“He was embarrassed of you, you know. You were too volatile, mouthy, moody... He never knew how you’d act or what would set off your temper. Your ego will never allow you to believe this, but he was relieved when you were out of the picture. After all, how long do you think he would have lasted with you destroying every opportunity he’d earned? He was better off without you before, and he’s better off without you now.”
Without another word, I walked out of the studio. Once I got to the dressing room, I ripped off Jamie’s shades and threw them against the wall. The splintered plastic bounced across the floor and only served to piss me off even more. If I could have stripped down naked right there to get his clothes off me, I would have. Instead I bolted out of the building as fast as I could.
Finally on the street, I flagged down the first cab I could find and barked out the name of my hotel. I needed to get my shit and get out of this city. My stomach churned as the cabbie maneuvered us through the traffic, Trevor’s words repeating on a loop in my mind. What had I been thinking coming to New York? That everything would be magically normal just because we’d talked, or I’d forget how much I still ached for him?
How stupid was I for believing that Jamie wanted to talk about us so we could both get some kind of closure? From everything I had seen today, there was no point. I did know one thing for certain, though. I was not staying in the same town as Jamie Lassiter and his Trustfund sidekick any longer.
Chapter Ten
Jamie
When the camera’s red light finally went dark, I stood up and shook hands with the always-perky Gretchen Holt. “Great segment today, James. Here’s to hoping we see you back in the kitchen soon.”
“Anytime, Gretchen. Sorry to rush off, but I have a friend visiting and we’re supposed to do lunch.” Throughout the interview my mind had been focused on finally getting to talk to Ethan.
“No worries, Jamie. Have a great lunch.” Gretchen squeezed my hand and I shot her a smile even though my cheeks hurt from the unnatural amount of fake I’d had to plaster on during the last hour. I’d spoken from the heart about my start at Cielo, but my brain had been focused on the man from my past waiting in the back of the studio. We needed to talk. About last night, about the last eight years, about the incredible kiss. About everything.
After the sound tech removed my microphone, I walked off the brightly lit set and into the shadows, searching for Ethan. When I only found Trevor’s serious face, my heart sank into my stomach. “Where’s Ethan?”
He blinked, a flash of hurt before he schooled his expression into his usual easygoing smile. “He left. I’m sorry, Jamie.”
“What do you mean, ‘he left’? Left to get his own clothes? Left to go outside to smoke?” My brain tried to come up with any excuse it could for Ethan’s absence. Any excuse except for the one I dreaded hearing the most.
Trevor shifted uncomfortably and pulled me out of the studio and into the hallway. “I don’t know what to tell you. He watched a little bit of your interview and bolted. I have no idea where he went, but my guess is he’s long gone.”
I sucked in a deep breath as his words hit home. Always running. I swallowed hard and tried to push down the hurt. Every single time shit got rough, Ethan ran. I’d known this was a distinct possibility, but it still hurt. After the kiss, hell after the whole embarrassing scene last night, I’d held on to the fact that at least Ethan cared enough to react. Sure it was a negative reaction, and as a thirty-year-old man getting drunk in public, it wasn’t the most mature option, but it was something. Something we could have used to finally fix what had long been broken between us. With him leaving again, the last spark, the hope for something—anything—between us sputtered and died.
I stalked over to the makeup station and grabbed a washcloth, angrily wiping off the greasy crap they always insisted on smearing on my face. After I grabbed my jacket and slipped it on, I knew I had to get out of the studio and away from everyone before I lost my cool. Lassiters don’t show emotion. For the first time in years, my dad’s voice popped into my head. As I stared at my reflection I felt sick. Mr. Lassiter. When had I stopped being Jamie and become Mr. Lassiter?
Trevor’s reflection filled the mirror as he stepped into the dressing room. “Jamie, I know you’re upset, but just try to remember you don’t need this kind of complication in your life. You were better off before he showed up. Trust me on this.”
Anger rose in my throat, bitter and choking. Usually I appreciated his support, but at this moment his attempt to handle me rankled. My whole damn life I’d been handled and while it was his job to manage my career, he didn’t need to manage me. “Don’t go there, Trevor. Not today. You don’t know what I want. No one seems to care what I want anymore.”
“That’s not true, Jamie. You know that.”
“It is and I do.” I slipped on my jacket, zipping it up as he watched. “I’m out of here.”
“Just let me finish up here and I’ll come with you.”
When he touched my arm, I flinched. “No. I need to think and just...be alone.”
“At least let me call the car service for you.”
I nodded, overwhelmed by everything that had happened since the awards dinner. Without another word I left the studio. I waved at the crowd outside in apology as I slid into the waiting car without stopping to be the good little publicity puppet I’d always been. The mask I’d held in place for so long was slipping, and if I didn’t get away from prying eyes now, I didn’t know what would be left when the mask slipped off completely.
* * *
When the town car pulled up in front of the Plaza, I slipped the driver his tip and climbed out, shutting the door behind me. I stared up at the front of the hotel, frozen. If I went inside all I’d feel was Ethan’s hands on my face, his body solid and warm against mine.
I turned and walked away toward Central Park. When I had first moved to New York, I’d go to the park to find a little bit of peace, and to think, when the noise of Midtown became too much. Once things took off with my career, I would come not just for peace, but to disappear. I loved how I could get lost among the greenery and the fountain, wander without people recognizing or even acknowledging my presence, save for the occasional polite smile or nod. It had been at least a year, maybe more, since I’d been here by myself. Too many months away from home. Too many obligations.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I dug it out, shaking my head. Five missed text messages from Trevor. I stuffed my phone back in my pocket without reading any of them and kept walking.
I followed the path until I found myself standing in front of the small culinary school next to the park. When they’d asked me to give a speech on current restaurant trends I’d done a whole presentation on farm to table and the importance of local, fresh ingredients. It was a topic close to my heart, but a long-ago discarded dream.
I didn’t miss homework or labs or exams. But I missed this. I missed the thrill of learning new techniques, of being surrounded by people who loved creating new dishes just as much as I did. As I looked at the front of the school, I realized this was what had been missing in my life. This was what had to change or I’d continue to be miserable.
Being back in a school setting wasn’t the best idea. Memories of my days in school came flooding back. With them came an endless string of memories of Ethan. The scowl on his face when his angel food cake had deflated. The way he’d laughed when he’d turned the beaters too high and sprayed whipped cream everywhere. He’d pinned me against a prep table and kissed me late one night when we were alone and practicing baking techniques.
I shook my head to clear out the images, still too raw after Ethan’s desertion. After a ten-minute walk, I was back at the hotel, gathering my stuff to leave. My eyes lingered on the sofa where Ethan had been not five hours ago. Before the awards ceremony, I had convinced myself after eigh
t years apart I would be immune to him. The ache in my chest told me otherwise.
My phone pinged. Another text from Trevor.
Please just let me know you’re all right.
I swiped the screen again and stuffed my phone back into my pocket. Trevor, just like everything else in my life, would have to wait until I could stop the noise inside my head.
A final survey of the room and bathroom made me stop cold in my rush to check out of the hotel. Ethan’s tux was hanging in the bathroom, still wet from when I’d angrily shoved him in the shower to sober up. Assuming he’d already left town, I called down to the concierge desk to see if they could return it to Le Parker Meridien. After my good deed for the day, I picked up my bag and left to get a cab and finally go home.
As the cab idled in traffic, I stared out the window at the Institute of Culinary Education, the largest culinary school in New York. Unable to curb my need to reconnect with my former life, I pulled up the Seattle Institute of Culinary Arts on my phone. An advertisement for an upcoming event being held on campus captured my attention.
Before I could stop myself, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and scanned my contacts. L. Boulanger. My gut told me this wasn’t the smartest idea I’d had lately, but after a string of bad ideas, what was one more? I told myself it was all about paying it forward, but I knew I was kidding myself. I loved to be around eager students who wanted to learn, but the deeper truth was I missed being there. The likelihood of the institute needing me to volunteer or help out was minimal, but I needed to remind myself why I had set out on this road in the first place.
I pushed “send” with slightly shaky hands. No chance of worming my way out of it now. Next, I sent a text to Trevor.
I need a break. From everything. Alone.
As his friend I should have regretted the tone, but at the moment I couldn’t bring myself to care.
When I got back to my apartment, I tossed my bag on the couch and wandered into the kitchen. I winced as the throbbing in my head got worse and popped some Tylenol.
No matter how much I tried to get Ethan and the past twenty-four hours out of my head, images of him holding me against him as he stroked me off came rushing back. Goddammit. He couldn’t do that and then just walk away. Ethan Martin was as infuriating today as he was when he was twenty-two. I wanted answers from him. No, I deserved answers from him. We had let things die the first time because we were both raw and hurting and hadn’t communicated at all. I wasn’t going to do it again.
A plan began to hatch in my overly tired mind. I needed to confront Ethan one way or another. Even if it was to just tell him to go to hell for leaving me hanging. Again.
Chapter Eleven
Ethan
Five hours and three thousand miles later, I finally stumbled off the plane at Sea-Tac. My head pounded, my stomach churned and I was tired and achy from being crammed into coach. Trevor’s words kept echoing in my mind whenever I closed my eyes, which only added to the exhaustion. Since my flight was much earlier than originally planned, instead of calling Claire to pick me up, I hopped into a cab and headed home. I couldn’t wait to get out of Lassiter’s trendy, expensive clothes. They smelled like him. Even after eight years, the woodsy scent brought back unwanted memories of how good we’d been together before it came crashing down.
Once I got home, I stripped out of his clothes and stood in my shower, hot water streaming over my body as I leaned my head against the wall. Confusion at how he’d seemed to want to reconnect warred with a mix of anger and betrayal. What did I expect? It had been a school fling. When all was said and done, he chose his career over us. It had stung like hell, but my life was filled with shitty moments. What was one more? The thing I couldn’t wrap my head around now was how he’d laughed at me with Trevor. The only person I’d ever let close thought I was a joke.
That’s what my whole life had been. Hadn’t it? My drunk-ass father left. My mom had worked herself to the bone until the day she died to make sure we had a place to live and food in the apartment. And it still hadn’t been enough to keep us afloat. It had been years since I felt the self-conscious self-loathing of my past, but seeing Jamie’s success and well-manicured life had brought it all home. I had never been good enough for him. Not in culinary school, and certainly not now.
All those years ago, I thought I knew him. The real Jamie Lassiter. Not the one his parents thought they knew or the persona he showed to our classmates and teachers at school. The sobering truth was, I didn’t know him at all. Even worse, and I hated myself for still caring, I didn’t think he knew who he was anymore either. I scrubbed a hand over my face in disgust. Jamie wasn’t my problem anymore. Trustfund had filled my spot in his life, and I was better off washing my hands of them both. I pulled on clean clothes and headed for the restaurant, badly in need of an update and greasy food to kill my hangover.
I walked into the restaurant expecting it to be quiet post lunch rush, but found a shit storm. Instead of my line chefs doing prep work for dinner service, a cleaning crew was spraying down the kitchen. The noise from the power washers and the smell of industrial cleaning solvents was almost overpowering, and I wondered what had gone wrong while I was gone.
I stalked into Cal’s office and found Claire perched on his desk, both of their voices rising as they argued.
“Can someone tell me why a cleaning crew is in my goddamn kitchen right now?”
“Hey, Ethan.” Cal’s voice was weary as he no doubt patiently waited for my head to explode.
“Hey, E. How was New York?” Claire tried to muster up a smile.
“New York can wait. Why is there a cleaning crew in my kitchen?”
Claire looked at Cal, then looked down at the desk. Cal cleared his throat before speaking. “While you were gone we had a few...incidents.”
“What incidents?”
“The restroom drains backed up, and the kitchen drains and grease trap backed up too.”
“How bad?” I rubbed my aching temples. We’d just had the grease traps pumped out.
“Two inches of water and grease on the floor and two flooded restrooms. Also, the walk-in and drawer thermostats were tampered with.” My jaw dropped as Cal continued. “Luckily Tyler noticed and we had them fixed before anything went bad.”
“Anything else? I was gone one goddamn day.”
Claire nodded. “We failed the fire inspection.”
I tugged my hands through my hair. “Of course we did. Goddammit. I just don’t understand why we’re having these problems. We’ve never failed an inspection. Not once. And everyone knows not to touch my thermostats. There’s no way this shit should have happened.”
Cal nodded and leaned back in his chair. “I agree. I’ve owned this place since before both of you were born and I’ve never had this happen all at once.”
“You know, if we had cameras in the kitchen and dining room we’d know who messed with the thermos.” This was a losing battle. Cal was firmly old school and had only recently upgraded to computerized sales tracking and point of sales for bookkeeping.
“We’ve talked about this before, Ethan. It costs thousands of dollars to have a surveillance system installed, not to mention the additional cost of the monthly monitoring fees.”
“Yeah, but can’t you see? This all ties into the problems with the alarm and fire suppression system. We need to upgrade all of it and get with the times, Cal. Not just for watching the thermos, but for keeping an eye on the dining room, the bar, the entrances and exits. Textbook safety, loss prevention and inventory control.”
“I see where you’re coming from, but right now we just don’t have the money, Ethan. Unless you have thousands squirrelled away? I know I don’t. Just this unscheduled deep clean is going to set me back one-fifty an hour. These past few years, I put a ton of money from my retirement fund into the remodel of
the dining room and updates to our ovens and ranges. I knew we’d recoup the money in time, but for now, everything else is going to have to wait. The new stove set us back ten grand, the new ranges another fifteen. Do the math, Ethan. We’re not in the red, but I have to focus on keeping up with payroll, taxes and the growth of the place to offset our expenditure.” He looked at his watch. “Look, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a doctor appointment and Viv will have my ass on a platter if I’m late. We’ll talk about this once I’ve looked at the numbers again.”
He shot me an apologetic look as he left. Same shit, different day. We’d had this disagreement for as long as I could remember.
With the cleaning crew still working, I couldn’t even start prep, and that left me restless and edgy. When they finally did finish, we’d have to bust our asses and would still be behind when dinner service started. Nothing like being in the weeds.
Claire followed me into my office, shutting the door behind her. I shot her my most effective don’t fuck with me today look and started pacing.
“When I take over this place, we’ll have cameras and monitoring.”
She stared at me speculatively. “New York went well I take it?”
“Nice topic change, Claire. Yeah, your idea of closure was bullshit. Jamie’s got no problem living the glamorous life and has a string of rich boyfriends to prove it. He’s obviously had no trouble moving on. The shit he pulled with his speech was just to jerk me around when the whole time he’s been laughing at how pathetic I am.”
Her eyebrow rose. “Not sure what happened with the speech, but the rest of it doesn’t sound like the person we knew in school.”
“I obviously didn’t know the real Jamie before either, but it only took him a day to show me who he is now. And his manager? Trevor Trustfund Pratt? Jamie talked about us with him, Claire. They laughed at the poor kid James Lassiter was slumming it with. Who does that?”
Her expression grew sympathetic. “It still doesn’t sound like Jamie, but I guess neither one of us knows who he is anymore, E. Because the Jamie I thought we knew would have never done something that cruel.” She paused. “I’m sorry I pushed you to go. It obviously wasn’t meant to be.”
In the Fire Page 8