Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection

by Tara Crescent

  “Yes, well, you’re not the only one who jumped in without doing any due diligence.” Wyatt rolls his eyes in my direction. “This is a problem,” he says, tapping the book in front of us.

  Piper stiffens, and he frowns at her. “Will you relax?” he says exasperatedly. “We told you, we’re not going anywhere. This is a problem to be solved, not an insurmountable obstacle.”

  She exhales. “I’m sorry.”

  A lightning flash of inspiration strikes me. I need an excuse to investigate the kitchen, and the three of us need to stop tiptoeing around each other. I’m Irish; I’ve made my best friends in a pub, over several pints of Guinness. We aren’t in Dublin and the Guinness in New York is undrinkable, but that doesn’t have to stop us.

  I get to my feet. “We got off on the wrong foot. Why don’t we toast to our partnership, and then we can make our battle plans. Knowing Wyatt, he already has a dozen ideas. Piper, where’s your booze?”

  I hold my breath. Is she going to let me in the kitchen without supervision? I only need a few minutes. Though I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, I trust my instincts. If something’s amiss, I’m confident I can find it fairly quickly.

  It’s ten at night. The restaurant is closed. The sous-chef and the gum-chewing waitress are gone for the day. The exterior lights are turned off. The three of us are alone in the front, our papers spread out all over the table. “There’s wine and beer in the refrigerator in the kitchen,” she says. “There’s also a bottle of vodka in the freezer, if you want to get good and wasted.”

  “Do you get good and wasted? You don’t seem the sort.”

  “Another snap judgement?” she mocks gently, her smile softening her words of their sting. “Yes, Mr. Lamb, I’ve been known to have a drink or two from time to time.”

  “You’ve got to stop calling us that, you know.” Wyatt grins lazily at her. “Especially if we’re going to get good and wasted together. Mr. Lamb. Mr. Lawless. You’re very formal.”

  “Fair enough. Owen, you want help finding it?”

  “I’ll manage,” I say, keeping my voice casual. I head to the back. I have only minutes to search the place. Trying to be quiet, I do a quick scan of the room, opening drawers and cupboards, checking out the pantry, bending down to search the shelves underneath the counters.

  Nothing seems out of place. Even Wyatt would approve of how clean the kitchen is. The dishes have been done. The skillets have been cleaned and neatly stacked for the next day’s work. The garbage has been emptied. Piper’s sous-chef Josef must have seen to this.

  Shaking my head, I return to the front with the bottle and three glasses. Piper shoots me a curious look. “Couldn’t resist checking out the kitchen?” she asks me. “Did I pass the Owen Lamb inspection?”

  I have to chuckle; she doesn’t miss much. I’m very rapidly reaching the conclusion that she’s clean. Opening the bottle, I pour three generous shots. We each grab one and lift our glasses. “A toast,” I say, “to our new partnership. To new beginnings.”

  We clink glasses and I take a sip. “This is good stuff.” I say, looking at the label. Piper Jackson is full of surprises. “You’re a vodka drinker?”

  “No,” she replies. “My roommate Bailey gave it to me at the start of the year. By that time, I’d realized I’d made a mistake. I needed consolation.”

  “This bottle was unopened.”

  Her lips twitch. “I work around knives and fire,” she points out. “Vodka seems stupid.” She returns to the earlier conversation. “You said something was a problem?” she asks Wyatt.

  “You’re allowed to take on partners,” he answers, “but you’ll have to stay the majority owner.” He sips at the vodka. “That’s not a problem. Owen and I almost never take a majority stake in a restaurant. But,” he frowns, “Aladdin’s Lamp is valued at two hundred thousand dollars.”

  “I know,” Piper says, looking confused. She sits up as understanding dawns. “Crap. They won’t let you invest more than a hundred grand.”

  Ah. Wyatt’s right. This is a problem. Aladdin’s Lamp could be very successful, but for that to happen, it’s going to take quite an infusion of capital. A hundred grand isn’t enough, not in a city where routine renovations cost half a million dollars.

  Wyatt nods. “Exactly. We’re going to have to get creative.”

  “We can’t cook the books.” Piper looks unhappy as she speaks. “Aunt Vera’s son Colton was pretty angry I was left the restaurant. He’s waiting for me to mess up. The trustees can demand to see my accounts anytime, and I have to comply.” Her lips twist into a grimace. “It’s in the fine print on page sixty-five.”

  Wyatt opens to the indicated page and reads the relevant section. “What a pain in the ass,” he mutters. “I’m not suggesting we cheat the system,” he clarifies. “Any ideas, Owen?”

  Is it the shared act of drinking together that makes us allies? Is it my search in her kitchen, which has revealed nothing out of place? Is it Piper’s willingness to be open and honest about her business? Is it the muted fear in her eyes that we’re going to back out, a fear I want to soothe away? Is it the raw talent I tasted when I ate the macaroni and cheese?

  I don’t know. What I do know is that I want to help. When we agreed to our deal at the start, I didn’t give a shit about Piper Jackson. I was here because of Mendez’s suspicions.

  Not anymore. I’m invested now. Piper deserves to be successful, and I’m going to help her. We’re going to fill this place every night. Whatever it takes.

  I look around the place. “Getting this place fixed up won’t be cheap,” I warn. “The tables can be salvaged, but that’s about it. The equipment in the back needs to be replaced as well. We can do a lot of the work ourselves to keep the cost down, and we can buy stuff in auction lots, but even with that, we’re still looking at sixty grand, minimum.”

  Piper winces. “Right now, I’m breaking even, but not for long. Mr. O’Connor raised my rent by three thousand dollars.”

  “O’Connor?” My voice sharpens. “Is that your landlord?”

  She looks faintly puzzled by my interest. “He lives upstairs,” she explains. “I think he liked Aunt Vera. Even with the rent increase, I’m still paying less than market rate.”

  O’Connor is an Irish name. Is he mixed up with the mob? My spine stiffens. “How long has he been your landlord?”

  “Since the place opened,” Piper answers. “The last twelve years.”

  I sigh inwardly. Mendez might be right after all. If her landlord is involved, Aladdin’s Lamp could be the site of mob activity without Piper’s knowledge. This has the potential of being very bad.

  Wyatt gives me an irritated look. He knows I’m thinking about Mendez, and he’s not interested in my suspicions. He’s got a determined light in his eyes. I’ve seen Wyatt Lawless like this before. He’s in problem-solving mode. “Our marketing budget is razor-thin,” he says. “Aladdin’s Lamp is getting some buzz with restaurant industry insiders, but you aren’t doing anything to attract the public. We’ll need to get you some exposure.”

  Help her first, Owen, I rebuke myself. Investigate the landlord later. We fall silent, trying to think of a solution to our problems. “Wait a minute,” I say slowly, as the seed of an idea forms in my mind. “What about Maisie’s contest?”

  Wyatt straightens. “That could work.” He turns to Piper, his lips curving into a smile. “How do you feel about being on TV?”

  15

  Piper

  “TV?” I stare at them, my mouth agape. “What are you talking about?”

  Wyatt explains. “You’ve heard of Maisie Hayes, the food blogger?”

  “Of course.” Maisie’s New York restaurant blog is very entertaining. She’s witty and funny and she knows her food. I’m not the only one in the business who reads her blog every day.

  “Well, Maisie is organizing a reality-TV-style contest for restaurants in Hell’s Kitchen called Can You Take the Heat?. I can probably get you in, but the
contest starts in a month, and we have a thousand things to do before then. It won’t be easy.”

  No, it won’t be easy. But Wyatt is right — we have no marketing budget. Given the constraints, this is probably our best option. I sit up, my spine tingling with excitement. I want to win, damn it. I want to show my parents that despite their best efforts to thwart me, I can succeed. “Yes.” My voice comes out loud and enthusiastic, and I flush. Well-behaved Southern women don’t raise their voices.

  “I’m in,” I say in a quieter tone. “Whatever you want to do, I’m in.”

  “Excellent,” Wyatt says. “Let’s get to work. Here’s what we need to do.”

  An hour later, we have a plan. Several plans, actually.

  First, we’ve decided to rename the restaurant. It’s now going to be called Piper’s. “A bit vain, don’t you think?” I ask Wyatt and Owen doubtfully. “Naming the place after myself?”

  “People are going to flock here for your food, Piper,” Owen says grandly. “Of course it has to be named after you.”

  I giggle, charmed by Owen’s statement. We’ve made significant inroads into the bottle of vodka, and we’re all feeling the effects. I’m tipsy. The alcohol plays a role in my light-headedness, but so does the relief of knowing I don’t have to face this alone.

  I’ve misjudged Owen and Wyatt, the same way they’ve misjudged me. Today feels like a renewal of sorts. New beginnings.

  “Okay,” I agree. “What kind of food should Piper’s serve?”

  “Not Middle Eastern,” Wyatt says at once. “I love Middle Eastern food, but that’s not your strength. Why on earth did your aunt decide to open Aladdin’s Lamp anyway?”

  “It’s a family secret.” I lean forward, lowering my voice to a whisper. I can’t seem to stop smiling. “When she was in her twenties, she had an affair with a man from Egypt, but her parents found out and dragged her back home in horror. Years later, she opened the restaurant as a way to remember him.”

  I reach for the bottle to pour myself another shot, but Wyatt puts his hand over my wrist. “Pace yourself, Piper,” he advises. He gets me a glass of water. “Drink up.”

  I frown at him. “Are you my mother?” I demand, my words slurring. “I’m not a child, you know.”

  “Trust me, Piper. I’m well aware of that fact.” Wyatt’s eyes gleam with an emotion I can’t quite identify. His hand still remains on mine, and my body prickles with an unexpected heat. He’s got nice eyes, Wyatt. The color of dark chocolate. A girl could gaze into them all night.

  Oh. Oh.

  I can feel myself sway toward him. For a moment, he watches me, sharp interest in his gaze, then he stiffens and pulls his hand away. My entire face flushes at his rejection. “So what should I cook, then?” I ask, my voice cool.

  “Southern food,” Owen replies promptly. “Fried chicken. Macaroni and cheese. Ribs. Soul food. That’s your sweet spot and you know it. Why else do you have mac and cheese on your menu?”

  “It’s my most profitable dish.” I stop to consider his words. Oh my God. They’re totally right. I’ve been drowning in the weeds, and I’ve never stopped to think there might be clearer water ahead. “I am an idiot,” I exclaim, shaking my head. “How did I not see that?”

  Owen reaches out and ruffles my hair. “That’s what we’re here for,” he grins. “To give you the benefit of our wisdom and experience.”

  God, they can be conceited. “Of course.” I flutter my eyelashes at him. “Please, Owen,” I mock. “Please tell me what to do. I’ll do anything you say.”

  “Will you?” His blue eyes hold mine for just an instant, just long enough for me to feel a spark of heat. My imagination is throwing up one carnal image after another. Me on my knees in front of Owen as Wyatt watches. Owen’s hand tangling in my hair, pulling me toward his crotch. Wyatt unbuttoning my shirt, his expression knowing.

  You’re not attracted to assholes, I remind myself. But that’s precisely the problem. They aren’t being assholes anymore, and because of that, I’m seeing what Wendy noticed right away. They’re two very attractive men, and I haven’t been on a date, let alone anything else, in a really long time.

  Don’t be an idiot, Piper, I scold myself. They’re your partners, nothing else.

  My pulse beats in my neck and I force words out through my dry throat. “You know what I mean.”

  Everything’s frozen for an instant. It feels like anything can happen. The night is alive with possibility. My blood is racing, and my body feels heavy with desire. Do I dare act on it?

  My mother’s voice rings in my ear. Well-behaved Southern women definitely don’t get into threesomes.

  I pull back. “We’ll also need to do something about this space.”

  There’s a brief flicker of disappointment in Owen’s eyes, gone before I even really register it. “I’ll start keeping an eye on the auction lots,” he says. “Let’s see what we can get for cheap. First though, we’ll need a new sign. I’ll arrange for one tomorrow.”

  “I’ll draw up a contract,” Wyatt adds. “And though I’m not looking forward to it, I’ll talk to Maisie.”

  “Why not?” The vodka’s making me bold and curious. “Why don’t you want to talk to her?”

  “We used to date,” he replies, his tone making it clear that I should change the topic. “It’s not a big deal.”

  I don’t know why that bothers me. Guys like Wyatt and Owen are hardly likely to be single. They’re good looking and wealthy. In New York, where women outnumber men by a significant margin, they can pick and choose whoever they want. For all I know, they could be in relationships right now.

  That thought depresses me even further. Time to call it a night, Piper, I tell myself, before I can allow myself to wallow further. Imaging a threesome with them is a pleasant fantasy, but allowing myself to think that it could happen is the most foolish thing I can do. We live in different worlds, and in any case, I have a restaurant to save.

  “I have to go.” I rise to my feet. “Let me know when the contract is ready.”

  They get up as well. Once again, they give me troubled looks. Stupid vodka. It’s making me think of things that I’ve ignored for so many years now. It’s making me realize how long it’s been since I felt the weight of a man’s body against mine, and it’s making me yearn for their touch.

  This is insane. I need to get out of here.

  16

  Owen

  If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things.

  Rene Descartes

  The next morning, my head’s throbbing and my mouth is dry. The room sways and tilts around me.

  And that’s not even the worst of it.

  Nothing happened, I console myself, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. Last night, Piper was vulnerable and tipsy. Thankfully, no one had crossed the line, because it would’ve been a huge mistake. We don’t take advantage of drunk women, and we don’t sleep with people we’re in business with. The lines get too tangled.

  I make myself a cup of coffee and call Max Emerson. He picks up on the second ring. “Owen Lamb,” he says, an edge in his voice. “What a surprise.”

  I’m not a fan of Max Emerson. The kindest word I could use to describe him is sleazy. Though he wanted Wyatt and I to invest in his gastropub, he was extremely secretive about his operations, and a couple of times, he flat-out lied to us. “Max.” It takes effort to sound neutral. “How’ve you been?”

  “I can’t complain, Owen.” He still sounds pissed. “Great things are happening for Emerson’s every day.”

  I very much doubt that. Emerson’s is, at best, run of the mill. Max’s chef is mediocre, and the menu is generic. About the only thing the place has in its favor is its location. I rub at my forehead and wish I had the good sense to formulate a plan before I called Emerson. “That’s great to hear, Max.”

  “Yeah,” he continues. “We’re participating in Can You Take the He
at? and we’re going to win. I’m sure you’ve heard of the contest. Yelp is going to put the winner on the front page of its website for three months. You guys are going to regret picking Piper Jackson instead of me.”

  My hackles rise. Don’t mention Piper’s name, I want to growl.

  I have to say I’m surprised Emerson’s is participating in Maisie’s show. Wyatt’s going to want to know that.

  I make a snap judgement. I don’t want to talk to this guy anymore. I’ll find the information I’m looking for in other ways. “I heard the news,” I lie. “I was calling to congratulate you on being selected.” My tone hardens. “Unfortunately, you aren’t going to win, Max. Piper Jackson’s taking part in the contest as well. And we all know that when it comes to a contest between her and you, you’re going to lose.”

  I hang up before he can respond, then I shake my head at my impulsiveness. Wyatt better be able to sweet talk Maisie into letting Piper into the show.

  After last night, I’m convinced Piper is clean, but I’m not sure about her landlord. Once I’ve showered, I head out toward Aladdin’s Lamp. It’s a little after nine in the morning, and I expect the place to be empty.

  Sure enough, there’s no one about.

  There are things I learned in Dublin that I haven’t let myself forget. I could pick the lock and let myself in, but there’s nothing to see there. Instead, I slip into the narrow alleyway between Piper’s restaurant and the building next door, and head to the back.

  There are three possible ways a restaurant can be mixed up with the mob — money-laundering, drugs, and an illegal gambling ring. I have access to Piper’s books, so I can rule out money laundering. My goal today is to search for any evidence of drugs or a gambling ring.