by Robin Kaye
“How long has what been?” Skye wasn’t sure whether she should go to Nicki. She wanted to, and not for the first time, she wished Logan were there. He always knew what to say and do when it came to his little girl. Skye was still new to all this.
“How long has it been since she was dumped?”
Pete hauled himself out of the chair and rubbed his chest. “Almost six months.”
Slater nodded to Skye as if it all made perfect sense. “It takes at least a year to either stop running for the door or away from it every time someone knocks.”
He must have seen her look of confusion, so he continued. “It takes a couple years to stop waiting for the case manager to show up and tell you to pack your bags.”
“How long do you think it’ll take for her to believe that we love her?” Her voice was almost a whisper.
Skye watched Slater; his eyes held that same quality Logan’s did. Strength, depth, with a scary twist of total desolation.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the day after you finally figure out what the fuck you did to make your real parents stop loving you. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
And just like Logan’s, Slater’s shields rolled down, closing himself off to her, to Pete, to everyone.
“I’m going to talk to her. Okay, Pop?”
“Sure, son. It might be good for both of you.”
Slater picked up his bag and headed down the hall, walking the same walk Nicki had, the same plod of his feet, the same angle of his head, the same slow, purposeful gait. He looked like a giant, lighter-skinned, male version of Nicki.
Pete stared after Slater and then, as if his legs couldn’t hold him up any longer, collapsed into his chair. Thank God he hadn’t moved. He covered his face with his hands and cursed.
“Pete, what’s the matter? Are you okay?” Skye knelt beside the chair before she even registered moving.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Pete wasn’t a very good liar. Something was definitely wrong, but she didn’t think it was his heart.
CHAPTER 17
Logan walked from the limo to the club with Payton and Walt. He had a part to play. The same part he’d played for years. It fit like an itchy wool sweater—it looked fine, but looks didn’t make it any less irritating.
He held the door for Payton, who stuck to him like gum to the bottom of a favorite shoe, reminding him with every step that something was wrong. Dead wrong. No amount of rationalization would make him feel less guilty. He’d never cheated on anyone—until today. At least that’s what it felt like. Everything he did felt as if he were betraying Skye. Every step he took was like another shovel of dirt—digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole he feared he might never be able to escape.
They were seated in the main dining room of the country club—the club for which he’d worked so hard for acceptance and realized that admittance as a fake didn’t equal acceptance at all. If the people surrounding him knew him—the real him, the one behind the facade—most wouldn’t give him the time of day. He’d become a cardboard copy of every other person in the room.
Halfway through the meal, his phone vibrated and he knew it was Skye, the same way he knew she wouldn’t understand any of this. Hell, he wasn’t sure he did anymore.
Payton’s chair was too close, her perfume too strong. She’d been force-feeding him bites of her food, and making it impossible to ignore her without being rude. She slid her nails over his thigh, and his muscles jumped beneath her claws. He caught her hand, gave it a punishing squeeze, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “That’s enough, Payton. I’m not putting up with this. Leave me the fuck alone.”
He pushed his chair away. “Excuse me.”
Walt leaned forward. “Logan, you gave me your word.”
“I know.”
“This competition is important, not only to the future of Billingsly wines, but if you remember your contract, it’s important to your future income.”
“I realize that. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.” Logan stood and adjusted his tie. His eyes landed on Skye’s brother Patrick, who dined with a woman who stared right back, shooting virtual daggers at him. He didn’t even know her. It made no sense. He was sure that Patrick knew nothing about his relationship with Skye. Patrick didn’t even know where Skye was, so why was Patrick’s date looking as if she’d like to fry his entrails in hot oil?
Logan stepped away from the table and headed to the men’s room. He needed to at least text Skye. Tell her he loved her. Let her know he was thinking of her. Missing her. He might have to play the part of Payton’s fiancé a little longer, but then they were through, and he didn’t want Skye to worry.
He stood in the small sitting room just outside the restrooms and sent Skye a text. “Having lunch b4 leaving 4 competition. All packed, sold my car, can’t wait to get home. I miss u like crazy. I love u, L.”
“Was that your fiancée, Payton Billingsly, with you?”
He looked up from his phone, a stupid smile still on his face, and stared into the eyes of Patrick Maxwell’s lunch companion. “Have we met?”
“Not formally, no. But unlike you, I don’t conspire with the enemy. And you, Logan Blaise, are a lying, cheating sack of shit in an overpriced suit.”
“What? Look, lady, I don’t know who you are or what the hell your problem is—”
“My problem is that my best friend is in Red Hook taking care of your family while you’re here playing slap-the-salami under the table with your supposed ex-fiancée.”
Logan’s heart thudded like a flat tire and then stopped. “You’re Kelly?” Shit. “Hold on.” He grabbed her arm, and the look on her face had him release her immediately. “It’s not what it looks like.”
She stepped closer so he could see the image on her phone. “Pictures don’t lie. Here’s a message from Skye.” He didn’t even see the hand coming until it slapped his face so hard, he was sure it left a handprint. The sting made his eyes water and his jaw ache.
She brought the hand that slapped him to her chest, then shook it out before balling it into a fist.
Oh God. Skye thought he was back with Payton. He held up his hands. “Wait a minute. Kelly, you don’t understand.”
“Go to hell, asshole. One word and I’ll sic her big brother Patrick on you.” She turned to walk away and nearly collided with Payton and Walt.
Payton skirted Kelly and wrapped herself around Logan’s arm. “You two know each other?”
“Just by a mutual acquaintance.” Kelly’s gaze met his and he knew just how a feeder mouse felt when it was dropped into a python’s cage. He wasn’t sure how long she’d toy with him before she went in for the kill. What Kelly didn’t know was that if Skye thought he and Payton were really back together, the deed was as good as done. Kelly’s misinformation just might have killed any dream of a life with Skye. He watched Kelly walk away, still stunned by what she had just done.
Walt stepped forward. “We have a plane to catch, Logan.”
“I just need a minute. Then we can go.” Logan didn’t even look at Walt. He shook off Payton and followed Kelly. He needed to explain.
“Kelly, wait. Please.”
She stopped just before entering the dining room. “Forget it, cretin. You and Payton deserve each other.”
Before he could speak, Kelly slipped through the door and any chance he might have had was gone.
“Logan.” Payton slid her arm though his and hung on like industrial-strength Velcro. “We have to go. Daddy’s not too happy.” She pressed herself tighter against him. “What was that all about anyway? And why is the side of your face so red?”
“It’s nothing that concerns you, Payton. Leave it alone.”
When the walls of the hole he’d dug himself into collapsed around him, drowning him in dirt, making it impossible to breathe, he was still too stunned to react.
“Logan, let’s go.” Walt urged him forward and he followed without protest.
* * *
Skye was in the kitchen dealing with the beginning of a typical Friday night rush. The tritone of her phone announced a text. She tossed a towel over her shoulder and reached for her cell. A picture and a text popped up from Kelly.
Skye clicked the arrow to expand the picture to full size and her breath caught. It was a picture of Logan and Payton together dining at the club. Payton was pressed against his side with her hand in his lap, while Logan whispered in her ear. The caption said, “Should I hit him?”
Pain battered Skye with the force of a kick to the stomach, all the air in her chest rushed out, and her mouth filled with saliva. She felt physically ill, off-balance, and it sounded as if a thousand flies buzzed in her ears. She gripped the edge of the counter.
“Skye, are you all right?”
Harrison stood beside her looking at her phone—the picture. Logan and his fiancée. She pressed the kill button. “I’m fine, but I need a minute.” Her voice sounded so normal, almost bored. Her world crashed down around her feet and her voice was calm and steady. Amazing. “I’ll be in my office.” She took a deep breath and walked blindly through the kitchen. Her phone rang out with texts. She silenced it, stepped into her office beside the kitchen, and shut the door.
She’d known this was going to happen.
The vision of Logan and Payton flashed before her eyes. Her face heated, her ears burned, and she covered her mouth, trying to hold in the sob that somehow made it through her closed throat.
Anger bubbled inside her with a rage she’d never experienced.
Should she let Kelly hit him? She wished she could be there to do it herself, but if she couldn’t, Kelly was second-best—Kelly was bigger and took stick fighting. A slap from Kelly would probably leave a mark. Good. She’d never wanted to hurt someone before. She did now.
Skye pulled up the text. “Hell, yes!” She shook so hard with anger, she had a difficult time texting. “Go 4 it. Give him a msg for me. Tell him he’s a lying, cheating sack of shit in an overpriced suit.” She took a breath, wiped the tears trailing down her cheeks, and hit Send.
She was in full meltdown when the phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced at it.
“Consider it done. Off to slap the shit out of him. He just left the table.”
A minute later she received a text from Logan. She didn’t bother reading it. She cleared the entire conversation. She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been.
The next text was a picture of Logan’s shocked face with a red handprint on his right cheek. She laughed through her tears and texted back:
“Thx 4 delivering the msg. I lov u.”
“Anything 4 u. I’m here w/Paddy. Should I have him break Logan’s legs? They haven’t left yet.”
“NO!!! Don’t tell Paddy.”
“Ok. U hanging in there?”
“I’m fine.”
“U lie.”
“Going back to work. :( Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
She didn’t have much of a choice; she had a kitchen to run. She’d fall apart after her shift. Besides, she had the rest of her life to cry.
Skye dried her face, took a deep breath, and moved. One foot in front of the other, one dish at a time, one minute ticked into the next. The night seemed interminable.
Harrison kept shooting her strange looks; she ignored them. She ignored everything but her job. That was the one concrete thing she knew she could handle. Everything else in her life could fall apart, but as long as she was in the kitchen, she kept her sanity.
When Skye heard the crack of gum behind her, she cringed. There was only one person who could crack gum loud enough to rattle the windows. She pulled a burger off the shelf and measured out a serving of fries before tossing a pickle on the side. “Rocki, it’s not a good time.”
“So I hear. Logan’s burning up my phone with text messages.”
Anger, hot, strong, and violent, shot through Skye and she turned so quick, Rocki had to step back. “Get out. I’m working. I’m not dealing with this now. Leave. Now.”
Rocki sucked in air and choked—probably on her gum. She coughed and then swallowed. When she stopped choking, she wiped her eyes. “Okay, we’ll talk later. I’ll call Patrice.”
Skye held on to her temper by a quickly fraying thread. “Don’t bother. Just leave while you still can.”
“God, Skye, you don’t have to shoot the messenger.” Rocki held up her hands, holding her phone in one—its text screen shining toward Skye. “Logan’s worried about you. He said you have the wrong idea, but he didn’t go into details about what the wrong idea was. So, are you gonna tell me or what?”
“No.”
Harrison stepped in between them. “Rocki, don’t you have a set to play?”
Rocki looked from Harrison to Skye. “Fine, you don’t have to ask me twice.” She stepped toward the doors. “Okay, you do. I’m leaving. Skye, you know where I am if you need anything.”
Skye watched Rocki strut through the kitchen on her ridiculous heels.
Harrison put his hand on her shoulder. “You okay, Chef?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Patrice will be here in about twenty minutes if I know those two. Things are under control if you want to skip out the back way. I suggest you don’t answer your door tonight.”
She didn’t even try to smile; she was afraid her face would crack. Tension radiated through her—even her eyelids twitched. Not a good sign. “I might just take you up on that.”
Harrison walked her to the back door and held her coat for her. “I don’t know what happened, but call me if you need a shoulder to cry on. You know when I get off work.”
She slid into the coat and the vision of rolling around naked on the bed and making love to Logan with the soft fur coat beneath her skin flashed on her mental Jumbotron. Pain hit her again, quick and sharp and deep—like a punch to the heart. “Thanks, but I’m fine.” Maybe if she said it often enough, she would be.
He just nodded and didn’t look as if he believed her. She didn’t blame him.
She stepped out into the cold alley, and her phone rang again. This time it was Kelly. “Hey, thanks for slapping Logan for me.”
“It was the least I could do.”
“No, only best friends smack the shit out of cheating lovers. I hope I never have to return the favor.”
“What are you going to do?”
Skye unlocked the door and headed up the stairs fumbling with her keys. “I’m going to call Rex, the old cook, and see if he can be back before opening on Tuesday.” There, she said it out loud—she was leaving. She had to.
She let herself into the apartment, tossed her keys on the table, and shrugged out of her coat. Pepperoni was still at Pete’s, which was just as well. She didn’t feel like taking a midnight stroll.
“You’re going to quit? I thought you loved working there.”
“I do. I mean, I did. But, Kelly, I can’t be here and work with Logan. I just can’t.” She couldn’t imagine ever being able to see him without completely falling apart, and she didn’t fall apart. It wasn’t her MO.
“Are you even sure he’ll be back? If he and Payton are still engaged—”
“Of course he’s coming back. Nicki’s here. Logan would never leave Nicki.”
“But he’d cheat on you? He’d leave you?”
“You saw it with your own eyes. You tell me.”
“He did say it wasn’t what it looked like. Maybe you should talk to him.”
“Kelly, I saw the picture. What did she do, tie him to the chair and force him to whisper sweet nothings in her ear? I really don’t want to hear anything more from him ever again.”
“I don’t know. Talk to him. Get the whole story. It will give you closure.”
“Has closure ever helped you?”
“We’re not talking about me. Don’t you want to know why he’d do this?”
“I know why. Look at that woman—she’s supermodel material and I’m the Pillsbury Dough Girl.”
> “You’re beautiful.”
“I’m short and fifteen pounds overweight, which, at my height, makes me practically obese.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“No, I’m finally being realistic. It’s about time I got a shot of reality. At least Logan got his too.”
“I have a bad feeling about this, Skye.”
“Probably the same one I’ve had since the beginning. I knew it was a mistake and I did it anyway. It serves me right. I’ll never make that mistake again. Lesson learned: Never fall in love with a man you can’t imagine living without, because you’ll surely have to learn.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, Kell. I didn’t think anything short of being hit by a bus could hurt this bad. I’ll probably cry myself to sleep and get up and go to work tomorrow morning. Being in the kitchen always helps me forget what a disaster I’ve made out of my life. Then I’ll get the hell out of Red Hook before he comes back on Monday. Let me go so I can call Rex. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”
“Skye, think about what I said. Call me if you want to talk more. I’m always here for you.”
Skye couldn’t say anything, so she stood there with tears streaming down her face and nodding before she was able to croak out the word, “Bye.” Skye ended the call, curled up in a ball on the couch, and fell apart. The worst part was that the only shoulder she’d ever wanted to cry on belonged to the one man who built her up only to turn around and tear her down. And still, even after he’d shattered her heart, she still wanted him, she still missed him, she still loved him.
* * *
Skye had only quit one job before, and she didn’t know how to quit without building up a head of steam.
She was out of steam, out of tears—she checked her watch: four p.m.—and out of time. She had to get this over with.
Every time she walked past her computer on her way to the walk-in freezer, she refreshed the screen. She was OCD-ing like a sadist with a new bullwhip. She stared at the picture of Logan receiving a congratulatory kiss from his beautiful fiancée—the caption below the photo was Logan Blaise—a Double Winner. Payton’s engagement ring caught the light at the same time the camera caught their kiss.