With a quick pressing aside of the pear-and-lemon themed curtain above the sink, he looked back out over the yard toward the burnt out hulk of what used to be the ranch house and the barns. The lamp still flooded the stable yard, corrals, and outbuildings in an eerie blue glow, but that was the only thing that was the same as when Zach had grown up on this once-working ranch. Time hadn’t done it any favors.
If Zach could just get the time. With a regular block of time, he could really move on the Firebird restoration. Chances were strong that Dad didn’t know it, but the shop that once sheltered his prized 1978 T-top Firebird stood empty. Zach had arranged to move the burnt hull of the once-beautiful sports car downtown to a storage unit, where he’d assumed he’d be able to work a few nights a week and Saturdays on it.
No such luck—so far, anyway.
But once Zach got it finished—or made some significant progress on it, at least—Dad would see it and come back to life after this Rip Van Winkle phase in the TV coma.
Dad will see the car. He’ll get energized. The barn and the ranch won’t look like that forever.
A sudden tiredness hit Zach. He had to head back to the city and sleep. Six a.m. at the office came early.
He dropped some cash on the table. They should use it for groceries.
In the living room, Dad’s commercial set had come and gone, with no conversation with Zach. That shouldn’t keep surprising him, but it always did.
“I’m glad we had this time together.” He said this to no one in particular as he rested his hand on the front doorknob. “See you next week.”
Time. That was the biggest thing he lacked. It was a more precious commodity than gold at this point, and far harder to get.
Just hire someone to restore the Firebird, he’d heard a dozen times—even from himself. But it wouldn’t be the same, not like a gift a son made for his dad with his own two hands. It couldn’t have the same effect.
Until he became partner at CBH, he’d be on the hamster wheel of six a.m. to eleven p.m. daily. Or more. A Saturday off to buy parts or do a full door panel’s sanding was nothing but a pipe dream.
Until then Dad’s pet project Pontiac Firebird with the T-top and phoenix painted on the hood would sit waiting where it stood eight years ago at the time of the fire, waiting for Zach to make partner; just like Dad sat waiting, waiting, for something to happen.
His mother had taught him to pray as a boy, morning and night. But some prayers escaped his soul at other times of the day. Like this.
Please, Lord, let Piper Quinn say yes tomorrow.
Chapter Nine
Piper pulled item after item from Du Jour’s open fridge. Her arms were so full, she nearly dropped the covered glass dish of garlic butter. What would go well with garlic butter—besides oysters? Because oysters were a no-go. Same with anything chocolate, honey, watermelon, bananas, avocado…anything that could be misconstrued as an aphrodisiac—or actually be one, whether it was hokey science or not. The last thing she needed was more reason to feel attracted to Zach Travis, more clouding of her logic, more loss of her grip.
She was dithering as she stared at practically every item from the refrigerator now strewn across the countertops.
Speaking of science, food was science. Piper fully believed that. Food created moods. It created a feeling—of celebration, of mourning, of comfort. Ice cream after a breakup. Turkey before a nap. Food made things happen inside a person, and not just in their digestive systems. Whether or not food could ignite lust was up for debate, but no question food could create emotion.
Which was why she had to walk a very fine line today with the lunch she was cooking for Zach. She’d noticed he sent back his Chilean sea bass untouched when he was in here the other day with that cranky woman. He’d raved about her asparagus, though, and it was the girl who had insisted their plates be taken away. Maybe he hadn’t had a chance to eat it.
Then again, neither had Chad.
Strike one for Chad.
And no, she hadn’t made up her mind. This lunch was going to tell her what to do. Somehow a bolt from the blue would appear, and clarity would dawn in her mind.
Meanwhile, she stared at Reuben sandwich makings, some mushrooms, a green bunch of scallions, uninspired.
Yesterday Zach had claimed he’d been heading back to Du Jour for lunch—but more to see her, which was before he’d learned Piper was its chef. Warmth washed over her. One point for Zach. This must be what a comedian felt like when he was with a woman who appreciated his jokes, or a mechanic with a girl who admired his skills with a wrench: a good, self-worthy kind of a feeling. How sad it might be to be married to someone whose taste didn’t match her skills—someone who didn’t like to eat, for instance, because those people existed.
Well, more cold cereal for them. She’d stick with the butter and cream and garlic and spices of life.
Aha. Garlic butter. That would go well as a fry oil for the bread she’d baked, and then she could add a pasta with marinara and a side of greens. Simple, food without a message. Non-committal food. Nothing he could read anything into—like the fact she was wildly attracted to him and hated that he said he claimed to be interested in her only in a business sense.
Maybe his words said that, but his chemistry shouted otherwise.
She tingled when she remembered his breath’s caress on her lips.
“What are you doing?” Mitzi’s voice echoed from the floor to the ceiling and back again in the empty kitchen, waking Piper from her near-kiss-memory. “You look like you’re thinking of the best food you ever tasted. Was it the fettuccine Alfredo you made us for high school graduation? Because I remember that stuff. It was boss.”
“You know me so well.” She might as well have been thinking about food; the subject was at least as delicious. “What are you doing here on a Saturday?”
“The bigger question is what are you doing here on a Saturday? Shouldn’t you be having a life? That was the deal when we opened the weekday lunch bistro—that we’d both still have a life.”
“It doesn’t appear either of us is living up to that deal of getting a life.” Piper realized this was a misrepresentation of her day, though, considering she’d met Zach Travis less than forty-eight hours ago and he’d proposed last night. That seemed like life experience, no matter which way things went today with Zach.
I hope I’m making the right decision. Piper shot a prayer toward heaven, half-asking for an angel to descend and tell her what to do, even though she doubted that was heaven’s methodology.
“Seriously, though, Mitz. What’s up with you here today? I thought you had a kids’ soccer team you were coaching for your niece.”
Mitzi looked sideways, which Piper knew meant she was quickly thinking up a fib.
“Oh, they had a bye this week.”
Piper put the piles of bowls and plates down and put her hands on her hips, her toe tapping.
“Oh, fine. I was in here doing the books. Again.”
“Is everything all right? Last time we talked, you said we had a new investor, and you were kind of ecstatic. Giddy, if I recall.”
Mitzi’s eyes had dark circles underneath them. If Piper hadn’t been so caught up in her own drama the past two days, she might have noticed her friend’s distress. Now it was flashing at her like the Las Vegas strip.
Mitzi looked at her fingernails.
“Yes. We did have a new investor, initially anonymous. The biggest we’ve ever recruited.”
“Great. That’s why you’re the capital raising arm of this operation—you’re the best at that.” Mitzi had also said she’d used those funds for a huge advertising buy that would raise Du Jour’s profile city-wide and beyond. Piper hadn’t asked details, too swamped with the other aspects of the restaurant, but at the time, Piper had been equal parts terrified and excited. Now the thought brought ninety percent terror, considering her own precarious situation. The investor could lose everything if Piper didn’t get to stay.
�
��What I didn’t tell you was who.”
“Okay, who?”
“My parents.”
Piper’s stomach filled with hot lava. This was not good.
“But…”
“I know. They didn’t reveal themselves to me until Thursday. Or maybe it was yesterday.” Mitzi started chewing her thumbnail. “They thought I’d be so happy.”
“Oh, Mitzi. But they’re…” Not rich. Putting it mildly.
“Originally they said the money came from selling some property in upstate New York they’d been sitting on for years that they didn’t need anymore. Who knew they had ties to New York, I asked myself. I should have asked harder.”
Piper choked down the sick tide rising in her throat. “So what was its source, if not a real estate sale?”
“Their mortgage. And their 401k. They cashed it in.” Mitzi’s eyes filled with tears. “Their whole retirement, Piper. They sold it all and gave it to me for Du Jour.” Her voice caught in a sickening little hiccup.
“Well, we’ll just give it back.” Piper saw the obvious answer.
“I can’t. We can’t. It went into the advertising purchase, which has already been designed, and the graphic designer has been paid, and the space has been reserved, and it’s non-refundable.”
“I thought the restaurant was doing well enough to stay afloat. I mean, if we need to turn it into a dinner venue as well, I’m there, I can do this.”
“You can’t cook eighteen hours a day, Piper. Don’t be ridiculous. The restaurant is fine with its current situation—we’re making rent, we’re keeping up with all the bills. They won’t lose their investment unless—”
Piper saw instantly what she meant. “Unless I leave.”
Mitzi swallowed visibly and nodded. “I’m so sorry, Piper. I realize how little control you have over the situation. It’s clearly a crisis for you. I never meant to add another layer of pressure by throwing this spanner into the works, as you would say.”
It was Piper’s parents’ frequently used line for when things got messed up, and it described this situation perfectly.
“My parents’ warped sense of generosity and overzealous loyalty to us has created an unrealistic burden on you.”
“Oh, please. This is not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.” She gave Mitzi a hug, even though Mitzi was not a hugger.
But the situation was clearly horrible, and the only person with even an iota of a hope of fixing it was Piper.
“No, no. Stop worrying.” She patted Mitzi’s back. Mitzi buried her face in Piper’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Mitzi sniffed hard, her tears wetting Piper’s shoulder through her shirt’s fabric. “I never should have believed them about the New York land. They’ve hardly ever left San Antonio in their lives.”
“You’re not responsible for that, Mitz. Don’t blame yourself. This is not your fault.”
“If I’d just waited to buy the billboard space for I-10.”
Billboard!
“We’ll just make our margins wider, pay your parents back. We’re doing a good business for now.” Piper paced back and forth in the kitchen. “We can change our menu, to make less expensive food and charge more for drinks.”
Mitzi frowned and shook her head. “We don’t have a liquor license. That’s where the up-charging comes from. It doesn’t make sense to invest in trying to get one for a lunch crowd.”
“True.” They’d discussed all this at length.
“Besides, it still doesn’t address the heart of the problem: you’re leaving.”
“Aw, now. Let’s not be doom and gloomers. It might be all right.” Piper had to say this, even if she doubted it intensely.
“Yeah, Chad could come back and marry you and make everything all hunky dory with ICE.” Mitzi rolled her eyes. “Forgive me for not being a cockeyed optimist about that.”
Wait. Did Mitzi’s eye-roll mean she didn’t think Chad would actually go through with marrying her?
She opened her mouth to address that disturbing revelation, but Mitzi had gone over to the array of foods Piper had taken from the fridge and dipped her finger in the garlic butter.
Piper dashed over and batted the offending dip-finger away.
“Hey. I thought you said I could have any leftovers I wanted on the weekend.”
“I did. But not today.”
Mitzi’s eyes narrowed.
“You only care about leftovers when you’re making something special for someone—because they’re your inspiration.” She reached again for the garlic butter, her finger hovering over the bowl. “Tell me or I double dip.”
Piper’s heart lurched. “Don’t. Just take a crab cake or something. Oh, I’m— Look, with this lunch, I’m taking care of the immigration problem. In fact…”
Piper stopped herself from leaking the secret of Zach’s plan. It would be so easy to simply tell Mitzi that Piper would marry this cute lawyer for a bit, get her deportation commuted, and then annul the marriage later, after she went off the ICE’s radar. Boom. Handled.
“In fact, what?” Mitzi’s eyes narrowed.
However, telling even one person about the expiration date on the marriage was risky. This needed to be a closely held secret, as closely held as KFC’s Original Recipe. If the Immigration officers happened to get suspicious and started questioning people around Piper and Zach, it would put Mitzi or Birdie or anyone in their circles in a tough spot. She’d never put them in a situation where they had to lie to an official to protect her.
“In fact, yes. I’m making lunch for someone.”
“Ooh.” Mitzi’s face relaxed, even lit up. “Who is this someone? Because I happen to know your usual someone is gone for a bit.”
Right. Chad. Her usual someone.
It took her a second to think about how to word it just right.
“I did what you said. You were right, Mitzi, as usual.”
“I love it when I’m right.” She beamed and pulled her threatening finger away from the garlic butter. “What am I right about this time?”
“I went to that law building you told me about. I met a lawyer there. A guy lawyer. Technically I met him in the elevator.” Where he flirted outrageously, but Piper didn’t need to tell Mitzi that. “He’s, uh, taking care of things for me.”
Mitzi threw her hands together in a single thunderclap of joy.
“Girl!” She ran in place on her tiptoes. “You should have led with that. Please. You let me go through all that rigmarole of divulging my parents’ blatant stupidity and didn’t say anything? Geez! I should sock you.” However, Mitzi was too busy doing one of those end-zone dances to do any socking.
Mitzi continued some kind of cha-cha out of the kitchen, grabbing a stray crab cake from Wednesday and popping it in her mouth on her way toward the office.
“You’re the best, Pipe. That’s why I always believe in you. I’m so excited that I’m actually going to say yes to the guy from YourMatch.com who won’t stop asking me out. His screen name is Ignatius, but I’m looking past that because he says he loves food big time. And because his avatar looks really handsome.”
Piper stood staring after Mitzi, her heart sinking as the window of her choices squeezed shut.
Well, Zach Travis. I hope you like marinara sauce because if you come here and have changed your mind, I guarantee Mitzi will make sure you wear it home.
∞∞∞
Zach never thought twice about being in the office on Saturdays; it was basically a given. What made today odd was the fact that Crockett himself had shown up—and dragged everyone into a meeting.
Zach sat wedged between Eisenhower and another low-profile associate, Sylvia Nakamura, who’d been around longer than Zach.
It wasn’t just the associates crammed around the vast conference table; several partners and a few of the paralegal staff stood shoulder to shoulder against the walls as well. Something was going down—just not in a timely fashion.
The f
irst hour of the meeting had been a snore fest, and Zach nearly couldn’t resist the urge to glance at the clock on the wall that told him his lunch date with Piper loomed. Just minutes to go, and no way to escape.
Crockett made another point about the warehouse district being situated in a flood plain and that the inherent risk every single one of their clients in that division were taking was detrimental to the firm’s solvency, and… If Zach had to stand Piper up for lunch, he’d forgo every chance of promotion. There was no time to line up any other woman, especially since Piper Quinn was quickly infiltrating his every sensibility.
“Well, boys,” Crockett said, smiling and mashing his palms together. “As you know, my wife and I have been looking at property down south. And I mean way down south. In Chile, actually.”
Chile? Wait. This wasn’t what Eisenhower had hinted, was it? A retirement announcement? So soon?
But Zach had expected to have time, at least several months.
“We like the climate. My wife craves the excitement of earthquakes. I love the ocean. Chile has it all. Plus we’ll get to learn a little Español.” Crockett laughed, and everyone around him gave a courtesy laugh and then started clapping.
He patted out the applause.
“So this presentation was actually what I’m calling my swan song. I wanted to leave you with my recommendations for the future of CBH, exhorting you all to steer away from corporate warehouse representation and move toward the more humanitarian sectors of the law. We’ve made our millions—”
Speak for yourself, Zach thought with a huff. Sure, he hadn’t been undercompensated, but Zach still didn’t have enough money to buy the time he craved.
“—it’s time to start giving back. Thank you.” Crockett bowed to thunderous applause from all around the conference table. Others jumped to gladhand the big boss, but Zach sat stunned. The search for Crockett’s replacement was on, and eyes of all the associates started darting around the room. Zach felt himself being sized up.
Then, in a lull of the din, the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed two, waking him up. If he wanted the partnership, he didn’t have a single second to waste.
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