A better man would step in and then disappear. But that man doesn’t have a hole in his chest where love once lived.
I can see her passing by the open door to the kitchen, a whirlwind of confidence, milky skin peppered with golden freckles, and the voice of an angel—if angels struck fear in the hearts of practicing cooks and chefs desperate for approval. Her assistant came out to greet me. I saw him tell her I was here. And then I watched her proceed to ignore me for the better part of fifteen minutes.
No longer able to distract herself, she tugs the apron from her body and rolls it tight, tucking it under her arm. Her shoulders rise with her breath; she’s getting herself ready to turn around…to see me. I close the distance between us before she spins on her heels, and as a result, she jerks in surprise as she faces me, my hand ready to greet her.
“Mia.”
Her mouth goes crooked. I smile softly.
Please don’t run, Rabbit.
She takes my hand reluctantly, but her grip is firm—always showing how she’s in charge. And she is. She was then, is now, and will be...forever. My only hope is that she’s not in charge of ruining me for good. If I haven’t stopped after ten years, well…it’s clear I will never quit loving this woman.
I take a calculated risk and cover her hand with my other one as we shake, and I feel the slight tremble. I always did this, though, normally I’d bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it afterward. Her shaking tells me it’s not time to try that…at least, not just yet.
Her eyes glance beyond me, and she pulls her hand away quickly when she sees I didn’t come here alone, her stare pausing on my right-hand man, Neil. For this plan to work, I needed my team. But she’s not going to see it as anything other than a typical power play. That’s the world we live in, and Mia probably more than me. I somehow got lucky, made a name despite my shit-path way of climbing to the top, and people don’t pull power plays on me anymore. I suspect they pull them on Mia all the time.
Why wouldn’t they? Her own father did. She was the inspiration in his kitchen for years, but he just called it instruction. Really, though, he was using her. He was uninspired—he was old. Mia’s palate was fresh and full of adventure. She was fearless but with her father’s foundation and love of the classics. She was the perfect chef. And that terrified that man. He loved his daughter. He just loved his own ego a little bit more.
“What is this? Male chef beats chest, make Jane his bitch?”
Her mouth quirks a wry smile as her gaze moves from my entourage to me, and her brow dips. Spitfire. Goddamn, I’ve missed this.
“I wasn’t sure how short you were, Mia. Frankly, I just wanted to be prepared.”
I should have left that frankly word out because her eyes narrow on me the moment I say it, and she huffs as she turns.
“Follow me. I’ll show you the team.”
I feel Neil’s knuckles brush my elbow, and I turn and shrug him off. He grimaces, and I know he thinks I’m feeding him to a wolf, but that’s not the case. This had to look authentic though, so everyone’s in the dark. Neil needs to go into this with the story I put in his head—that this is our show to run, and that he’s sous-chef…to me. Everyone needs to be on the top of their game. If we can’t deliver the very best for Mia, then the wolf waiting to take her down will feast on our bones…and quickly. It’s sexist…this business. And yeah, Neil would probably fall in line for Mia without a problem. But some of the other guys, well…they’re dick heads. Dick heads who prep and cook like gods, though.
We zip through the impressive kitchen, and I pay vague attention while Mia rattles off the menu, making note of the specifics, to her taste. Sea salt measured per batch. Crème never to boil, never to skin. Light milk, heavy sugar. And my favorite of all of her words:
“Caramelize, caramelize, caramelize.”
“I always did love your sweet potatoes,” I say, looking up at her sideways. I catch her take in a quick breath when I speak, and she shakes her head quickly as she turns away. It’s a simple side dish, perfected by her dad, the man who taught me everything. Everything…but his Southern sweet potato casserole. That’s how Mia knows that through all the ego shit, her dad still loved her, and loved her best. He wouldn’t dare teach me that.
When I realize where she’s leading me next, into the back where room gets tight and dark, I wave off Neil and the rest of my team. The six of them hover around the prep station, watching as Mia’s crew works like a clock—no emotion, perfect unison. She was always classical, and I was always rock-n-roll.
“And here…” she says, pausing to grunt as she pulls the heavy walk-in door open, “is the refrigerator. Everything should be prepped and ready for open, for the most part, but we’re going to go through a lot of dairy tonight.”
I cock a brow as I pass her and step inside, but the moment my face is hidden from her view, I let my act drop. My mouth forms a hard line and my eyes lower. Of all of the things I want to say to her, planned to say when I saw her next, leading with this wasn’t one of them. But then she told me Jeffrey quit, and I just knew. I’d learned everything I could about her life now after the wedding—including who her sous-chef was.
“Mia, you need my help,” I say, back still to the girl that isn’t going to take any of this easily.
“Christ, Jamie…it’s why I called. It was hard enough for me to pick up that phone; please don’t gloat and reiterate the situation I’ve found myself in now, in person…”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” I interrupt, turning and leaning back on a sturdy metal rack. “You need me to run this show for you, if you want a shot at this.”
My teeth saw at my lip while I try to figure out the best way to explain. Before I can open my mouth again, though, Mia’s palm finds my cheek with a swift swing that leaves behind a sting so strong that I instantly begin searching for the most frozen thing available to hold against my face.
“Mother fuck!” I breathe out, settling on what I think may be a stack of pork chops. Mia reaches to grab the meat from me, so I take two strides back and hold up my hand.
“You’re going to contaminate the meat!”
Her hands are on her hips. She’s being serious.
I chuckle with tilted eyes that still show the pain I’m in.
“Are you serious? That’s not even a thing…and fuck, Mia!”
I pull the icy pack away and touch the raw skin with my other hand. It’s half numb and half welted. She hit me hard!
Her eyes are searing, and she’s moved her arms across her chest. Her nostrils flare with each breath, and I know she’s slipped into that unreasonable place she goes when she feels attacked. I understand—she’s a woman in a boy’s club. But that’s not what this is.
I move the pack back to my face and hold up my hand again, my brow lifted, urging her to just give me a breath, to hear me out.
“I know Jeffrey,” I say, deciding it best to hit her with the confusing truth as quickly as possible to stun her silent. It works, and her face twists with her confused expression.
“You…know him? Did you…did you set me up?”
Her face tilts, and her skin is growing red with anger. Shit! She’s misreading me.
“No!” I hold my hand up again, shaking my head. Doubt covers her face. “Listen, I know him…because I fired him. He tried to undercut me with our investors, did a few sketchy things on the line for our big opening in New York, and then he stole from me. The fact that he quit today isn’t the end of him trying to ruin you. His eyes are on a bigger prize, Mia.”
“Yeah, I figured that out on my own, thank you,” she sighs, shaking her head and turning away from me.
“I know, but it’s more than just wanting to make you look bad so he can step in. This guy doesn’t make a move like that unless he has every domino in place. I know this event is like your interview, Mia, but there must be people here who Jeffrey knows are coming and you don’t. There are people on your line that you can’t trust. There are hazards in that kit
chen, and you need my eyes—my team’s eyes. My guess is that Jeffrey’s still going to show up today; he just won’t be working in the kitchen. He’ll be out there at one of those important tables, bending ears. He’s not looking to be someone else’s sous-chef; he’s looking to be their head. He’s got money lined up and everything.”
She looks at me over her shoulder, each breath coming in harshly, forcing her shoulders to rise and fall. Her eyes lock with mine, and I pour everything into the way I’m looking at her.
“I’m telling the truth,” I say.
It’s quiet between us for several seconds until she breaks our gaze and moves her sight to the doorway.
Rabbit always runs.
It’s rash and probably dumb, but the second she moves toward the exit, I rush forward and pull the door closed, standing in front of it to block her. Her head flicks up and her eyes flash wide as she raises her hands up, nearly touching them to my chest before balling them in fists and squeezing them between us.
“Goddamn it, Jamie; move!”
“I can’t do that,” I say.
“I believe you. Now let me get out there so I can do my job and find that rat! Or rats, apparently.”
She is determined, and I know if it were that simple—if it were just another arrogant chef looking to take down the competition, she could handle him. But there’s more she doesn’t know. I’ve only known for a week, since I found out where she was working, and who was working with her. The odds were just too strange—why would he move from me…to her.
“You have to let this be my kitchen, Mia. Just for tonight,” I say. I try to disarm her by setting the frozen meat on the shelf nearby, relaxing against the metal door, and letting my hands fall into my pockets. It only seems to fire her up more, though, and she reaches behind me, her right hand gripping the handle while the left tries to push me away.
“Move!”
I grab her by the wrist, eventually pulling her other hand away, too, and we tangle and struggle like school kids for nearly a minute until I have both of her hands tethered in my grip, held between us. Her lips part as she exhales in frustration, and my eyes can’t help themselves, taking in the soft pink, the light touch of her tongue against her top teeth, the tiny twitch of nerves that hits her mouth.
The world grows slow, and I want to kiss her. I’m buried alive with years of memories, with years of lost memories, with regret and fear and selfish greed.
And I want to kiss her.
She jerks in my hold. I grasp tighter. My eyes flit to hers a fraction of a second before hers come to mine, and I see her looking at my mouth, too. Her world is slow. She wants to kiss me. But then there’s the truth that needs to be said…said now. Kissing her is going to have to wait.
“Mia, Jeffrey…he’s your brother.”
Her color is gone in the first blink of her eyes. After her second, her strength falters. The third blink never comes, and I take her weight into my body and slide with her down to the floor, her face against one arm, her limbs lifeless, and her skin cold from the walk-in refrigerator. I sweep her hair from her forehead and run my thumb along her cheek until she comes to. I have about six seconds to figure out how the hell I’m going to explain this to her.
And then there’s her mouth.
And all I want to do is kiss her.
Chapter Three
7:44 p.m., 15 minutes to go. WTF!
Mia
Somehow, despite being on the floor of a walk-in icebox, I’m burning up. I fake being dazed for nearly two extra minutes as I lie with my head in Jamie’s lap, eyes glazing over as they fade the textured metal pattern on the ceiling in and out. My head is so screwed up right now I can’t even enjoy this little moment of touching him. Not that I should, either, but it’s just been so long. And…
I…have a brother?
My mind is swinging wildly between my duties on the other side of the door and the truth that just knocked me on my ass. My dreams, and the obligations that come with them, are big enough to get me back upright, but it still takes me several seconds to utter a coherent word.
“Explain.”
I know Jamie isn’t lying. I can read him, see the truth right there in the blue. I always could, and those inherent things—the things that make you love someone in the first place—they don’t change.
I move until my knees are almost touching his, both of us sitting on the floor, his back against the door and my eyes holding his hostage until he answers.
His head tilts, and his eyes haze over with something that looks an awful lot like pity.
“I only just found out,” he begins.
My jaw tightens in preparation for the truth, and when Jamie draws in a deep breath, I follow on instinct, doing the same. I’m in for something that’s going to hurt.
“He came to work for me in New York. It was me and Neil, and honestly, we needed some able hands to pull off our venture.”
“Pilaf’s,” I interrupt, and he nods.
“We needed the best, but we couldn’t afford it, and he was like this mysterious gift. He was a workaholic,” he says, the sound of his voice muffled in my head as I take in all of the words he uses to describe Jeffrey. They’re the same words I would have used—determined, robotic, perfect, loyal.
Loyal.
It’s that last thought that jars me from my trance and opens my ears just as Jamie says the word.
“He stole from you,” I say.
Jamie nods.
“He quit on my ass…now…just to fuck me over!”
He nods again.
“He is not loyal!”
I push myself up to stand, and Jamie comes with me, sliding over to block the handle to the door, knowing I’m about to fling it open and march out into the dining room on a hunt, waiting for that piece of shit that apparently shares my DNA to show his emotionless, arrogant face.
“He’s not loyal, Mia. You’re right, and I’m glad this is how you’re reacting,” he says, and my gaze locks with his. “You need to know some things. Your dad…he never met him.”
My chest crumbles a little at the mention of my father, and my lip trembles as a breath escapes, my resolve and anger weakening a little. I don’t have time for this.
I swallow. Jamie sees it. He puffs out a short exhale and glances down, reaching for my hand. The moment he touches me, my eyes flare wide and my focus moves to his tender hold. Wide eyes glare where his fingers meet my skin. What is this day? How is any of this happening to me…Jeffrey…Jamie!
Jamie.
“This man is not some long-lost relative, or some amazing find that you need to reconnect with, Mia. I’m glad you’re not romanticizing this, because he’s a bad man. Sometimes we share blood with people, and that’s it, and that’s all this is ever going to be. I need you to understand that. Jeffrey—he hates.”
“Why?” I choke out the word, blinking once. My eyes still take note of his touch on my hand, his thumb now sweeping slowly over my knuckle. The tingles are so familiar, and I want to chase them even though I don’t have time.
“I haven’t been able to get much from the investigator I hired, but here’s what I know. Your dad had an affair.”
My heart hurts; Jamie’s other hand comes to hold me, his palms now cradling mine. I want to sit again, but I won’t. My jaw twitches.
“Go on,” I say.
“It doesn’t seem to have been anything more than a mistake—one night with a woman in New York. I’m not sure how they met, but it was probably during one of his tours, or a speaking engagement. She was a pastry chef.”
I roll my eyes because of course she was. My dad loved his sweets.
“She got pregnant, and your dad refused to believe her. He called her a liar, according to the few people who knew the situation.”
My eyes flash to his. I push my lips tight, forcing myself to just listen. Somehow, I’m both glad and ashamed to hear what he’s saying about my father.
“Well, was he? A liar? I mean…how do you know f
or certain, if all of these people are saying that my dad said it was false…” I hear how desperate it all sounds and stop talking.
“There was a paternity test, Mia. Jeffrey got proof. And your dad…I think he was probably afraid of messing things up with you and your mom. Maybe he was a harder man than we thought, too. He was always so icy in the kitchen, and maybe that’s how he was in other places. Just…not with you.”
I glance to the side, sucking in my lips hard and nodding, accepting this possibility.
“I’m sure Jeffrey’s mom filled his head with hate. Or maybe he was just born that way. But Mia, I’m pretty sure his life’s goal is to destroy you. It was too much of a coincidence that he found me and then came straight to you. He skimmed off the restaurant, cutting a deal with our money man who eventually broke under the pressure and confessed to me when I started asking questions about the books. He was trying to sabotage things everywhere he could, and he would always needle me with personal questions that I would never answer—questions about you. He said he overheard stories, but I didn’t talk about you to anyone unless they were a close friend. And then one night, after a big test service with a few critics, I…I got fuckin’ drunk, and I told him everything he could ever want to know.”
My head falls to the side just as his hand catches my face.
“I’m so sorry, Mia. The part of me that misses you…it comes out hard when I’m drunk. I told him where you were, not exactly, but that you were in Vegas; I gave him your name. We talked about your dad, and fuck…”
His hand leaves my face, moving to his own as he pinches his brow first then pushes his fingers up through his hair, eventually resting on the back of his neck.
“You…you knew where I was? That I was in Vegas?” My words come out in a whisper. This isn’t the thing I should be focusing on, but there it is—all twisted up with my heart. Jamie knew where I was. And he still didn’t reach out to me.
His eyes flit up to mine and his teeth catch his bottom lip as he draws in a deep breath. His chin lifts in the slightest nod as he blinks.
Diced: A New Year’s Novella Page 2