At Your Service

by Amy Jo Cousins

  "Grace, you could buy and sell me with your petty cash. But you're right. I never thought that. I did think we loved each other, though, and I thought I had something to offer you." The past tense cut at her already raw emotions, but she didn't flinch. She deserved the words. When he pressed a hand wearily to his forehead, she stood still. She had no right to offer comfort now.

  "You did."

  "My family loves you, Grace. Yours obviously doesn't. Your work here had value and was appreciated. I don't know if that was true for you before." His pause didn't allow for interruption. "And I loved you." He shook his head. "I'd hoped that would be enough."

  "It was." She was crying now, silently, as she spoke measured words. "It is."

  "How could it be? How could I offer you anything that would make you want to stay with me?" He stood up and walked around the desk.

  "Because I love you."

  For a moment he stopped. Stopped and let himself, foolishly, believe for just a moment that she meant it. That this nightmare wasn't happening to them. "Then stay."

  She hated saying the words.

  "I can't." And just like that, he was lost to her again. "It's important to me and I need to explain it to you. Because if you could know why I lied, you could understand why I have to go back. Please." She placed a hand on his sleeve as he moved to pass her. "I never meant to hurl you. You believed me once when I said that."

  "I believe you now. You wouldn't mean to. But you did." He stepped through the door into the kitchen and faced her, expressionless. "Go back to your empire, Grace Haley, where you can treat people carelessly and they'll put up with it for a paycheck. I'm sure that suits you more than we do."

  Then he was gone. The light went with him.

  After long moments she roused herself enough to look around the small room. It was tiny, crowded with extra supplies and messy with unfilled papers, inventories and receipts. It looked like what it was: the office of a small business growing too large already for its humble beginnings. He'd offered to share it with her, and now that it was too late, now that she could see everything she'd done wrong along the way, Grace realized that she'd never wanted anything so badly in her life.

  The sudden, sharp pain in her chest nearly crushed her. She whirled blindly, needing a way out, and crashed into Sarah at the door.

  "Grace?" The betrayal in her voice made it all clear.

  "You didn't know any of it." Grace shook her head. The laugh that cackled out of her verged on hysteria. "Of course you didn't. He trusled me to tell you. All of you. And now he hates me, because I don't need him to help me."

  She stared around her at the three women in the kitchen. Susannah. Maxie. Sarah. She felt accused by their silence. She thought of Addy and Spencer. Of all the people she'd lied to.

  "I needed him to love me. And I'm sorry. So sorry."

  But there were no apologies for this.

  She ran for the back door and stumbled into the alley, leaving everything behind.

  Ten

  When it became clear that the pain of losing Tyler might actually kill her, Grace threw herself into her work with a single-mindedness that those around her found alarming.

  Grace knew better. After all, there was literally nothing else she could do. At home in her condo, she stared at the bare white walls and modem leather-and-glass decor, and wished she were still tucked into a small room under the eaves of Sarah's roof.

  One of the first things she'd done upon her return was to send one of her assistant managers to Tyler's restaurant, with instructions to help out in any way necessary.

  "Mop the floors if they ask you. I have an obligation to that family," she'd explained briskly to the puzzled woman. "I've left them with a rather large hole in their staff, and I owe it to them to fill it."

  The next morning, at 9:25 a.m., her office door was flung open, rattling on its hinges. Tyler had stomped into the room, dragging Grace's employee by a death grip on her wrist. He'd hauled the woman in front of Grace's desk.

  "I don't want or need your charity." His palms smacked onto her papers as he'd leaned over her desk and spit the words at her face. She could only look at him, drinking in the sight like a woman dying of thirst. "Trust me. There is no obligation to fulfill. My family doesn't need your help."

  The iciness of his words had reached her and she'd heard for the first time how she herself must have sounded. Clinical and cold, discharging a debt like the repayment of some paltry social obligation. And knew that for perhaps the first time in her life, she hadn't felt that way, that she truly cared about these people.

  "Tyler, that is not how I meant it." She'd tried to keep her voice level, and cursed her too-close-to-the-surface emotions as it wavered. "I love you, and your family, and I know I hurt you all, in so many ways. This was...the only thing I could think of that might help at all."

  She'd tried not to flinch as he'd thrust a hand in her face.

  "Save it, princess. You've done enough already."

  The crack of the door slamming behind him had echoed forever in the suddenly silent room, and for the first time in her entire life, Grace had broken into tears in front of an employee.

  She'd cut off all contact with Charles and her mother, easy enough to do since he'd taken an extended leave of absence. The memory of their scorn and disapproval contrasted with the vision she still carried in her heart of the family who'd taken her in like a long-lost child, reinforcing her regrets.

  And there was a certain pain, too, in knowing that what she'd once held as a secret, that her family did not love her, was now a well-known fact.

  She didn't go out. Not only did every restaurant or cocktail lounge or supper club suffer in comparison to the sense of belonging she'd known at Tyler's, she also quickly realized a new truth about the people she'd once thought of as friends. They didn't know her. To be fair, it turned out that she didn't really know them, either. What she'd thought of as friends turned out to be a loose social circle of acquaintances whose class, income and careers made them convenient dinner partners. To her surprise, very few of her friends had even noticed her lengthy absence, and those who had were not terribly interested in the reasons for it. She quietly withdrew herself from their social whirl and knew she would not be much missed.

  The nearest approach she made to real friendship was found in the people she worked with. The only time she felt truly comfortable and at home was when she stood on the floor or in the kitchen of one of her restaurants.

  So she worked.

  She trekked from restaurant to restaurant, spending a large part of her time at Nice with Paul. During the first two weeks, there were an overwhelming number of problems to deal with, which helped to distract her. If she'd ever doubted her value to the Haley Group, the mess she cleaned up in the days after her return made it clear that she was needed. She had always known that Charles was a figurehead, but even she wouldn't have believed that one person could screw up so badly in a few months.

  Grace had personally hired most of the upper and middle managers, however, and after the major issues were sorted out, her very competent staff stepped in and performed with their usual flawless efficiency.

  Unfortunately, this left her with very little to do.

  She tried to watch television one night, went to the movies another, but she avoided anything that might make her want to laugh or cry. She sat blindly through six violent action flicks, until she lost patience with even that mindless distraction.

  In the end, she went back to her restaurants, haunting a different one each night until closing. And it was at Nice, late on a Saturday night, that what she'd dreaded finally happened. Her first contact with people who had known her only as Grace Desmond, and who undoubtedly knew of her awful betrayal by now.

  She'd stopped at the host stand for a moment when the sight of an elegantly dressed couple caught her eye. The woman looked vaguely familiar, but unplaceable. Not until the man with her turned around and Grace caught a glimpse of the graying, sandy
hair pulled back in a pony tail, did she recognize them.

  Before she could decide whether to bolt for the kitchen or to stand her ground, Tyler's old boss, who'd threatened to hire her away from him, walked right over to her.

  "Ms. Haley."

  "Richard." Using his first name seemed too intimate, but she'd never known his last name. The words came awkwardly. "I'm pleased to see you again."

  His eyes were kind. "Quite a different life you're leading these days, young lady."

  "Not really," she surprised herself by disagreeing, and then realized it was true. "The scale may be different, but the job is basically the same."

  "I'm glad to hear you say that. Not everyone would." He hesitated and then continued, "He's very angry."

  The tears came instantly, but by now she was an expert at blinking them away.

  "It was a terrible thing, what I did."

  "I don't know about that." His words were unexpected. "It occurs to me that you had to have some pretty powerful reasons to disrupt your life like that. My glass house isn't built for stone-throwing, and you never struck me as a dishonest person."

  Compassion was the last thing she'd thought to receive, and it broke her self-control. Tears fell and her voice was shaky. "Thank you."

  "You ought to stop in sometime. You're missed."

  Grace shook her head no immediately, wiping her eyes carelessly on her silk sleeve. "I don't think so. He wouldn't want to see me."

  "Then maybe you can tell me why he joined my wife and I for dinner tonight."

  "Here?" She nearly choked and felt as if her head would twist off as she looked around her frantically.

  "Tyler's a man. He doesn't know what he wants. And besides, you shouldn't just let things happen to you, Grace. Sometimes you have to make them happen because of you. Think about it." With those final words, Richard squeezed her in a quick hug and caught his wife's attention with a wave. She walked directly over, a familiar shape following two steps behind her.

  Surely she made some sort of polite conversation with Richard's wife, but later Grace couldn't remember a word of it. Every ounce of her consciousness froze at the sight of the man who walked toward her.

  She recognized the suit he wore. Felt her breath catch because she knew he wouldn't have wanted to appear to dress to impress her. The tie was new. She wanted to know who had bought it for him. He stopped in front of her as any casual acquaintance might do, an expression of polite distance on his face.

  She must have, said hello.

  "Good evening, Grace. It was a lovely meal. My compliments to the chef."

  She wondered if it could possibly have cost him as much as it did her, to speak like strangers. She couldn't do it.

  "You've spoken to Chef Paul before, actually," she said, hoping the reminder that she'd had help in her deception wouldn't work against her.

  He stared blankly for the moment he needed to fish for the memory. She could see the moment he remembered suggesting that she tell her diner work reference to knock off the fake French accent, and for a moment Grace thought he might actually laugh.

  But at her hint of a smile, the shutters slammed down.

  "Congratulations on your success" was all he said before following his friends out of the restaurant.

  She finished out her night somehow, but Richard's final command lingered in her mind. Think about it. And she did.

  Late that night in her condo, the Chicago skyline sparkling like a piece of star-strewn sky outside her floor-to-ceiling windows, Grace poured herself a glass of wine, sat on the carpet by the fireplace and thought. Without giving in to her stormy emotions or waves of self-pity, she quietly took stock of her life, and her decisions, past, present and future. What she discovered did not exactly please her.

  In recent weeks she'd worn her pride like armor. Pride in her decision to fight her mother and Charles for her company. Pride in her ability to regain control over her life. And she'd been justified. But she'd also assumed that once she'd decided to take charge, she would automatically continue to be strong in all areas in the future.

  This, it turned out, was not exactly the case.

  Looking at it objectively, Grace realized that she'd sunk almost immediately back into her old patterns of giving up her control, her choices, to outside forces. The better part of autumn had slid by her in a blur of resigned acceptance. The dawning awareness that she would likely always have to jump-start her own empowerment, at least until she managed to carve out some new habits, made her want to weep. And laugh.

  She felt exhausted already at the effort required. On the other hand, the possibility of changing her current course thrilled her. To celebrate, she finished the last of the Cabernet Sauvignon as she watched the sun rise over the lake.

  Crawling out of bed the next morning after two hours of sleep, she vowed to ignore her raging hangover and start charting that new course at once. She'd done her thinking. Now it was time to act.

  She called her attorney.

  Three hours later Franklin O'Connell slammed her office door behind him as he left, and Grace smiled. She pressed the intercom button to her assistant with new enthusiasm.

  "Please call Elizabeth Han of McDowell, Stein and Han, and set up a meeting at her earliest convenience. Tell her I'd like to offer her the position of corporate counsel to the Haley Group, and I want to arrange it quickly."

  She hadn't talked to Liz in years, but she thought the small, brusque dynamo of an attorney would be pleased to hear from her.

  Next, she attacked the corporation's financial balance sheets, looking this time with a clear eye. Days of analysis brought back to her the pleasure of actually using what she'd learned while getting her M.B.A. In the end, she was surprised at the decision she made.

  Shaking off doubts like rainwater, she called for another meeting on the Monday before Thanksgiving.

  Grace came out from behind her desk to shake hands with the recently hired Elizabeth Han at quarter to ten Monday morning. She'd remembered long hair and baggy clothes, but hadn't been surprised to find Liz in a chin-length hair cut and tailored suits. The stunning Asian beauty and blunt manner were unchanged.

  "Are we all set?"

  "Good to go. I can handle the paperwork in no time, and if your read on the situation is correct, this ought to be a cake-walk," Liz said, tossing her briefcase in a chair and grabbing a cup of coffee.

  "Excellent. They ought to be here any minute."

  "Let's get 'em." Liz's grin was almost feral in anticipation.

  When Charles walked into her office alone twenty minutes later, flaunting his disregard of the scheduled time, Grace wasn't surprised in the least. She was also certain that he carried her mother's power of attorney in his pocket.

  "Let's make this brief, shall we?" she challenged him, already irritated by the sight of his perfectly groomed hair and prissy mannerisms. "I'm taking control of the Haley Group, Charles."

  "Are you really?" She wondered if he thought that lazy drawl made him sound important. "Well, your mother will certainly be disappointed that she chose cocktails and gambling in Monaco over fun and games in Chicago, won't she? The last I checked, she and I still control fifty percent of the corporation, so just how do you plan on accomplishing your grandiose scheme?"

  "By making you an offer you can't refuse," she said flatly.

  For once, her handsome, self-centered colleague looked unsure of himself.

  "And if I refuse to sell?"

  "Please, feel free, Charles." She smiled coldly. "I'd hoped to split the sale between you two, but I'm sure Mother would be more than willing to pick up a few extra million dollars on her own. After all, you'll both continue to receive your percentage of the profits based on your remaining shares."

  And just like that, it was over.

  Thirty minutes and some minor bickering later, the deal was a fait accompli. Grace Haley was president and majority partner of the Haley Group.

  Liz packed up her files, promising to have the
necessary documents drawn up as soon as humanly possible. "Got big plans for Thanksgiving? You probably feast like a queen with all of these kitchens at your disposal."

  "Not really." Grace laughed. "I try to give them holidays off. No, I'm planning on a quiet day. Maybe a glass of champagne to celebrate our triumph today."

  "You get all the credit for this one, babe. But drink an extra glass of bubbly for me. I'll be fighting off the starving masses. My siblings don't know when to stop having children." Liz waved goodbye on her way out the door, stopping briefly to add, "And don't worry, I'll take care of that other matter we discussed at the same time as all this."

  "Thanks, Liz. Happy holidays."

  That evening, she perched on a stool at a stainless-steel counter in the kitchen at Nice and regaled Paul with a highly exaggerated version of Charles's bravado and ultimate collapse. In between brow-beating his sous-chefs and line cooks and threatening the servers with bodily harm if they didn't get their orders out of his kitchen in timely fashion, he roared his approval of her strategy and total success.

  "Magnifique, chérie. And you save his life, too, that fiancé who is no fiancé of yours," Paul announced. "I am getting very close to some bad things with him." He buried his cleaver in a large melon shaped suspiciously like a human head, chopping it in two.

  Grace choked on the water she'd sipped.

  "Paul!"

  He shrugged. "Nobody's fingers go in the pots in my kitchen but mine. There are rules."

  She smiled and forked up another bite of Paul's airiest souffle. Liz's question about the upcoming holiday echoed in her head, and the surge of loneliness she'd hidden at the time inspired her now.

  "What are you doing on Thanksgiving, Paul? Why don't you come over to my place?" She added impulsively, "I'll cook a holiday dinner for us."

  "Wait." He shifted an enormous vat of simmering soup off a back burner before dipping a large spoon for a taste test. Rolling his eyes' and lifting his face to imagined heavens, he paused and then sighed. "Bon. Take it." In response to the imperial wave, a busboy lurched under the weight of the pot and staggered off. Paul turned to her. "Grace, I do not think I am ever hungry enough to eat your cooking. Besides, I am preparing the dinner for the orphans."