Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One

by Robin Kaye

  “No. He tried to sneak down to the bar, but I called Francis and Simon and threatened their lives if they let him drink. For some strange reason I get the distinct feeling that Francis is afraid of me.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “Frankie’s been well trained by Patrice. I think he’s afraid of anything that vaguely resembles a female. Even Pepperoni makes him break out in a cold sweat.”

  “Good to know. I’ll have to ask her how she pulled that one off for future reference. So, what are you doing?”

  “Me? I’m going to bed.”

  She sighed the kind of sigh that made his dick jump. “I wish I was there, or better yet, you were here.”

  “We can still go to bed together. How do you feel about phone sex?”

  “Right now, I’m totally open to it. I miss you.”

  “Really?” Well, damn, that was a pleasant surprise. “Okay then, why don’t you start by telling me what you’re wearing?” Her laughter spilled over him as he headed toward his bedroom. He took a swig of water, hit the lights, and choked when he saw Payton posing on his bed wearing a sheer black gown. He blinked and shook his head. Too-thin spaghetti straps threatened to snap under the weight of what he used to think were a magnificently matched pair of double Ds. Tiny buttons ran from the V of her bosom to the O of her navel and disappeared under a layer of sheer netting. She knelt and the skirt fell open, revealing a barely there G-string. Three months ago he’d have dived into the alphabet. But now the memory of Skye’s slightly mismatched B/C cups were more to his liking. After all, variety was the spice of life.

  He dragged in a breath and coughed again. “I have to go.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Logan, what’s the matter?”

  “I have an unexpected visitor.”

  “Is Payton there?”

  “Yes.”

  “In your bedroom?”

  “Yes, but not for long. I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow. Don’t worry about it. I can handle her. You just get some sleep.”

  “Right, like that’s going to happen. Call me when you’re through. I’m suddenly wide-awake.”

  No doubt. Damn it. He didn’t need this. Logan ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. He squared his shoulders as she shimmied to the edge of the bed, confusion marring her brow. “Get the hell out of my bed and put on some clothes.”

  Her hands went to her hips, and her face flashed red under what was left of her war paint. “Who were you talking to?”

  “None of your fucking business.” He clenched his fists to keep from picking her up and throwing her out. “Get dressed and get out. Now.”

  She scurried off the bed and went toe-to-toe with him. “This is my home.” Her cloying perfume made him step back and breathe through his mouth.

  “No, this is my home. You and I are no longer living together. I thought I made that clear in New York when I told you we were finished. What part of that conversation didn’t you understand?”

  He didn’t bother to wait for her answer—he just turned, walked out, slammed the door behind him, and headed straight to the wet bar. His hand shook as he grabbed one of her precious Baccarat crystal tumblers and the decanter she made him pour his tequila in. The damn set had set him back over two grand. Maybe he’d take them with him, but then what the hell would he do with them? He’d be just as happy drinking out of a jelly jar.

  The door slammed open and she stomped out in those ridiculous heels she called slippers. The slap of her pedicured foot against the shoe hit him like the zap of a Taser and only added to the mad he had building. “You wouldn’t dare throw me out.” She’d pulled on a sheer black robe that hid nothing, and tied it so tightly around her, he was surprised she didn’t cut off her circulation.

  He looked her up and down and shook his head. What had he ever seen in her? He preferred Skye in her ripped sweatshirt and yoga pants, though he had to admit she would look great in Payton’s getup. “I’m not going to get into this with you, Payton. I want you to pack your things and get the hell out of my life.”

  She went from spoiled brat to charity case in the blink of an eye. “Where am I supposed to go?” He really couldn’t believe he’d ever fallen for her theatrics.

  “I ceased to care when you told me you wanted nothing to do with my daughter.”

  “You can’t mean that.”

  “I can and I do. I’ve moved on. You need to too.” He took a sip of great tequila and listened to her labored breathing. Her face morphed from shocked to embarrassed to conniving so quickly, he almost missed it before she gathered her composure and hit the serene button. It was fascinating.

  “Logan.” Her voice took on a low, sexy, Kathleen Turner quality. “We’re engaged.”

  “The sex kitten act isn’t working. Payton, we were engaged and now we’re not. You never loved me. I never loved you. The whole engagement was a disaster in the making. It’s a good thing we called it off when we did.”

  “You can’t just dump me. Without me, you’re nothing.”

  From sex kitten to Leona Helmsley—the Queen of Mean—in less than two seconds flat. His hand tightened around the tumbler. He was glad it had some weight to it—if it hadn’t, he would have crushed the damn thing in his fist. He took a deep breath; every muscle in his entire body vibrated. “If I’m such a nobody, why in the hell are you trying so hard to get me back?” His mind raced and then he saw the look on her face—the look that told him she’d been caught red-handed. “You haven’t canceled the wedding.”

  “Why would I? I’ve decided to take you back. When you were in that dump you call a restaurant, you weren’t thinking straight. Now that you’re home, things will return to normal. You’ll see. We’ll have a fabulous wedding and wonderful life.”

  “I already have a wonderful life—one that does not include you. We’re not right for each other, Payton. The only thing I want from you is for you to leave.”

  “You can’t mean that. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. I even pulled some strings and got Vicki into one of the best prep schools in the area. It took some doing, of course.…”

  He couldn’t help it; he laughed. “My daughter’s name is Nicki, not that you really need to know that.”

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

  “Listen and listen good, Payton. I have a meeting tomorrow morning with your father. Either you tell him we’re through or I will. It’s up to you.”

  “He’ll fire you.”

  “I really don’t care. I have to resign my position regardless. I have a family to think about now, and I won’t move Nicki away from the only home she’s ever known. I’m moving back to Red Hook permanently. It’s my home. It’s where I belong. I’m happy there.” He shook his head and actually felt sorry for her. The anger left him just as quickly as it hit. He was sick and tired of this thing he’d thought of as a life before he knew better. “Look, Payton, I’m tired. I have nothing else to say to you, so I’m going to sleep in the guest room. I’ll pack my things in the morning and leave. You can stay for as long as you want—your father owns the place anyway. Have a nice life.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Logan Blaise. We’re going to be at the competition together. And don’t even think about embarrassing me.”

  “I have no interest in embarrassing you. You do a good enough job of it all by yourself. I just want to get through this weekend and go home where I belong. Do us both a favor and stay the hell away from me. I’m going to talk to your father in the morning, so if you want to be the one to tell him the news of our breakup, I suggest you get dressed and take a run over to his house. Explanations like these are better when done in person. Good night.”

  Logan grabbed his bag and headed to the other end of the house. He stepped into the first guest room, closed and locked the door, then shook the handle for good measure and considered using the dresser as a barricade. Taking a deep breath, he
hit speed dial and called Skye.

  “What happened?”

  Thank God she answered. He hadn’t exactly said good-bye and didn’t say he loved her because he didn’t want Payton to know who he was talking to. The fact that Skye answered on the first ring meant she was either worried or pissed. Either way, playing it straight was his only option. “Payton hasn’t told anyone about the breakup. She’s decided to take me back.” There was silence on the end of the line and his stomach dropped. “Sugar, are you there?”

  “I’m here.” Her voice sounded distant and empty. He broke out into a cold sweat and remembered the bleak look on her face when he left. That desperate gnawing started in the pit of his stomach, the one he used to get whenever the social worker showed up. It had always meant the end was near and disaster was barreling toward him at warp speed.

  “I told her I wasn’t interested.”

  “Okay.”

  “I warned her about the meeting I have tomorrow morning with her father. I’ll tell him about our breakup then if she doesn’t get off her ass and do it first.”

  “Payton left?”

  “I doubt it. I took my bags and locked myself in the guest room.”

  “You’re staying with her?”

  “No. I’m staying in the guest room and talking to you.” He sat on the edge of the king-sized bed and stared into the empty fireplace wishing she wasn’t on the other side of the country, wishing he could hold her, and have her hold him. “It’s just you and me, sugar. Now, where were we?”

  He heard her breath catch and then a quick sniffle—damn, he’d made her cry again. That was going to stop right now. He forced his face into a smile, hoping it would reach his voice. “Oh, right. I remember. You were just about to tell me what you’re wearing.”

  * * *

  Skye looked over her kitchen. She had three line cooks running like mad, her chef de cuisine was backed up, and one prep cook worked on dinner—and Rocki was in everyone’s way. “What do you want, Rocki? And what can I do to get you to leave?”

  “You can agree to have a drink with me and Patrice.”

  “That’s so not happening.” Skye grabbed Rocki’s arm and dragged her out of the kitchen and into her office. “I’m never drinking with you two again.”

  Rocki crossed her arms, snapped her gum, and tapped the pointed toe of the hooker heels she wore. She was dressed as a hotter, prettier version of the Wicked Witch of the West—minus the green face paint. Okay, she had green eye shadow, so it was close enough. Maybe Rocki was trying out her Halloween costume a little early. Still, the girl could pull just about anything off.

  In flats, Rocki stood eight or nine inches taller than Skye; with her heels today, Rocki had a good foot on her. “Look, I have to deal with tall people all the time—you glaring at me from on high is not going to sway me. I’m having a bad day. I’m not the kind of company you’re looking for.”

  Rocki rolled her eyes, threw herself into the chair opposite Skye’s desk, and tossed her black-and-white-striped-legging-covered leg over the arm of her chair. “We’re not doing this for us, Skye. We’re your best friends and we’re doing this for you. We know you’re going through Logan withdrawal and we thought we could help.”

  Skye collapsed on her desk chair hoping a house would land on Rocki, and tugged on her neck to relieve the stress that was crawling up her spine toward her aching head. After the sleepless night she’d had, she doubted anything would help—except if maybe Logan came home, and it didn’t sound as if that was going to happen.

  She learned a little too late that phone sex only made her miss Logan even more than she had already and made her hornier than she’d ever been before.

  Rocki preened into a compact mirror, spiking her blond hair, and then fixed her bright red lipstick. She looked over the top of the compact at Skye and smiled. “You can drink a Coke if you want. We promise not to serve you any alcohol ever again.” She frowned for a second and then waved her hand. Her nails were painted a fluorescent green to match her eye shadow. Skye didn’t know anyone could pull that off, but Rocki somehow made it work. “Sorry about getting you drunk by the way. We had no idea what a lightweight you are.”

  “Okay, I’ll join you in a while. Just let me get through this lunch rush. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

  Rocki tilted her head and stared at her. “He really loves you, you know. It’s been written all over his face since the first day you walked in here. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  “Right.” She just shook her head and went back to the kitchen. If she started to think about Logan sharing a house with Perfect Payton, she’d make herself sick. They didn’t know Payton the way she did, and they didn’t know that Payton was still living in Logan’s house—or was it technically Payton’s house? She really didn’t know. She pulled the bill of her baseball cap down, walked into the kitchen, and checked the computer screen. “I need an allergy carry.” She took the dish for the person with an onion allergy, wiped the rim with her towel, and drizzled hollandaise sauce over the lobster omelet, and tossed some parsley on it. “Where are those potatoes for the onion allergy?”

  “Right here.” Harrison slid them onto the shelf separating the front of the kitchen from the stoves.

  She took the plate and eyed her sous chef. “You followed them?”

  “I made them myself. No onions. Promise.”

  She hated stepping out of the kitchen when she was supposed to be in charge. Following this dish had been her job—a job she’d handed over to Harrison while she took a get-rid-of-Rocki break. “Thanks, Harrison.”

  She turned and grabbed Wendy. “I have an allergy carry to table ten. Can you take it out?”

  “Sure.” Wendy placed a cloth napkin on her arm and set the dish on it before giving Skye a once-over. “You hanging in there, Skye?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because Logan’s gone and you look as if you didn’t get any sleep.” She tilted her head and then patted Skye’s arm with her free hand. “When Jeff left me, it took a good week before I could sleep without him. It’ll get easier in a few days.”

  God, did everyone know she and Logan were sleeping together? Dumb question, obviously. “Wendy, Logan didn’t leave. He went out of town on business. He’ll be back Monday morning.”

  She must have spoken a little too loudly because everyone in the entire kitchen stopped what they were doing and stared. She turned back to Wendy, who was doing a great imitation of a whipped puppy. Damn.

  “Sure, Skye. I didn’t mean to suggest—”

  “I’m sorry.” She tried to rub away the throbbing of the headache taking root in her temples. “I know. I’m just—”

  “Worried. It’s understandable. I’d be worried too if my hottie of a boyfriend flew off to the other side of the country to spend the weekend hanging around his ex.”

  “I’m not worried and Logan is not hanging around his ex.” He’s just sleeping under the same roof with the barracuda. “He’s just packing his things to move home and then going to a wine competition or something.”

  “Okay, sure. Sorry I mentioned it.”

  Skye blew out a breath and looked around—everyone was staring.

  “Chef?” Harrison, God bless him. “Could you give me a hand back here?”

  “Sure.”

  She turned and followed him into the walk-in. “What do you need?”

  Harrison turned around and leaned against one of the tubs. “Nothing. I just thought you could use a minute to cool off. Wendy didn’t mean anything by that comment. She’s still getting over Jeff taking off, and well, when you’re in her situation, you see problems where there are none. You know?”

  “Yes, I do. I didn’t mean to overreact.”

  He smiled and gave her a hug. “You’ve just been a little off your game since Logan left.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and held her arms so he could look her over. “Why don’t you take Rocki up on that drink? I’ve g
ot everything handled here. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  “Are you giving me a time-out?”

  “No, I’m just giving you a break. You look like you need one.”

  “Fine. I’ll go, but only because I know you can handle the kitchen. Thanks for all the great work you’re doing. You’ve really stepped up—I’ve told Pete that you’re my rock back here.”

  “You have?”

  “Harrison, of course I have. Why wouldn’t I?”

  He turned red. “I don’t know. I always thought that Rex and I worked well together, but the small changes you’ve made to the line have really made a big difference. Now things run much more smoothly. Don’t get me wrong. Rex was great.…I just didn’t feel like I could take on more responsibility with him around. With you things are different.”

  “Except when I haven’t gotten enough sleep, huh?”

  Harrison shrugged again. “We all have bad days. Go ahead and let off some steam with Rocki and Patrice. I’ll cover the kitchen for a few hours; then you’re on your own.”

  “You talked me into it. Thanks.” She untied her apron, took off her jacket, thankful she had thrown a shirt on underneath her chef’s whites today, and headed to the front of the house. She spotted Rocki and Patrice in a booth and stopped by the bar. Simon was busy, so she went through the pass-through, poured herself a Coke, and asked Wendy to bring over a few appetizers. Even without alcohol, she needed some food to ensure that she kept her mouth shut. “How’s it going?” She slid in beside Rocki, who sipped her wine. “I hope you’re hungry. Food is on the way.”

  Patrice smirked and nudged Rocki across the table. “I told you befriending the chef came with perks.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave Skye the once-over. “You look like hell, girlfriend. It’s a good thing we showed up when we did. Now spill, what’s wrong?”

  Skye forced a smile—it took some doing and from the looks on Rocki’s and Patrice’s faces, she didn’t do a very good sales job. “Nothing’s wrong. Why?”