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

by Tara Crescent

  She looks up, her expression harried. It brightens when she sees us. “I thought you were my parents,” she explains, coming over to hug us. That sweet Southern accent of hers can still harden my dick. “I was a wreck all morning, but it went away when I walked in here.” She smiles at us warmly, and my heart skips a beat. “You guys have made this place gorgeous. We’re going to kick ass tonight.”

  “Did Piper Jackson just say ass?” Owen teases. “Forget the contest. I’m looking forward to what’s after. All week, I’ve been dreaming of you, Piper.” His lips curl into a smile. “You, me, Wyatt. In a bed this time, maybe? Or do you want to do it outside again?”

  I’m prepared for Piper to blush, but she surprises me by winking. “Wait and see,” she says airily. “I might have a surprise for the two of you tonight.”

  I look up, intrigued. “What kind of surprise?”

  “The kind that’ll be ruined if I tell you what it is,” she replies tartly. “Okay, the camera crew is going to be here in ninety minutes. I need to make sure everything’s spotless in the kitchen. Want to help me scrub?”

  “Sure.”

  We get to work. “Where’s Josef?” I ask her, noticing she’s all alone in the kitchen. “Kevin’s working tonight as well, isn’t he?”

  “You just missed Josef,” she replies. ”He had some errands to run. He’ll be here at three thirty. Kevin was here early for prep, and he’ll be back again in time for dinner service.”

  Just then, Owen’s phone rings. He frowns at the display and answers. “What’s up, Carl?” His expression turns grim as he listens. “It’s not your fault,” he says. “We’ll manage.”

  “Trouble?” Piper asks as he hangs up.

  Owen nods. “Linda, the woman who was going to be our hostess tonight, fell down a flight of stairs and twisted her ankle. The doctors have told her not to put any weight on it.”

  “Shit.” Piper frowns. “What are we going to do?”

  The kitchen doors swing open again, and Piper's mother walks into the room. “Darling, I came to do your makeup before the TV crew got here,” she exclaims. She comes to a halt when she sees us, and she gives us an assessing look. “Hello, I’m Lillian Jackson. I don't believe we've met.”

  “Wyatt Lawless,” I say, shaking her hand. “I'm one of Piper's partners. It's good to meet you, Mrs. Jackson.”

  Owen shakes her hand as well. “I’m Owen Lamb.”

  “Mother,” Piper interjects. “They're here to film my cooking. They don't care what I look like.”

  “That might be so, Piper,” her mother retorts. “But I do." She looks at the two of us in appeal. “Don't you think Piper will look better with makeup?”

  I refuse to be dragged in the middle of this. “Piper's beautiful all the time.”

  Piper blushes at that. “Mom, we need to clean the kitchen. If you give me thirty minutes, I’ll do my makeup when we’re done. Okay?”

  I gave her a wry look when her mother leaves the room. “Yes,” she says, sounding a little irritated. “I know I should stand up to my mother. But sometimes you have to pick your battles. What are we going to do about the hostess?”

  Owen frowns. “I don't know,” he admits. “I'm working on it. Worst case scenario, I'll do it myself.”

  “That isn't the worst case scenario,” Piper says gloomily. “The worst scenario is that my mother hears that we're short a hostess and offers to help.”

  I glance at Owen. I don't trust Piper's parents. I have to make sure that scenario doesn’t come to pass.

  Three hours later, we’re no closer to a solution for the hostess problem. Owen and I have called everyone we know, but restaurants tend to be busy on Thursday nights, and nobody can spare such a key staff member.

  The film crew is in the kitchen, setting up their cameras and adjusting the lighting. Between calls, Owen makes sure that their presence isn’t disruptive. "She still has to cook here," he tells the crew member in charge. “Make sure you aren’t blocking anything.”

  I leave them arguing in the back and head out to the front. Kimmie’s walking among the tables, folding the heavy cloth napkins into pouches and inserting a fork, a knife and a spoon in each one. Her jaw moves rhythmically as she works, and I exhale in irritation.

  Owen comes out at the same time and notices her. “Kimmie,” he snaps at her, keeping his voice low in deference to the five diners who are occupying the table in the front. “For fuck’s sake, you aren’t working in a tacky diner. This is a nice restaurant. I’ve told you a million times that you can’t chew gum at work. Chef Jackson might be too nice to fire you, but I’m not.”

  She gives him a sullen look. “The place is empty,” she argues.

  He looks pointedly over to the front table, and she drops her gaze. “I don’t give a shit what you think,” he replies. “Go spit it out.”

  Kimmie scurries off to the washroom, looking resentful. “We can’t afford to fire her yet,” I point out to Owen.

  “I know that, but she doesn’t,” he replies. “She’s not an idiot. No waitress in Manhattan is paid sixty grand plus tips and she knows it. She definitely doesn’t want to lose this job.”

  I’m about to agree with him when the door opens. I look up and my heart stops.

  The man who’s just walked into Piper’s is my father.

  Though I saw him on the security footage, it’s been twenty years since I’ve seen him in person. Time hasn’t been kind to him. In my memories, my father has always been well-dressed. Today, the kindest word to describe him would be slovenly. His shirt is torn and stained and his jeans have seen better days. He’s unshaven, and he reeks of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke.

  My pulse races. I’m not ready for this confrontation.

  “You bastard,” my father screams as soon as he sees me. Every single person in the restaurant swivels to watch as my father barrels toward me, his fist raised. At the last moment, he reconsiders and drops his hand, but he doesn’t lower his voice. “You’re having me evicted? Your own father?”

  Up close, the smell of booze almost makes me gag. His eyes are red and bloodshot. He’s drunk.

  “I don’t want you here.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “Leave.”

  “Fuck you,” he snarls. “My son thinks he’s too good for me, is that what it is? This is a public restaurant. You can’t throw me out of here like you can at your office. I think I’ll sit here and eat a meal.” He draws a chair back and sinks into it. “Where’s the fucking menu?”

  This is a disaster. There’s a crew in the back, ready to film this controversy. The one thing I know about reality TV is that the producers thrive on drama. My father isn’t a fool. He’s made the same calculation as I have. He knows I’ll do anything to get him to leave.

  And he’s completely wasted. He’s swaying in his seat, his head slumped forward. The diners at the front table are still staring, absolutely fascinated at the scene unfolding a few feet from them. Where’s Stone Bradley, I think angrily. Isn’t there supposed to be a tail on my father to prevent such incidents?

  At least Piper’s mother isn’t here. She left after putting on Piper’s make-up, promising to be back at six. I have thirty minutes to fix this situation. “What do you want?” I hiss, pulling up a chair next to my father.

  In response, he throws up on the table in front of him.

  “Did that guy just vomit?” I hear one of the diners ask, her voice tinged with shock and disgust.

  “Gross,” another one replies. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat any more of my food.”

  Owen snaps into action. He hurries over to the front table. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I hear him say soothingly. “I’m so sorry for the disruption. Your meals are obviously on the house. Please accept our apologies.”

  There’s five of them, and they’ve ordered food and drinks. Owen’s waiving a three hundred dollar tab. That’ll buy a lot of forgiveness.

  Guilt gnaws at my insides. This is my fault. Stone Bradley warned me
not to push my father. He realized that desperate men have very little to lose. My father gambled, coming here, that I’d be too wary of scandal to throw him out by force. And he’s right.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Piper’s come out of the kitchen, attracted by the commotion. Great.

  My father raises his head to look at me. Little bits of vomit cling to his face and to his stubble. “What do I want?” he asks loudly. “You’re evicting me.”

  “Will you go away if I call it off?”

  He gives me a cunning look. “I need money,” he says, slurring the words together. “I’ve got nothing.”

  I pull out my wallet and extract all the cash I have from it. “Here’s two hundred and fifty dollars,” I tell him. “Leave.” There’s desperation in my voice. The clock is ticking. Soon, Lilian Jackson is going to be back. The restaurant is going to start filling up, and there’s a drunk in the middle of the place, and the table he’s sitting at is covered with vomit.

  Piper’s mom playing hostess isn’t the worst case scenario. Maisie being upset and taking it out on Piper’s wasn’t the problem I should have been concerned with.

  We all have blind spots about our parents. I thought I could make my father go away without seeing him. I was wrong.

  He takes the notes I hand him, and counts it. “This isn’t enough,” he says. “My son is a millionaire, and all he can spare his father is two hundred and fifty bucks?”

  A small part of me mourns the thirteen year old boy I once was. For days, months after my father left, I’d hoped it was a mistake. I made up all kinds of stories to account for his disappearance. He’d been hurt, and he had amnesia, so he couldn’t remember us. He’d been kidnapped by an evil drug lord. Anything to hide from the truth. Anything to avoid facing the fact that he’d walked out on his wife and child without a word of warning.

  Owen’s gaze is on me. Piper’s expression is heavy with sympathy. I don’t want your pity, I want to scream at them. I’ve overcome my past. Wyatt Lawless isn’t a neglected child anymore. He’s a successful businessman.

  The table in the front rises to leave, still staring at us. My cheeks heat with shame. The control I’ve fought so hard for is sliding away from my grasp. “It’s all I have right now,” I tell my father. “Come to my office on Sunday morning, and I’ll give you more.”

  His voice is sly. “And the eviction is off?”

  “Yes.” Go away. Please. This isn’t about me anymore. I’m ruining Piper’s dream.

  He rises to his feet, weaving unsteadily. He’s won this round and he knows it. “See you Sunday, son.”

  Piper walks up to me, but I don’t look up. I’m too ashamed to meet her eyes.

  When I was fourteen, there’d been a girl at school that I’d liked, Janet Blythe. She would smile at me whenever she saw me, and it was enough for me to be smitten. I’d been trying to summon up the courage to ask her to Junior Prom, when she’d dropped by at my house, unannounced. I’ll never forget the look of mingled disgust and horror in her eyes.

  This is my childhood all over again. I don’t want to see that expression in Piper’s face.

  Owen joins us. “What’s the film crew doing?” he whispers, his voice urgent. “We can’t let them to the front before we clean up.”

  Piper’s voice is tired. “Josef showed up to work drunk,” she says. “He set a pan on fire. They have enough to keep them occupied.” She puts her arm around my waist, and stands on tip-toe to kiss my cheek.

  “I’m so sorry, Piper.”

  Her grip on my waist tightens. “We aren’t our parents, Wyatt,” she says gently. “We can’t control what they do.” She moves in front of me so that I’m forced to look at her. “We’re partners,” she says to me. “We’re in this together.”

  Owen pats my shoulder. “Yes, we are. Wyatt, take a moment to shake this off. I’ll clean this up.”

  “No.” I stare down at my hands, trying to forget everything, trying to bring my focus back to tonight’s contest, then I address Owen. “If Josef’s drunk, Piper’s going to need you in the kitchen. This is my mess. I’ll clean it up.”

  The vomit is easy to deal with. The larger mess with my father? That isn’t going to be quite that easy to fix.

  34

  Piper

  A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out.

  Walter Winchell

  The cameras are recording as an obviously Josef mouths off in the kitchen, and I don’t know what to do. I go to the front to enlist Owen and Wyatt’s help, only to walk in the middle of Wyatt’s confrontation with his father.

  Poor Wyatt. My heart aches to see his face, tensed and closed off. He strips the tablecloth off the table, then retrieves a mop and cleaning supplies. “Is he going to be okay?” I whisper to Owen, who’s also watching Wyatt with a concerned look.

  “I think so,” he whispers back, not sounding certain at all. “Let him clean. Restoring order to chaos calms him down.” Then he seems to realize I’m not in the kitchen. “You said Josef set something on fire?”

  “He’s drunk.” I shake my head. “He was thickening the gravy and he had some oil going in another pan. Of course, the incident has been captured on camera.”

  “Of course,” Owen says wryly. “Why is Josef drunk?”

  “He told me he was nervous about tonight, so he thought a shot of tequila would calm him down.” I frown. “I can’t babysit him tonight. I’m going to send him home. Can you cook his station?”

  “Yes,” Owen replies confidently. “I know your menu like the back of my hand.”

  He’s right. In the last month, we’ve cooked each dish dozens of times, honing the recipes until they’re perfect. I heave a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I say gratefully. We walk into the kitchen, where Josef is stirring the gravy with a faraway expression on his face. “Josef,” I beckon him over, “I’m sending you home.”

  Cameras swing in my direction. A bearded young man with a handheld video camera jockeys for a better angle to capture Josef’s reaction. “What do you mean, you’re sending me home?” Josef asks belligerently. “I’m fine.”

  “No.” I keep my voice calm with effort. “You’re not. You set fire to a pan of oil. You’re no use to me in this state. Owen’s going to take over your station. Sleep it off and come back tomorrow.”

  Kevin’s watching from his corner, his mouth hanging open. Sending Josef home, especially on the first day of the contest, is a slap in the face. I wish I didn’t have to do it, but the risk that he’s going to hurt himself is too great. Alcohol and the kitchen don’t mix.

  Josef straightens his shoulders. He’s about to protest again when he notices my expression. I’m not going to budge on this and he appears to realize it, because he takes a deep breath and seems to deflate. “I’m sorry, Chef,” he says quietly. He takes off his chef’s jacket, hangs it on the hook in the corner and leaves out of the back door.

  “Can we get that camera out of Piper’s face?” Owen asks tersely, as I slump against the counter, drained by the confrontation. I’m not very good at telling people off. Especially Josef and Kimmie, who were running this place until I showed up. “Piper, take a deep breath. We’ve got this.”

  I nod, then I stop cold. “If you’re working in the kitchen, who’s going to play hostess? Wyatt can’t do it. I need him to work the floor and make sure everyone’s doing okay.”

  On cue, the kitchen doors open and my mother walks in. “No,” I groan, exchanging a look with Owen. But I don’t have any other choice.

  “Of course I’d be happy to help, Piper,” my mother says, when I ask her if she can play hostess tonight, sounding quite sincere. I want to believe her. My parents have been supportive in the last few days. They flew into town so they could attend the first round of the contest. My mother got here early to help me with my make-up, and now, she looks excited at her chance to help me.

  On the other hand, I can tell that Owen thinks this is a very bad idea. I give hi
m a look of appeal, and he shrugs resignedly. “Sure,” he says, his voice distinctly unenthusiastic. “Why don’t I run you through what you need to do, Mrs. Jackson?”

  They disappear, and I take a deep breath. My nerves are a frazzled mess. I have to get my head in the game. The dinner rush is going to start any minute now. For the next five hours, I can’t let anything interfere with my focus. Not my mother playing hostess, not Josef’s drinking. Not even Wyatt’s reaction at seeing his father again.

  Owen comes back. “Okay, Wyatt’s coaching your mother on what needs to be done,” he says. “And twenty people just walked in, so it’s going to get crazy in here in a second. Are you good to go?”

  This contest is huge. Winning it will really put Piper’s on the map of the New York restaurant scene. I won’t have to anxiously count tables to see if I’ve made enough money to pay rent.

  I’m as ready as I’m ever going to get. “Yes,” I say, attempting a smile. “Bring it on.”

  As the tickets start rolling in, we get into a rhythm, the three of us functioning like a well-oiled machine. “You’re really good at this,” I tell Owen with a grin as he brings up an order of fried chicken to me.

  He laughs. “Other kids had a misspent youth,” he says cheerfully. “My ma made me peel buckets and buckets of potatoes to keep me out of trouble.”

  My smile fades. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, cursing myself at my thoughtlessness. Owen’s parents were killed.

  There’s only one cameraman in the kitchen now, and his attention is on Kevin. We have a small moment of privacy. “Don’t be,” Owen replies. He smiles at me warmly, and he squeezes my hand. Even that brief touch sends heat trickling through my body. “I had a happy childhood.”

  “Okay.”

  He leans closer. “What’s the surprise you have planned for us later?” he whispers in my ear.

  My lips twitch. “It’s killing you, isn’t it?” I take a step away from Owen as the camera pans the room. “You’ll find out later on.”