“Of course.” The words are barely audible and followed by suffocating silence. My heart beat skips once…then twice.
Of course.
“This is all my fault,” he shakes his head. “The fact that Jeffrey’s here…it’s all my fault. When I saw you again, at the wedding, I found out everything I could about the people you were working with, about this…the deal you’re trying to make here. I wanted to help you; to make sure you got this. And then I saw his name as your sous-chef, and it was like this bolt of lightning that strung everything horrible together. I just knew…”
I stare at him through long, heavy breaths as I try to put everything new I’ve just learned where it goes in my heart and head. There isn’t room for it, though—for any of it.
“I have to get out there, Jamie. I have to face him,” I say, my hands balled into fists at my sides.
Jamie nods, his focus first down at my feet, then his gaze climbs up my body. This time, when our eyes meet, it’s like I can see his heart race behind the blue. Mine’s racing too. We’re racing—going nowhere.
“I know you do, Mia. But I’m still going to stay. You have to let me help you. I owe you that,” he says.
We stare into one another, wordless, for several seconds, and eventually I lift my chin in acceptance of his offer. I don’t want him to go. He does owe me this. But then…I can’t watch him leave when it’s done.
His thumb grazes my chin, and I look up into him. Home.
His fingertips move to the side of my face, drawing a delicate line from my cheek down to my neck and my head moves into his touch even though it shouldn’t. This isn’t right—it isn’t how any of this was supposed to go when I imagined seeing him again. I was going to tear him down. I was going to show him how fine I was without him; how independent I was. Fantasies rarely live up to reality.
He steps closer, and I stop breathing. My teeth grip my bottom lip, and his eyes move to my mouth, his hand moving to my lower lip, his thumb sliding lightly along the skin until my lip falls free of my hold and puffs out with the push of his thumb. My chest rises and falls quickly, repeatedly, with this suddenly welcome suffocation, and then the right side of his mouth lifts into that familiar, casual grin he used to get just before he was about to kiss me. I close my eyes and ready myself for it—I want it.
Our foreheads touch, and his other hand comes to my face so he’s cupping both sides. A world of problems awaits on the other side of the door, but that doesn’t matter because time is stopping for just…right…now.
His lips graze mine.
The pounding behind him, on the thick metal door is hard.
The voice shouting through it is muffled.
One word manages to break through, though.
“Locked!”
Chapter Four
8:02 p.m., freezing, and service begins
Jamie
“How the fuck could the door be locked?”
Mia has said the word fuck about ninety times in the last two minutes. I’ve said it mentally, but not for the same reason. I was about to fucking kiss her.
“You’re fucking kidding.”
“This is a fucking joke.”
“You fucking asshole…you kept me in here too long.”
“Why did you shut the fucking door?”
I just let her yell. It’s the least I can do. I should have known the universe wouldn’t allow me to feel something with Mia and help her at the same time. I’m always choosing between the two it seems.
I call Neil; I’ve had him on the phone three times—Mia hung up on him the first two, after calling him a stupid fucking fuck.
“Right, okay. Well, until they can figure out how to break us out of here, I’m going to need you to be my hands, okay?” I turn to Mia mid conversation with my trusted friend and partner, and the fury in her eyes drops my stomach. “Yeah,” I say, taking in her pissed-off stare. “Call me as soon as you’ve gotten everyone up to speed.”
I hang up and slide my phone into my front pocket. Mia’s arms cross her chest.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say.
Her laugh comes out hard and fast, kinda like her slap did.
“This is…” she begins, stopping and circling as she brings her hands together behind her neck. “So cliché!”
I shrug because yeah, it is. But I’m not upset. This little favor from the universe is quite literally the answer to one of my millions of prayers. I’ve prayed for every possible scenario that got me stuck somewhere with this woman—the elevator at the resort we were at for the wedding, some freak car crash that pinned shut the doors of a cab we shared…somewhere. Oh, and my favorite—we’re shipwrecked. How we both got on a ship in this fantasy? No clue. But I prayed for it.
Mia needs me to get my way with this. I meant what I said. Jeffrey is not some amazing discovery—a lost brother to grow close to, a link to her father, a connection for her heart. He’s a psychopath. Knowing him the little that I do, I’m not even sure if it was the circumstances that made him the way he is. Sometimes the bad guys are just born evil.
“Do you realize how this looks? How…stupid this is?” Mia is still trying to find a solution, but there isn’t one. We’re going to be in here at least until dessert is served. I talked to Neil; he talked to the engineer, who talked to the facilities team, who will not be down here for at least an hour and thirty minutes with the right kinds of tools.
“I guess it’s a known flaw on this model. Huh…there’s a recall, it looks like,” the engineer said. Mia was not amused. She mocked him. Then she called him a fucking fuck.
“All hands are on deck for the pyrotechnics, I guess. It’s like an elevator getting stuck. These things take a little time, but we’ll get out soon,” I say, my voice calm, which is clearly not what Mia is looking for.
“Okay, come here,” I say, reaching for her hand. She swats mine away, and all I can do is chuckle and step closer, pulling out my phone.
I FaceTime Neil, and when he answers, Mia reluctantly looks on with me.
“Can you hear us clearly?”
It takes Neil a few seconds to find a good place to lodge his phone, but soon we can see him and the rest of the staff, all awaiting Mia’s orders.
“Sorry. First time I’ve had to run a kitchen via Apple device,” my friend says.
“Everyone up to speed?” I ask.
Neil looks over his shoulder then back to the screen, nodding. I glance to Mia, her brow pinched, and then reach up to feel my own face, rubbing my fist in my eyes.
I hold up a finger to the camera and press mute, turning into Mia and leaning so our faces are out of the view of the staff waiting for us to lead them.
“This is ridiculous,” she says before I can even get a word out.
“I agree. But it’s better than you sitting in here waiting, not knowing a thing that’s happening out there. And it’s better than letting Jeffrey win, Mia.”
I stare at her eyes while she blinks through the options, which are few if any, and eventually she nods and sucks in a long draw of air.
“Who do you trust most? In that kitchen, right now…who can be your palate? Who knows you best, knows what would be acceptable in your kitchen?”
I wait while she thinks, and I hold a finger over my shoulder while she processes.
“Camille…I…she and I have very similar styles, and I trust her. She’s young, but…Camille,” she says, looking me right in the eyes the second time she says her name.
“Okay,” I say, turning back to the phone screen, and turning it off mute.
It’s good that the screen is small and we can’t make out every expression, because for the next twenty minutes, Mia and I lay out a plan for the kitchen that includes letting a twenty-four-year-old with very little experience run the pass. The level of expectations we just set is enormous, especially with the slight menu tweaks we have to make on the fly thanks to losing a shit-ton of dairy behind a locked door, and I can sense the fear through the phone even
though we can’t see it. Nobody leaves when we give them the chance, though, which speaks volumes of their belief in the girl I know was born to run a place like this. I’m going to make damn sure she gets to.
Neil carries the phone around to various stations, and Mia and I both give direction—her to her team, me to mine. Every order I give is to support hers. Within the hour, dinner service is underway. There’s little we can do, other than getting updates and checking in, so I drag two large empty cartons close to the door where we can hear the occasional noise from the other side, just so she feels a little bit part of everything.
Her expression has shifted from pissed off and panicked to something more lamenting. As much as earning a spot in Vegas and running her own restaurant is her dream, tonight was still very much a part of that vision. Shoulders curved in and arms hugging her body, both the chill of the air and the sorrow of what she’s missing shows. My half-hatched plan was to swoop in and save her, to make sure her dream was whole and realized, then win her back by telling her everything she never knew about that day I left. The only chance my plan had of working was to roll it out slowly, to earn her trust again before opening old wounds. But seeing her sit with her back slumped against the cold metal wall, her day in the sun playing out without her, all while a sinister man with a grudge works to unravel her work in front of the people that can make or break her—suddenly my plan and success doesn’t feel as important as distracting her this very moment.
“You ever hear of Marcos McQuistion?”
I wait while her head rolls to the side and her eyes meet mine. They haze a little with thought—she’s reaching for the connection, recognizing the name but not sure why. I breathe in deep, then exhale slowly, watching the light fog from my nostrils fill the small space between us before I turn my head back to stare straight ahead. I can’t look her in the eyes and say these words. I don’t want to see her think so little of me.
“He’s a bookie, or…he was. He also funneled money to the LaPasso family. They offered him protection and enforcement in return for a cut and some guaranteed action going their way. I started placing bets right around the time we met.”
I feel her shift her body, turning more toward me, so I harden my resolve not to look her direction, and I keep talking.
“Just a hundred bucks on a game here and there, and I won a few and lost a few. I mostly liked the thrill of the action. I’d met him through one of my frat brothers from college who had placed a few bets with him. It was all supposed to just be this fun little ride, something I’d do for a while and then quit…”
I look down at my folded hands when I hear light laughter escape her lips. Mia knows how easily I dance with addiction. One drink was always four; fifty miles per hour was always a hundred. Safe was never my style, and danger was always alluring. As much as that side of me frustrated her, it also turned her on. It’s what made me the chef I am today; the risk…it brought great reward.
It also cost me her.
“You remember the time I came home with the black eye…maybe a year or so before I left?”
I spare a glance in her direction, but turn when I see the glassiness of her eyes.
“You said you’d gotten into a fight at the bar. You said you beat some drunk guy at pool and he took you outside. Your eye was swollen shut, and you had two broken ribs.”
Hearing her repeat my lies stings. I turn to face her again, getting what I deserve when she stares back at me with nothing but a fog of disappointment coloring her features.
“One hundred and sixty-thousand,” I say.
She blinks slowly. I can tell by the slight twitch her lips make and the widening of her eyes, the expansion of her pupils, that she knows exactly what that number meant.
“Marcos gave me a choice—work off my balance or end up at the bottom of Lake Michigan encased in concrete. It was only supposed to be a few big jobs. But then…”
“You liked it,” she finishes for me.
My mouth draws into a flat line, and I breathe out through my nose, never dropping her gaze. I nod slightly.
“I fucking loved it,” I admit.
Her eyes blink rapidly as she shakes her head, her mouth curling on one side while her head tilts and her gaze moves just beyond me. My stomach tightens—she’s this disgusted by me and I haven’t even told her the hard part yet.
“I got caught, and your dad…he put up his restaurant to bail me out.”
Her eyes snap to mine with that. She offers no other movement but the lowering of her lids, looking at me through angry slits. I let her judge me, staring at me with vehement hate for nearly a minute until her lip falls free with the breath she takes to speak.
“You fucking asshole.”
I do nothing but nod, my mouth resting in a straight line, my heart ready to take in whatever she has to dish. I’ve been due her words for years. When she finally looks away, I finish giving her the truth.
“I couldn’t let him. I would have lost my case anyhow, and then what kind of man would I have been?”
Her laugh comes out like a punch, and she leans her ear closer, her lashes sweeping once…twice…until she’s looking at me sideways.
“You made a deal,” she whispers.
I nod.
“I took down Marcos McQuistion, but it meant I had to lose you.”
My words scratch at my throat as they come out, and my eyes sting with emotion. I laugh lightly, the kind that comes from misery, then draw my legs in close, bending my knees and resting my arms on top.
“I promised your dad I would let you go, not let you get ruined by any of this—keep you out of my shitty choices and fuck ups,” I say, holding up my hand when I feel her begin to protest. “And I know what you’re about to say: Why didn’t I fight for you?”
She relaxes a little, a small crease forming between her brows, hurt coloring her amber eyes.
“I didn’t put up a fight because he was right, Mia. My problems? They would have wrecked you then and forever. This moment right here? I mean…not the shit luck of getting locked in a freezer with me, but this…your break here in Vegas? There’s no way that would have happened if you stuck by my side. You needed to be rid of me to soar, Mia. Your father was right, and I loved you too much to drag you down with me...”
Her face fallen toward her lap, I take a leap, breathing deep and reaching for her fingers, thanking God when she doesn’t jerk away from my touch.
“I love you still,” I say, and her eyes widen fast.
Her fingers are frozen against mine, her touch rigid and her breath stopped. I let her process, her features unflinching and her eyes becoming glassy from her lack of blinking after almost a minute. I let my fingers run along her hand more until I’m finally holding it in my own, my thumb tracing small circles along her wrist, yet she still doesn’t move or blink.
“Mia?”
She blinks once at her name, her eyes opening on a new focus point, somewhere in the center of my chest. I lift my other hand and wave it in her view, and her gaze slowly slides back up to meet me.
“The potatoes.”
My mouth tightens and I suck in my lower lip.
“What about them?”
Her brow furrows and her head tilts just as we hear the sound of a drill working on the hinges of our door. Her color, pale from being cold, suddenly brightens pink, and I know the only thing that could do that to her now is a shot of adrenaline, and despite how badly I want to, I also know I haven’t kissed her yet. Something is wrong with the sweet potatoes—her signature garnish.
“Jeffrey prepped all of the potatoes,” she says, her grip on my hand suddenly strong.
I dial Neil quickly, and he answers just as a worker manages to tug open the freezer door, much sooner than we’d been told.
“Yeah,” my colleague answers, and I fly from our frozen hiding place behind the girl I’ll forever be chasing, doing my best to fill him in while Mia runs straight to the sweet potato station.
“We’re j
ust getting out, but look…the potatoes. Mia said Jeffrey prepped those, and she didn’t get to sample things, so it just hit her that possibly…”
“Relax, man. Her girl—Camille—she made sure to sample everything...three times! They never made it past the pass, and she took over prepping new ones personally.”
I see my friend in the distance, and I hold up my phone to signal that I’m hanging up. I glance down the line to catch Mia hugging a girl I’m guessing is Camille so hard that the young girl’s feet are literally lifting from the ground, and I exhale, leaning back against the door that separates the chaos of the kitchen from the pristine fairytale that plays out for the guests in the ballroom.
“That Camille girl is actually really good,” Neil says, walking up to me and wiping his hands off with his apron. “We should poach her.”
“No,” I cut in.
He squints at me, but doesn’t question my quick response. He knows how important Mia is to me.
“Anything funny come up besides…” I question, gesturing toward Mia and Camille.
“There were a couple of line guys I kicked out. I could tell they were hacks Jeffrey probably told her to hire. They didn’t argue any of it. I think it helped that it looked like I took over,” my friend says, tugging his collar slightly. He’s proud. He should be. One day—probably soon—Neil will realize he doesn’t need me. That will be a sad day.
“Speaking of that cheat…you see him?” I ask.
“Yeah…I saw him. You know Michael Oakley’s here? The actor that I hung out with at our last open?” I blink at Neil because he’s dropped the fact that he’s hung out with Michael Oakley to me about a dozen times in the last month. It’s annoying.
“Great, your bestie is here,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“First, fuck you,” my friend says. “Second…I may have asked him to make a quick request of his security guys to have someone removed,” my friend smirks.
I chuckle, patting my friend on the shoulder.
Diced: A New Year’s Novella Page 3