Playing with Piper (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing for Love Book 3)

by Tara Crescent

  “Owen and Wyatt came into the restaurant last night to taste my signature dishes.” I tell Wendy the entire story. How afraid I’d been that they would back away from their deal, the way they’d apologized for assuming the worst of me, our plans for the reality TV show, and finally, the moment where I almost kissed them. “Damn that vodka,” I mutter. “Tell me something. I’m crazy, right?”

  “In what way?”

  I flush. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a guy,” I reply, looking down at the table. “And then there’s Bailey with Daniel and Sebastian, and Gabby had that threesome, and all of a sudden, there was a little voice in my head that whispered, ‘Why not me?’”

  To tell the truth, I can’t even remember the last time I went on a date. Life has become all about work. Working three low-wage jobs to make enough money for culinary school, then slaving away in front of the stoves at Aladdin’s Lamp. The idea of getting dressed to go out seems foreign to me.

  You love what you do, I remind myself. You love the process of creation, of seeing people enjoy your food. Except the words feel like false comfort after the almost-possibility of last night.

  “How long has it been?”

  Trust Wendy to hone in on that little detail. “Five years,” I whisper, my cheeks flaming.

  She sits up straight. “Five years?” she repeats, her voice aghast. “You’ve been celibate for five years?”

  “Will you keep your voice down?” I demand, annoyed. “I’m well aware of how much my life sucks. You think I want this? I work every evening of the week except Mondays. I start work at ten in the morning, and finish at midnight. What guy would want to date me?”

  “Owen Lamb and Wyatt Lawless,” she replies. “How did they react?”

  I think back to last night. “There were a couple of moments where I thought they wanted me too,” I admit. “But they didn’t make a move.”

  “Still,” she points out, “they’re right there. All you have to do is reach out…”

  Reach out and touch them. Kiss them. Feel their hands all over me, the press of their bodies against mine…

  I set my coffee cup on the table and give Wendy a serious look. “Two guys? Can you imagine my mother’s reaction?”

  She shrugs dismissively. “Pardon my French, but your mother has a fucking kitten no matter what you do. You’re an adult. You’re allowed to do the things that make you happy. Running Aladdin’s Lamp, kissing Owen and Wyatt, whatever you want.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so,” I say bleakly. “I know my weakness, Wendy. I’m terrible at standing up to my parents. I’ve always been terrible at it. I made one brave move in my life when I turned down Anthony and moved to New York for culinary school. I can’t risk messing up with Wyatt and Owen. They are my partners, and they are investors in my restaurant. I’d be a complete idiot if I let anything happen.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she says reluctantly. “You shouldn’t sleep with your partners. Things can get ugly if it doesn’t work out. Your focus should be on the restaurant.” She smiles at me cheerfully. “There’s a silver lining. When you win the contest and you’re beating away customers at the door, you can always hire a proper sous-chef and start taking some time off. And then, you can date whoever you want.”

  Wendy’s right.

  I can’t stop thinking about the look in Owen’s eyes last night when he asked me if I would do anything he said. I can still feel Wyatt’s palm over my wrist when he told me to pace myself.

  Then, like a bucket of cold water, my mother’s voice sounds in my head. Well-behaved Southern women do not have threesomes. Except she’d never say the word threesome, because even in her wildest dreams, I wouldn’t do something so self-indulgent and wicked.

  16

  Coming together is a beginning. Keeping together is progress. Working together is success.

  Henry Ford

  Piper:

  The next month is hectic.

  Wednesday, after talking to Wendy and resolving to keep things between Owen, Wyatt, and myself professional, I go to Wyatt’s office and sign the contract. “Read the small print,” he says, leaning back in his chair and giving me a dry look. “I don’t want you to regret anything.”

  “I don’t make the same mistakes twice,” I reply, pouring over the contract carefully. “I make new ones.”

  He laughs. Once I’ve signed the documents, Owen joins us and the three of us look at restaurant signs. “Simple yet classy,” Wyatt decrees. “That’s going to be our brand.”

  We pick a design that fits our needs beautifully. The sign itself arrives on Friday. The word Piper’s is in italicized cream lettering on a dark grey background. It takes my breath away. It is gorgeous.

  I watch a worker on a ladder take down the old faded Aladdin’s Lamp sign, and put up the new one. I’m not embarrassed to admit there are tears in my eyes.

  The day after that, someone arrives to replace the cracked glass in the front window, and a woman with curly brown hair shows up with planters filled with flowers. My restaurant transforms in front of me, going from looking faded and tired to warm and inviting.

  It’s difficult not to hug Wyatt and Owen, but I remind myself of my resolution.

  New menus are printed on thick cream paper, tucked inside dark brown leather binders. I can’t stop stroking them; I can’t believe this is actually happening. It is with a huge smile on my face that I feed the worn Aladdin’s Lamp menus into a shredder.

  There is a metaphor here. I hope I’m destroying my old life in favor of a brighter future.

  On Sunday night, after we’ve closed for the evening, Owen shows up with a drop cloth, brushes, painter's tape and three gallons of charcoal grey paint. “We can’t afford painters,” he says with a grimace. He’s wearing faded khaki shorts and an old grey t-shirt. “So, we paint.”

  “Is Wyatt joining us?” I ask curiously. So far, whenever something needs to get done, the three of us have done it together. It feels strange that he isn’t here.

  Owen shakes his head. “Wyatt,” he says, “does not deal well with chaos. I don’t think he could cope with the mess we’re going to make.” He moves the tables together in one heap in the middle, away from the walls, then piles the chairs on top of them. “I lucked out and found some chairs in an auction. Good quality dark wood, and they were just seventy bucks each. They’ll arrive sometime during the week.”

  I do some math in my head. “Three thousand five hundred dollars,” I conclude.

  “Add another two grand for cushions,” Owen advises. “It’s still a steal.”

  He’s right, but I can’t stop worrying about money. I give the paint a dubious look. “Will the room become too dark with this grey?”

  “We’ll update the lighting as well.” He gives the cheap fluorescent lights a disgusted look. “Wyatt’s taking care of that. He knows a guy.”

  “Wyatt knows a guy,” I repeat. Every day they hand me multiple invoices so I can track our spending. It’s nerve-wracking to watch them spend thousands of dollars without blinking an eye.

  Owen gives me a reassuring look. “You have to spend money to make money,” he says. “And let’s be honest. A dump like Aladdin’s Lamp isn’t going to win Can You Take the Heat? But Piper’s?” He winks at me. “I have it on good authority that the chef is magnificent. She’s going to blow everyone away.”

  I’m warmed by his praise. Picking up a roll of painter’s tape, I smile at him. “Let’s do this.”

  There’s a sharp knock at the door, and the handle turns. “We’re closed,” I start to shout out, then stop in surprise as Wyatt walks in. He’s dressed casually as well, and he’s holding two pizza boxes in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

  “As tempting as it would be to leave the two of you to deal with this,” Wyatt replies, gesturing to the pile of tables and chairs in the middle of the floor, “I decided that wouldn’t be right. Piper, I assume you haven’t eaten.”

  The aroma of the
pizza makes my stomach rumble. Wyatt’s right. The new sign and menu have been attracting more walk-in traffic. Over half our tables were full tonight, a first for me. I’ve been on my feet for hours, and I’ve had no time to grab a bite. “You are my hero,” I tell Wyatt fervently, reaching for a slice. “Owen, give me a few minutes to inhale some pizza, then I’ll help.”

  Owen sinks to the floor next to me. “There’s no hurry,” he says lazily. “We have all night and all day tomorrow to get this done. Wyatt, you didn’t bring any beer, did you?”

  Wyatt laughs. “What kind of friend would I be if I forgot the beer?”

  He goes outside, then returns with his arms laden with shopping bags. Owen gets up to help him. “How much beer did you bring?”

  “Tile,” Wyatt explains succinctly. “I was worried that the grey paint would make the room look too dark, then I remembered the wallpaper and mirrored tiles and we had left over from Alessandro’s.”

  My curiosity aroused, I peep in the bags Wyatt has brought. The wallpaper is a bright abstract red and yellow print. “We can tile the back wall,” Wyatt explains. “And frame the wallpaper so it looks like art.” He helps himself to a slice of pizza, and opens a can of beer. “It isn’t fancy, but I think it’ll work.”

  “It’ll more than work.” I laugh out loud in glee. “Wyatt, this is perfect. Thank you.”

  His gaze lingers on me. In a rush, all my desire comes hurtling back. Stay away from them, a sensible, practical voice warns me. You’re making too much progress to risk it all for one night of pleasure.

  But what a night it would be…

  He clears his throat and breaks the spell. “You’re welcome, Piper.”

  * * *

  The last four weeks have been almost too good to be true. In thirty days, the restaurant has been completely transformed. It’s gone from a faded dump to a jewel that shines and sparkles. The food’s changed from hit-or-miss Middle Eastern to a contemporary Southern cuisine. Even Josef and Kimmie seem on board with the transition. Josef has shown up to work on time three days in a row, and yesterday, Kimmie didn’t chew gum once.

  It all changes on Thursday.

  I should have known there’d be trouble when I mentioned to my parents that I had two new partners. But I’d been focused on saving the restaurant, and I’d failed to notice their reaction.

  When I get into work Thursday morning, I find a notice waiting for me. It’s from Grant & Thornton, the law firm that are the executors of Aunt Vera’s will.

  I read their letter with nerveless fingers. It states that they have reason to believe the terms of the will aren’t being complied with. They’re going to send an accountant to do a full audit of my books on Tuesday. And, if that’s not enough, until the three year probationary period is over, I’ll be expected to open my books for a monthly audit.

  Damn it. This is nothing other than thinly disguised harassment. When we signed the paperwork to make Wyatt and Owen partners in my restaurant, I’d dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s, and I’d sent Grant & Thornton a copy of all the paperwork.

  The timing couldn’t be worse. Owen, Wyatt, and I have been spending every waking moment at Aladdin’s Lamp, getting it ready for the contest. I’ve been cooking the new dishes we’ve concocted, again and again, until I can make them in my sleep. We’ve found a new meat supplier, we’re auditioning two vegetable suppliers and we’re getting new appliances in the kitchen. Next week is also the first round of the contest.

  Already I’m stretched to the max. Now I have to deal with my parent’s latest passive-aggressive move? I slump into a chair and rest my head on the table, and I struggle not to burst into tears.

  17

  Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Wyatt:

  Owen and I have just walked into Aladdin’s Lamp when my cellphone rings. I glance down at the display, but the caller id is blocked. Shrugging, I pick up. “This is Wyatt Lawless,” I say, as Owen heads to the back to look for Piper.

  “Hello, son.”

  I haven’t heard my father’s voice in twenty years.

  Everything stops. I can’t hear the honks of the cabs, or the rumbling from the subway under my feet. The bustle of Manhattan recedes into the background.

  My palms are damp and my fingers white where I grip the phone. My pulse races. One thought dominates. I can’t have this conversation here. I can’t be overheard.

  Pushing the door open, I go outside. Leaning against the brick wall, shaded by the newly installed blue and white awning, I take a deep breath. “What do you want?”

  He responds to my question with one of his own. “Why don’t you want to meet me, Wyatt?”

  Why don’t I want to meet him? Is he fucking kidding me with this shit? “Why would I want to meet you?” My voice is hard as steel, but my hands are shaking. “It’s been twenty years. You think you can just waltz back into my life and pretend everything’s fine?”

  “I’m your father. You’re my son.”

  “You forfeited the right to call me that when you walked out on mom and me.”

  “When was the last time you stepped foot into that house, Wyatt?” At my silence, he laughs grimly. “Can you really blame me for leaving? Your mother would rummage through the trash and take out every empty can I discarded. She wouldn’t let me throw away anything. You remember the stacks of old newspapers in the living room, Wyatt? You remember the milk crates of old tin cans that lived on the couch? There was nowhere to cook a meal. No space to sit and drink a pint.” His voice is heavy with self-pity. “One day, I reached breaking point. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  I want to hang up, but I can’t. My fingers refuse to press the disconnect button. I keep listening, the words hammering into my brain, bringing back images of a past I’ve done my best to forget. Finally, when he stops talking to draw breath, I interrupt. “You abandoned a thirteen year old child when you left.” The sun’s beating down, but I’m chilled to the bone. “There’s nothing you can say that will excuse that. I have nothing to say to you.”

  I end the call. For a very long time, I stare into the street, seeing but not registering the cars, the pedestrians, the rhythm of the city.

  Finally, I rouse myself out of my stupor. My father is meaningless. I have a restaurant to fix.

  But when I walk into the restaurant, I see Owen sitting at a table, gazing helplessly at the tears streaming down Piper’s cheeks.

  18

  The best thing to hold onto in life is each other.

  Audrey Hepburn

  Wyatt:

  My heart twists painfully in my chest when I see Piper crying. I cross the room in long strides and pull up a chair next to her. “What’s the matter, honey?”

  Her shoulders shake with her sobs, but she doesn’t reply. What happened, I mouth to Owen, who shakes his head. He doesn’t know either.

  It kills me to see her so upset. A wave of wrath for whoever caused this surges over me. I put my arms around her and pat her on her back, while Owen laces his fingers in hers. “Piper,” I repeat. “Tell us what the problem is, and we’ll fix it.”

  She feels so soft in my arms. Her hair smells like lavender and oranges, and it takes all the willpower I possess to keep from touching it, touching her. I’m bewildered by my emotions — I want to protect her and take care of her. I never want to see a tear in her eyes again.

  She takes a deep breath, and shifts in my grip. I release her, jolted by the sense of loss I feel. “What happened?” I ask for the third time.

  Owen wipes the tears away from her cheeks with his fingertips. “Please tell us, Piper.” His expression reflects the helplessness I’m feeling. “We’re here for you.”

  She attempts a watery smile and holds out an envelope. “This happened,” she says, her voice catching in a hitch. “My parents have been at work.”

  I scan the letter quickly, and my lips tighten. Owen reads it when I’m
done, and his face turns grim. “We can handle this,” I soothe her. “We’re not trying to hide anything.”

  “I know,” she says quietly. “They’re just looking for an excuse to control me.”

  She sounds as if she’s given up. She’s been strong for so long, fighting to forge her own destiny. Her parents don’t want her to be happy — they just want to run her life.

  “Parents should love and support their children,” I say quietly, placing my hand over hers. “But sometimes they don’t. I should know. My mother is a hoarder.”

  Owen looks up, startled. I never talk about my childhood.

  Only a few minutes ago, I walked outside so Piper and Owen wouldn’t overhear my conversation with my father, but it feels strangely liberating to reveal the truth. I’ve been living under the crushing weight of a secret for a very long time.

  “My father left us when I was thirteen,” I continue. “When I was growing up, I learned quickly that my house wasn’t like the homes of my schoolmates, but I couldn’t risk asking anyone for help.”

  “Wyatt.” She squeezes my hand tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not looking for your pity.”

  She flinches, and I’m filled with shame. That came out harsher than I intended. “I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” My lips turn up in a small smile. “You feel betrayed by your parents. I can understand that feeling.”

  Owen rests his hand on her thigh. “Don’t worry about your books. We’ll handle your accountant. You just worry about cooking.”

  She draws a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “For leaning on your friends?” I brush a strand of hair back from her face. “You should never be sorry about that.”

  She gives us a tremulous smile. “I have to stop letting my parents get to me,” she admits. “What about you, Owen? What are your parents like?”