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

by Tara Crescent

  He doesn’t crack a smile, though he takes my hand in his. “Where do you see this relationship going?”

  “Are you breaking up with me?” I ask bluntly.

  Wyatt snorts. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Owen,” he says with fond exasperation. “Piper, Owen’s trying to tell you he’s in love with you.” He rolls his eyes in Owen’s direction. “He’s doing an excruciatingly bad job of it.”

  Owen glares at Wyatt. “I don’t see you saying anything,” he points out. “It’s harder than it looks.”

  I look from Owen to Wyatt, disbelief and the beginnings of joy warring in my heart. “Wait, you’re in love with me?” I ask Owen. “Is that true, or is that something Wyatt made up?”

  “It’s true.” His clear blue gaze never leaves mine. “I love you, Piper Jackson. And I know we haven’t talked about the future, and I know a threesome is unorthodox, but I also know that the last eight weeks have been the happiest of my life.” He turns toward Wyatt. “Your turn.”

  Wyatt actually blushes. The look on his face tugs at my heartstrings. “You probably know where this is going,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I love you too Piper. I think I’ve loved you from almost the first moment I met you.” He reaches for my other hand, the one Owen isn’t holding, and he continues, his voice soft with memory. “You put your hands on your hips, and you demanded to know why we’d eaten at your restaurant for the last two weeks. You were so feisty and so spunky that I couldn’t help but fall in love with you.” He swallows. “I was hurt by your words on Friday,” he admits, “but when you left, I realized that it didn’t matter. If we fought, we’d make up, because I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

  I grin widely. “I love you too,” I reply, sitting up straight and throwing my arms around them. “I love both of you so much. And I know a threesome can be complicated, but two of my best friends are in them. If they can make it work, so can I.”

  My mother’s face dances before me, her eyes blazing with anger and disapproval. I shake my head and push it away. I don’t care what my parents think, I tell myself defiantly. I’ll find a way to make it work.

  But there’s a small voice inside me that’s calling me a liar, and I think that voice might be right.

  * * *

  “Hang on,” I say, after another extended round of cuddling that predictably, leads to sex, “That’s not the reason you guys were acting so strange when I pulled up.”

  Owen sits up with a sigh. “It’s a long story,” he says. “And you might be furious with us once you hear it. You remember the day we first met? You asked us why we picked Aladdin’s Lamp.”

  I nod. “Because Sebastian told you to, right?”

  “Wrong.” Wyatt shakes his head. “Sebastian just suggested we try your food. And we did, for two weeks. But I was pretty convinced Aladdin’s Lamp wasn’t a good fit for us.”

  “There’s a cop called Eduardo Mendez,” Owen continues. “Mendez and his wife were my foster parents when I first moved to America. I’ve helped him out with his cases from time to time.”

  Wyatt lifts a single eyebrow, but doesn’t interrupt. “Anyway, Mendez is investigating a gang that’s operating in Hell’s Kitchen, using local restaurants as a front. Drugs, mostly. Aladdin’s Lamp was on his list of suspects. I promised him I’d look into it.”

  “Wait a minute.” My mouth falls open. “That’s why you invested in my restaurant? Because you thought I was dealing drugs?”

  Owen squeezes his eyes shut. “Only at the start.”

  “Your innocence was obvious to both of us in less than a week,” Wyatt adds, giving Owen an exasperated look.

  “So hang on,” I say slowly, “when you helped me paint, did you think I was guilty?”

  “No, of course not.” Owen’s gaze is tender as he looks at me. “You remember the night we sealed our friendship over the better part of a bottle of vodka?”

  How can I forget that night? It was the first time I’d wanted them. I’d gone to bed, my body aching with longing, desperate to feel the press of their bodies against mine. “Yes.”

  “I knew you were clean that night,” Owen says.

  “So everything that came after, the painting, the sign, all the help you gave me, that was real? Not because of your investigation?”

  “No, Piper. We didn’t lie when we said we were there for you.”

  “Okay.” I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “We’re cool. Continue the story.”

  “What?” Wyatt props himself up on his elbow to stare at me. “You’re okay? You’re not furious?”

  I shake my head. “I thought you were assholes when we met the first time,” I tell him. “I wanted to punch both of you. First impressions aren’t always right. Besides, you didn’t know me, and Aladdin’s Lamp had lost money for a very long time. I’m not surprised the cops suspected me of illegal activity.”

  Wyatt gives me an astonished look. Owen kisses my cheek. “Thank you,” he mutters into my ear. “Back to the story. I’ve been checking out the restaurants on Mendez’s list. One of them is participating in Can You Take The Heat?.”

  They fill me in on their conversation with Greg Tennant. “So you see,” Wyatt finishes, his voice serious, “why we were worried for you this afternoon.”

  I hug my knees to my chest, feeling chilled to my core. Restaurants aren’t above sabotaging each other, of course. It’s a brutal and competitive world.

  But Wyatt and Owen aren’t describing a simple act of sabotage. They’re talking about someone deliberately targeting Greg Tennant’s wife. Hurting her, sending her to the hospital with broken bones.

  “Surveillance cameras will be installed tomorrow,” Wyatt says. “Both outside the building and inside the restaurant.”

  I’ve almost forgotten the original reason Wyatt wanted cameras in the kitchen. The incident of the salted gravy seems trivial now. “Can we afford it?” I ask automatically.

  “Yes,” Owen replies. “You’re getting a new landlord soon. They’ll be covering the cost.”

  “Are you buying my building?” I demand. They’re very rich, I know and I wouldn’t put it past them. “I don’t want any special favors.”

  Wyatt shakes his head regretfully. “As much as I’d have liked to do that,” he says, “I’m sure that’ll violate one of the million terms and conditions of your aunt’s will. No, a couple of our friends invest in real estate. We just connected them with Michael O’Connor.”

  “Of course.” My voice is dry. I’m slowly beginning to understand how their world works.

  “Also,” Wyatt says, “we’ve arranged for you to have a bodyguard at all times, at least until this contest is over. His name is Tomas.”

  “Really? You don’t think that’s overkill?”

  “No.” Owen’s voice is hard. “I’ve lost people I love once. I won’t let it happen again.”

  My gaze softens as I look at him. I can’t even imagine how hard this must be for Owen. “Okay,” I agree, not wanting to cause him any more pain, “Bodyguards it shall be. I know I sound like a stuck record, but can we afford it?”

  Wyatt growls. “If you think keeping you safe is a business expense, Piper,” he says, his eyes blazing with fire, “you’re very wrong. You’re the woman we love. Protecting you is personal.”

  I didn’t think I was the type that got turned on by growling possessiveness, but color me corrected, because at that tone, heat snakes down below. I wriggle against them and bat my eyelashes. “Say that again.”

  Owen smirks and Wyatt chuckles, and they proceed to make me forget Max Emerson, my parents, the contest, and everything else.

  38

  A part of kindness consists in loving people more than they deserve.

  Joseph Joubert

  Wyatt:

  The next few days are idyllic.

  At Piper’s, Josef has turned over a new leaf. He shows up to work early; he leaves late. “If this keeps up,” Piper says thoughtfully, “Maybe he can manage the pass on Tuesda
ys. I could even take some time off in a couple of months.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I tell her and Owen is quick to agree. We both know that the risk of burnout is real. Piper needs to drastically cut down the hours she works if she wants to run her restaurant for more than just a year or two.

  Not yet though. Maisie’s article has brought a fresh rush of diners to Piper’s. On Tuesday, we get lucky and are able to hire three new much-needed employees, a hostess with a warm smile called Sasha, a waitress called Gina, brisk and competent, and a line cook called Salim, who proves his worth in the kitchen right from the start. The extra help comes in handy as we grapple with the sudden crowds. For a couple of dinner services, Owen even rolls up his sleeves and pitches in to cook. I’m an utter liability in the kitchen, but I work my magic in the front.

  To my relief, I don’t hear from my father. Owen’s threat has worked and gives me a much needed breather.

  Our relationship flourishes. We spend as much time as possible together. It doesn’t take long before Jasper, Piper’s cat, is brought over in a cat carrier. He promptly scratches my furniture and pees on my rug as a protest for being uprooted from his home. Piper stammers out an apology but I just smile and throw away the rug. Nothing can tarnish my happiness, not even the insanely strong odor of cat pee that lingers for three days.

  “Move in with us,” Owen mutters one late night, when the three of us are sprawled on the sectional on the roof, sharing a bottle of wine after a hard day at the restaurant. “We can knock the wall down between our apartments and make one really big space.”

  “Really?” Piper asks, looking surprised. “Aren’t we moving too quickly?”

  “I don’t think so,” I reply. “Besides, how many nights have you spent at your apartment lately?”

  She laughs. “There is that,” she agrees. “And Bailey is leaving next week for Argentina. The place is going to be empty all the time. Okay. If you’re serious, I’ll look for a sublet.”

  “Oh, we’re absolutely serious,” I tell her, and Owen and I proceed to show her exactly how important she is to us. This time, when she screams her pleasure to the stars, she doesn’t even blush.

  The second round of Can You Take The Heat? is a cakewalk. Piper makes it through easily. Again, the judges lavish praise on her cooking. The only person silent is John Page, the head of the Hell’s Kitchen business association, who glares at Piper the entire time the judges are complimenting her food.

  Unfortunately, that’s when the good times come to a screeching halt.

  The third round has eight contestants, but in a twist made for reality TV, only three will advance to the finals. Piper’s one of the eight semi-finalists. Unfortunately, so is Emerson’s. And in a quirk of fate that causes my heart to sink, they’re matched up against each other.

  * * *

  My phone rings on Sunday morning. I’ve just received word of the third round match-up and I’m in shock. I pick it up without even looking at the display. “Hello?”

  “Wyatt?” My mother’s voice echoes back at me. “Is this a good time?”

  I haven’t spoken to my mother for two weeks. The last time we talked, I told her my childhood had been difficult, and she’d hung up on me. “Of course, mom,” I answer automatically. “Is everything okay?”

  Piper, Owen, and I are sitting in Owen’s living room. Jasper is curled up on the most comfortable chair, fast asleep. When I answer, they both look up, alerted by my tone.

  There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day,” she says. “And I owe you an apology.” My mother sounds sad. “You’d have been better off if your father had taken you with him when he left.”

  So many times, I’d wished for that exact scenario. When Janet Blythe had showed up at my house and had been horrorstruck at the mess, I’d wanted to run away and find my father. When I had to move my mother’s old sweaters off my bed in order to be able to find a spot to sleep, I’d prayed that my dad would come back to rescue me.

  But those were the dreams of a child. As an adult, I see things I missed when I was younger. I used to play Little League baseball, and my mother never missed a game. I was clean; I was clothed. There was always food in the house for me to eat. My mother had an illness, but she did the best she could.

  And she’s never once tried to blackmail me. For that, I can forgive everything.

  “I wouldn’t have been better off with him at all.” My voice is emphatic. “Look, mom, can we just let bygones be bygones? I’ve hung on to my resentment for a very long time, and all it’s done is make me miserable.”

  Piper squeezes my hand in support. Should I go? She mouths at me. I shake my head instantly. Even last week, I would have excused myself and taken this call in private, but I find I want her to stay. I don’t want to hide my secrets from her, not anymore. We’re together, warts and all.

  My mother sounds a little choked up when she replies. “A fresh start,” she says wistfully. “Is that possible, Wyatt? I’d really like that.”

  I resolve to do the best I can to let my anger go. If it requires hours on a therapist’s couch, then so be it. “Me too,” I tell her.

  As much as I’d like to end this call on a positive note, I need to warn my mother about my father’s blackmail. She’s going to be more affected by my father’s actions than I am. “I have to tell you something. You remember when my father came over to your house to take photos?”

  “For the TV show?”

  I shake my head. “There’s no TV show. He told me he’ll sell the photos to a tabloid unless I pay him off.”

  “How much does he want?” My mother doesn’t sound shocked, just tired and disappointed.

  “Three million.”

  She inhales sharply. “Wyatt, I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I should have never let him into the house.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” My voice softens. “You aren’t blackmailing me. Jack Lawless is. He’s the only one at fault here.” I draw a deep breath. “I just needed to warn you. If this comes out, your friends will find out. Your co-workers. Everyone.”

  She laughs harshly. “I wanted to be on a reality TV show, Wyatt. You don’t think it struck me that everyone was going to find out when I went on TV?” Her voice lowers. “I’m tired of living like this, Wyatt. My entire life is a lie, but I’m finally ready to tell the truth.”

  She pauses, and when she resumes, she sounds angrier. “Don’t pay your father on my account,” she says. “I don’t need protection. Not anymore.”

  No, she doesn’t. For the first time, I’m hopeful that my mother will seek help for her hoarding problem.

  But I’m no closer to determining what I’m going to do about my father when I hang up. Yes, she’s told me she doesn’t care about the photos being made public, but I do. I’m unprepared to let my mother become a laughing stock.

  39

  A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.

  Charles Spurgeon

  Owen:

  I’ve been keeping a very close eye on Emerson’s in the last two weeks, looking for signs that something’s amiss. Wednesday morning, I get the breakthrough I’ve been searching for.

  I’m nursing a cappuccino in the cafe opposite Emerson’s, when I see a familiar yet unexpected face. John Page, the head of the Hell’s Kitchen Business Association, walks up to the pub and raps on the front door with his knuckles.

  My pulse starts to race. Emerson’s isn’t open yet, so John Page can’t be going there for an early lunch. He’s not a co-owner, because that’s a conflict of interest that Maisie would have flagged. There’s no reason for him to be here.

  The front door opens for a second, and Page slips in. I’ve just enough time to wonder how long he’ll be when he steps back out, carrying a navy blue backpack he didn’t have when he entered. Slinging it over his shoulders, he starts to walk away, his gait rapid.

  The hair on the back of my nec
k rises. I know I’ve witnessed something significant here, but I can’t confront John Page directly. He’s seen me at Piper’s more than once; he knows that Piper, Wyatt, and I are partners. If I confront him, I might be putting them in danger.

  As much as I’d like to investigate personally, to do so would be foolish and irresponsible. There’s only one thing to do. I call Mendez.

  “What do you have for me?” He snaps as soon as he picks up the phone.

  “I heard through the grapevine that Max Emerson is running a gambling ring out of his back room.”

  “I need evidence, not rumors.” Mendez sounds irritated. “What is it with you these days, Lamb? You’ve lost your edge.”

  Mendez can sneer all he wants. I’ve lost the desire to be crazy and suicidal, because I’ve found someone to live for, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world. “Here’s something for you. John Page, the guy who heads the local business association, just walked into Emerson’s, and walked out carrying a backpack.”

  “The guy who heads the Hell’s Kitchen business association?” Mendez’s voice sharpens with interest. “Are you sure?”

  “I saw him with my own eyes. He’s on foot, heading east toward Times Square. If you hurry, you can intercept him before he has time to dump the bag. That is, if you want to know what he’s carrying.”

  “Got to go,” Mendez says tersely and hangs up.

  * * *

  Piper:

  “This is unacceptable.”

  Wyatt’s on the phone with Maisie Hayes, his voice rising in anger. “Maisie, you admitted to us that Max Emerson is cheating. Well, he’s up against Piper now, and this has become my problem. You need to do something about the public votes, otherwise your contest is a farce.”

  “Thank you for that, Wyatt.” Maisie’s voice comes through the receiver, loud and clear. Her tone is dry. “Fortunately, I have a solution.”