me need to change my panties.
Luca hadn’t shown his face at Revanche all day, and part of me wondered if he was avoiding me on purpose. Maybe I had misremembered how last night went down. I got trashed, but I was still pretty lucid—or at least I thought I was. Having my new boss cart me home after a night of drinking should have embarrassed me, but honestly, it didn’t even come close to some of the more humiliating things I’d done. It didn’t even crack the top ten.
Maybe I should have tried a little harder to act like a professional in front of him, but I wasn’t on the clock, and I wouldn’t change. I already tried to quit once. If he wanted to keep me around, he’d just have to learn to deal with me. Take me as I am or watch me as I go.
I grabbed what I needed and hurried back into the kitchen. We were gearing up for a slammed weekend of weddings, and of course my sous chef, Rae, caught a nasty stomach bug. I put my head baker in charge of getting our wholesale pastry orders baked and sorted, but it still meant that I’d be handling wedding cakes and overseeing dessert production for dinner service by myself.
I froze when I got back to my work table. A red Gatorade was sitting beside the turntable I was using to frost wedding cake tiers.
My staff had become Maddie-mind-readers over the years, and they knew what the confusion on my face meant. Javier gave me a grin and said, “Boss brought it down just a minute ago.”
“Chef Christensen?”
Javier shook his head, “New owner—Chef DeRossi.”
“Oh—” I raised my eyebrows and looked at the security cameras mounted in the corner and realized that Luca must have been keeping an eye on things from his office. Could something be both charming and incredibly creepy? I didn’t have a minute to spare, so I simply looked at the security camera and raised the Gatorade toward it in a grateful toast.
Hours passed and then more. Dinner service flew by, and I sang every one of my pastry cooks’ praises. Perfectly crafted desserts flew out faster than I could blink without a single complaint. The centrifuge whirred happily as my chili-caramel cotton candy made its debut on the summer menu.
Things slowed as the dinner crowd thinned, and the dull ache in my lower back was a constant reminder of just how much more I still had left to do. My team cleaned and scrubbed the kitchen to glistening perfection. When the dining room closed for the night, I sent them all upstairs to eat. I looked at the clock—I hated missing the family meal, but with my right hand being out, throwing up her guts, I couldn’t waste any time. I popped in my headphones and turned on a true crime podcast I’d fallen behind on. I took a swig of Gatorade, put my head down, and kept working.
I lost track of how many times the hands on the clock on the wall went around in a circle. I steadied myself on the stepladder and grabbed my hammer. Two hard taps and the central dowel rod was secure. That cake could get flipped on its side, and it wouldn’t budge—Not that Hannah Jane would ever let that happen.
She ruled her weddings with an iron fist and a sweet as sugar smile. Panicking brides? Handled. Bitchy mothers? No big deal. Drunken groomsmen who run into the cake table and almost knock my masterpiece to the floor? Not on her watch. I double-checked the work orders pinned to the corkboard on the wall. Three of the wedding cakes I was currently working on would be for the events she was overseeing at the Taylor Creek Inn this weekend. At least there was an upside. Sure, I’d work myself to the bone, but she’d send me home with a takeout box of catering from each wedding, and I wouldn’t have to cook at home for at least a few days.
Something touched my back, and I had a full-blown conniption. I flailed and dropped the hammer on the table, falling backward off of the stepstool. Two strong hands grabbed my waist. Arms wrapped around and caught me as I flew toward the ground. “What the fuck?!” I shrieked.
“Geez, sorry,” Luca grunted as he caught me and held me against his body until I found my footing. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I clutched my chest and closed my eyes. I probably needed Mel to run some tests to make sure Luca hadn’t given me a heart attack, but I didn’t have time for that. I looked down to the spot I had accidentally dropped the hammer, and cursed when I saw that it shattered a sugarpaste flower to smithereens. Good thing I always made extra. I looked at the clock before turning around and facing Luca. He was in dress pants and a button-up. From the way his tie was loosened and his sleeves were mussed, I guessed he had been behind the line in his suit for the dinner rush. “What are you doing here?”
“I think the better question is, what are you still doing here?” He said as he lifted a bag with the Revanche logo on it. “You missed the family meal. I wanted to make sure you ate.”
I pointed at the four-tiered cake that was stacked and ready to be decorated. “Still working. Two weddings are going out tomorrow. Three more for Saturday. One on Sunday.”
Luca raised his eyebrows, “On top of—”
“On top
of restaurant service and wholesale.”
“And Rae’s still out sick?”
“Yeah, I told her that even if she was feeling up to it, I wanted her to stay out ‘til Monday. I’d rather have one person out a few days than have the entire team get sick.”
He looked around. “And everyone else is gone?”
“Rae and I are the only ones who make the wedding cakes. Javier helps bake the layers and make the buttercream, but that’s it.”
Luca thought for a moment. He rolled up the sleeves to his button up and cuffed them just above his elbows. I allowed myself the pleasure of admiring the tattoos that covered his corded forearms. Hello, arm porn. Walking over to the hooks on the wall, he grabbed a clean apron and put it on. “Alright, Chef Dorsey. Tell me what to do.”
I giggled, “No.”
He looked at my production list. “You’re not gonna go home until you’re done, are you?”
“That’s right.”
“Then I’m at your disposal.”
I sighed, resting my arm on my workspace and cocking my hip. “And you won’t leave me alone until I put you to work?”
“That’s right,” he said with that stupidly adorable lopsided grin of his.
Hell yes, my lady parts cheered.
I huffed and pointed to the industrial stand mixer that was perched in the corner of the kitchen. “Put the champagne buttercream that’s in there in a Cambro and wash the mixing bowl and paddle.”
If Luca was put off by the menial task, he didn’t show it. He grabbed a spatula off the tool shelf and went to work. I kept an eye on him as I finished placing the sugar flowers on the cake and piped little buttercream details on each tier. When I finished, I slid my arms up under the thick board that supported the cake and carried it to the walk-in fridge. Luca was already three steps ahead of me, opening the door and clearing space on the shelf.
“So, champagne buttercream—what do you pair it with?”