by Molly McLain
And then there’s her mouth.
And all I want to do is kiss her.
Chapter 3
Mia
Somehow, despite being on the floor of a walk-in icebox, I’m burning up. I fake being dazed for nearly two extra minutes as I lie with my head in Jamie’s lap, eyes glazing over as they fade the textured metal pattern on the ceiling in and out. My head is so screwed up right now I can’t even enjoy this little moment of touching him. Not that I should, either, but it’s just been so long. And…
I…have a brother?
My mind is swinging wildly between my duties on the other side of the door and the truth that just knocked me on my ass. My dreams, and the obligations that come with them, are big enough to get me back upright, but it still takes me several seconds to utter a coherent word.
“Explain.”
I know Jamie isn’t lying. I can read him, see the truth right there in the blue. I always could, and those inherent things—the things that make you love someone in the first place—they don’t change.
I move until my knees are almost touching his, both of us sitting on the floor, his back against the door and my eyes holding his hostage until he answers.
His head tilts, and his eyes haze over with something that looks an awful lot like pity.
“I only just found out,” he begins.
My jaw tightens in preparation for the truth, and when Jamie draws in a deep breath, I follow on instinct, doing the same. I’m in for something that’s going to hurt.
“He came to work for me in New York. It was me and Neil, and frankly, we needed some able hands to pull off our venture.”
“Pilaf’s,” I interrupt, and he nods.
“We needed the best, but we couldn’t afford it, and he was like this mysterious gift. He was a workaholic,” he says, the sound of his voice muffled in my head as I take in all of the words he uses to describe Jeffrey. They’re the same words I would have used—determined, robotic, perfect, loyal.
Loyal.
It’s that last thought that jars me from my trance and opens my ears just as Jamie says the word.
“He stole from you,” I say.
Jamie nods.
“He quit on my ass…now…just to fuck me over!”
He nods again.
“He is not loyal!”
I push myself up to stand, and Jamie comes with me, sliding over to block the handle to the door, knowing I’m about to fling it open and march out into the dining room on a hunt, waiting for that piece of shit that apparently shares my DNA to show his emotionless, arrogant face.
“He’s not loyal, Mia. You’re right, and I’m glad this is how you’re reacting,” he says, and my gaze locks with his. “You need to know some things. Your dad…he never met him.”
My chest crumbles a little at the mention of my father, and my lip trembles as a breath escapes, my resolve and anger weakening a little.
I swallow. Jamie sees it. He puffs out a short exhale and glances down, reaching for my hand. The moment he touches me, my eyes flare wide and my focus moves to his tender hold.
“Jeffrey is not some lost relative, or some amazing find that you need to reconnect with, Mia. I’m glad you’re not romanticizing this, because he’s a bad man. Sometimes we share blood with people, and that’s it, and that’s all this is ever going to be. I need you to understand that. Jeffrey—he hates.”
“Why?” I choke out the word, blinking once. My eyes still take note of his touch on my hand, his thumb now sweeping slowly over my knuckle. The tingles are so familiar, and I want to chase them even though I don’t have time.
“I haven’t been able to get much from the investigator I hired, but here’s what I know. Your dad had an affair.”
My heart hurts; Jamie’s other hand comes to hold me, his palms now cradling mine. I want to sit again, but I won’t. My jaw twitches.
“Go on,” I say.
“It doesn’t seem to have been anything more than a mistake—one night with a woman in New York. I’m not sure how they met, but it was probably during one of his tours, or a speaking engagement. She was a pastry chef.”
I roll my eyes because of course she was.
“She got pregnant, and your dad refused to believe her. He called her a liar, according to the few people who knew the situation.”
My eyes flash to his. I push my lips tight, forcing myself to just listen. Somehow I’m both glad and ashamed to hear what he’s saying about my father.
“I think he was probably afraid of messing things up with you and your mom. Maybe he was a harder man than we thought, too. He was always so icy in the kitchen, and maybe that’s how he was in other places. Just…not with you.”
I glance to the side, sucking in my lips hard and nodding, accepting this possibility.
“I’m sure Jeffrey’s mom filled his head with hate. Or maybe he was just born that way. But Mia, I’m pretty sure his life’s goal is to destroy you. It was too much of a coincidence that he found me and then came straight to you. He skimmed off the restaurant, cutting a deal with our money man who eventually broke under the pressure and confessed to me when I started asking questions about the books. He was trying to sabotage things everywhere he could, and he would always needle me with personal questions that I would never answer—questions about you. He said he overheard stories, but I didn’t talk about you to anyone unless they were a close friend. And then one night, after a big test service with a few critics, I…I got fuckin’ drunk, and I told him everything he could ever want to know.”
My head falls to the side just as his hand catches my face.
“I’m so sorry, Mia. The part of me that misses you…it comes out hard when I’m drunk. I told him where you were, not exactly, but that you were in Vegas; I gave him your name. We talked about your dad, and fuck…”
His hand leaves my face, moving to his own as he pinches his brow first then pushes his fingers up through his hair, eventually resting on the back of his neck.
“This is all my fault. The fact that he’s here…it’s all my fault. When I saw you again, at the wedding, I found out everything I could about the people you were working with, about this…the deal you’re trying to make here. I wanted to help you; to make sure you got this. And then I saw his name as your sous-chef, and it was like this bolt of lightning that strung everything horrible together. I just knew…”
“I have to go out there, Jamie. I have to face him,” I say, my hands balled into fists at my sides.
Jamie nods, his focus first down at my feet, then his gaze climbs up my body. This time when our eyes meet, it’s like I can see his heart race behind the blue. Mine’s racing, too. We’re racing—going nowhere.
“I know you do, Mia. But I’m still going to stay. You have to let me help you. I owe you that,” he says.
We stare into one another, wordless, for several seconds, and eventually I lift my chin in acceptance of his offer. I don’t want him to go. He does owe me this. But then…I can’t watch him leave when it’s done.
His thumb grazes my chin, and I look up into him. Home.
His fingertips move to the side of my face, drawing a delicate line from my cheek down to my neck and my head moves into his touch.
He steps closer, and I stop breathing. My teeth grip my bottom lip, and his eyes move to my mouth, his hand moving to my lower lip, his thumb sliding lightly along the skin until my lip falls free of my hold. My chest rises and falls quickly, repeatedly, with this welcome suffocation, and then the right side of his mouth lifts into that familiar, casual grin he used to get just before he was about to kiss me. I close my eyes and ready myself for it—I want it.
Our foreheads touch, and his other hand comes to my face so he’s cupping both sides. A world of problems awaits on the other side of the door, but that doesn’t matter because time is stopping for just…right…now.
His lips graze mine.
The pounding behind him, on the thick metal door is hard.
The voi
ce shouting through it is muffled.
One word manages to break through, though.
“Locked!”
Chapter 4
Jamie
“How the fuck could the door be locked?”
Mia has said the word fuck about ninety times in the last two minutes.
“You’re fucking kidding.”
“This is a fucking joke.”
“You fucking asshole…you kept me in here too long.”
“Why did you shut the fucking door?”
I just let her yell. It’s the least I can do. I should have known the universe wouldn’t allow me to feel something with Mia and help her at the same time. I’m always choosing between the two it seems.
I call Neil; I’ve had him on the phone three times—Mia hung up on him the first two, after calling him a stupid fucking fuck.
“Right, okay. Well, until they can figure out how to break us out of here, I’m going to need you to be my hands, okay?” I turn to Mia mid conversation with my trusted friend and partner, and the fury in her eyes drops my stomach. “Yeah,” I say, taking in her pissed-off stare. “Call me as soon as you’ve gotten everyone up to speed.”
I hang up and slide my phone into my front pocket. Mia’s arms cross her chest.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say.
Her laugh comes out hard and fast, kinda like her slap did.
“This is…” she begins, stopping and circling as she brings her hands together behind her neck. “So cliché!”
I shrug because yeah, it is. But I’m not upset. This little favor from the universe is going to let me get my way. And Mia needs me to get my way with this. I meant what I said. Jeffrey is not some amazing discovery—a lost brother to grow close to, a link to her father, a connection for her heart. He’s a psychopath. Knowing him the little that I do, I’m not even sure if it was the circumstances that made him the way he is. Sometimes the bad guys are just born evil.
“Do you realize how this looks? How…stupid this is?” Mia is still trying to find a solution, but there isn’t one. We’re going to be in here at least until dessert is served. I talked to Neil; he talked to the engineer, who talked to the facilities team, who will not be down here for at least an hour and thirty minutes with the right kinds of tools.
“All hands are on deck for the pyrotechnics, I guess. It’s like an elevator getting stuck. These things take a little time, but we’ll get out soon,” I say, my voice calm, which is clearly not what Mia is looking for.
“Okay, come here,” I say, reaching for her hand. She swats mine away, and all I can do is chuckle and step closer, pulling out my phone.
I FaceTime Neil, and when he answers, Mia reluctantly looks on with me.
“Can you hear us clearly?”
It takes Neil a few seconds to find a good place to lodge his phone, but soon we can see him and the rest of the staff, all awaiting Mia’s orders.
“Sorry. First time I’ve had to run a kitchen via Apple device,” my friend says.
“Everyone up to speed?”
Neil looks over his shoulder then back to the screen, nodding. I glance to Mia, her brow pinched, and then reach up to feel my own face, rubbing my fist in my eyes.
I hold up a finger to the camera and press mute, turning into Mia and leaning so our faces are out of the view of the staff waiting for us to lead them.
“This is ridiculous,” she says before I can even get a word out.
“I agree. But it’s better than you sitting in here waiting, not knowing a thing that’s happening out there. And it’s better than letting Jeffrey win, Mia.”
I stare at her eyes while she blinks through the options, which are few if any, and eventually she nods and sucks in a long draw of air.
“Who do you trust most? In that kitchen, right now…who can be your palate? Who knows you best, knows what would be acceptable in your kitchen?”
I wait while she thinks, and I hold a finger over my shoulder while she processes.
“Camille…I…she and I have very similar styles, and I trust her. She’s young, but…Camille,” she says, looking me right in the eyes the second time she says her name.
“Okay,” I say, turning back to the phone screen, and turning it off mute.
It’s good that the screen is small and we can’t make out every expression, because for the next twenty minutes, Mia and I lay out a plan for the kitchen that includes letting a twenty-four-year-old with very little experience run the pass. The level of expectations we just set is enormous, and I can sense the fear through the phone even though we can’t see it. Nobody leaves when we give them the chance, though, which speaks volumes of their belief in the girl I know was born to run a place like this. I’m going to make damn sure she gets to.
Neil carries the phone around to various stations, and Mia and I both give direction—her to her team, me to mine. Every order I give is to support hers. Within the hour, dinner service is underway. There’s little we can do, other than getting updates and checking in, so I drag two large empty cartons close to the door where we can hear the occasional noise from the other side, just so she feels a little bit part of everything.
Her expression has shifted from pissed off and panicked to something more lamenting. As much as earning a spot in Vegas and running her own restaurant is her dream, tonight was still very much a part of that vision. Shoulders curved in and arms hugging her body, both the chill of the air and the sorrow of what she’s missing shows. My half-hatched plan was to swoop in and save her, to make sure her dream was whole and realized, then win her back by telling her everything she never knew about that day I left. The only chance my plan had of working was to roll it out slowly, to earn her trust again before opening old wounds. But seeing her sit with her back slumped against the cold metal wall, her day in the sun playing out without her, all while a sinister man with a grudge works to unravel her work in front of the people that can make or break her—suddenly my plan and success doesn’t feel as important as distracting her this very moment.
“You ever hear of Marcos McQuistion?”
I wait while her head rolls to the side and her eyes meet mine. They haze a little with thought—she’s reaching for the connection, recognizing the name but not sure why. I breathe in deep, then exhale slowly, watching the light fog from my nostrils fill the small space between us before I turn my head back to stare straight ahead. I can’t look her in the eyes and say these words. I don’t want to see her think so little of me.
“He’s a bookie, or…he was. He also funneled money to the LaPasso family. They offered him protection and enforcement in return for a cut and some guaranteed action going their way. I started placing bets right around the time we met.”
I feel her shift her body, turning more toward me, so I harden my resolve not to look her direction, and I keep talking.
“Just a hundred bucks on a game here and there, and I won a few and lost a few. I mostly liked the thrill of the action. I’d met him through one of my frat brothers from college who had placed a few bets with him. It was all supposed to just be this fun little ride, something I’d do for a while and then quit…”
I look down at my folded hands when I hear light laughter escape her lips. Mia knows how easily I dance with addiction. One drink was always four; sixty miles per hour was always a hundred. Safe was never my style, and danger was always alluring. As much as that side of me frustrated her, it also turned her on. It’s what made me the chef I am today; the risk…it brought great reward.
It also cost me her, though.
“You remember the time I came home with the black eye…maybe a year or so before I left?”
I spare a glance in her direction, but turn when I see the glassiness of her eyes.
“You said you’d gotten into a fight at the bar. You said you beat some drunk guy at pool and he took you outside. Your eye was swollen shut, and you had two broken ribs.”
Hearing her repeat my lies stings. I turn to face her again, ge
tting what I deserve when she stares back at me with nothing but a fog of disappointment coloring her features.
“One hundred and sixty thousand,” I say.
She blinks slowly. I can tell by the slight twitch her lips make and the widening of her eyes, the expansion of her pupils, that she knows exactly what that number meant.
“Marcos gave me a choice—work off my balance or end up at the bottom of Lake Michigan encased in concrete. It was only supposed to be a few big jobs. But then…”
“You liked it,” she finishes for me.
My mouth draws into a flat line, and I breathe out through my nose, never dropping her gaze. I nod slightly.
“I fucking loved it,” I admit.
Her eyes blink rapidly as she shakes her head, her mouth curling on one side while her head tilts and her gaze moves just beyond me. My stomach tightens—she’s this disgusted by me and I haven’t even told her the hard part yet.
“I got caught, and your dad…he put up his restaurant to bail me out.”
Her eyes snap to mine with that. She offers no other movement but the lowering of her lids, looking at me through angry slits. I let her judge me, staring at me with vehement hate for nearly a minute until her lip falls free with the breath she takes to speak.
“You fucking asshole.”
I do nothing but nod, my mouth resting in a straight line, my heart ready to take in whatever she has to dish. I’ve been due her words for years. When she finally looks away, I finish giving her the truth.
“I couldn’t let him. I would have lost my case anyhow, and then what kind of man would I have been?”
Her laugh comes out like a punch, and she leans her ear closer, her lashes sweeping once…twice…until she’s looking at me sideways.