Serving Up Satisfaction [Satisfaction, Texas 4] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove)
Page 1
Satisfaction, Texas 5
Serving Up Satisfaction
Chef Noah Grainger lost everything he’d ever worked for when he witnessed a mob murder on the night he opened his restaurant back home in Chicago. He’s been given a new identify and has temporarily relocated to Satisfaction, Texas, while he’s waiting to testify. He is working at Candy’s Diner and counting the days until he can leave Satisfaction, move on with is life, and start over.
Mechanic Tanner Aronofsky has been happily alone for many years, but when he meets Noah, he falls hard and is determined to win over the wary chef, but Noah’s been on his own since he was eighteen and he’s not looking for a relationship. Can Tanner convince Noah to give both him and Satisfaction a real chance?
And then there’s the mob. They aren’t happy that Noah is going to testify, and they will do whatever it takes to stop Noah, putting both his and Tanner’s lives in jeopardy.
Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Contemporary
Length: 23,688 words
SERVING UP SATISFACTION
Satisfaction, Texas 5
Diane Leyne
EVERLASTING CLASSIC
MANLOVE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Everlasting Classic ManLove
SERVING UP SATISFACTION
Copyright © 2014 by Diane Leyne
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-685-6
First E-book Publication: May 2014
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
To everyone looking to find their own Satisfaction.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
About the Author
SERVING UP SATISFACTION
Satisfaction, Texas 5
DIANE LEYNE
Copyright © 2014
Prologue
Three months ago
Chicago, Illinois
Nathaniel Hawthorne sat down, looked up at the clock on the wall, leaned back in the chair in his small office and closed his eyes, trying to hold back his tears. He was totally exhausted, but happier than he could ever remember being. It was 12:01 a.m. He had just turned twenty-eight. He had spent the last ten years working toward this. It truly was the first day of the rest of his life.
He had done it. He had succeeded against the odds and against the predictions of his family, who had thrown him out the day he turned eighteen. For the last ten years, he had worked his ass off when he wasn’t attending school or studying. He’d scrimped and saved and done everything he could to achieve his dream. He’d studied business and restaurant management, but more importantly, he’d studied cooking at the Cordon Bleu Institute, first getting his associate degree at the campus in Chicago and then taking advanced courses in Paris. He’d been so thrilled and humbled when, not only had he been accepted for the advanced training, but he’d also received a full scholarship. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to struggle to study while trying to earn enough to pay the bills.
Paris had been a revelation—the arts, the culture, the appreciation of fine food. He’d returned to Chicago more determined than ever to open his own restaurant. He’d changed, though. No longer did he want success just to prove to his family that he could make something of himself without their help. He wanted to do it for his own satisfaction.
And now he’d done it. He’d opened his own restaurant. Now the really hard work would begin. Far more new restaurants failed than succeeded, but he was determined to be one of the lucky few. What was that saying again? The harder I work, the luckier I get. He’d work his fingers to the bone, but he would succeed.
Well, enough with the maudlin self-refection. Time to lock up, clean up, and then get some rest so he could start all over again tomorrow. The last two tables out front were just finishing up. He sent his staff home.
“Thanks everyone. You were all amazing, but it’s late, and I don’t have overtime in the budget. Get going. I’ll finish up here.” His tone was gruff with suppressed emotion. He had an almost overwhelming urge to cry from sheer relief and happiness.
He walked to the back door, but it took him a minute to realize that no one had followed him. He looked around. Grant had picked up the broom and was sweeping the floor. Mia put a plate of potatoes and chicken on the table before joining Jeanie at the sink and helping finish up the last of the pots and the pans and even Giorgio, his temperamental pastry chef, was cleaning up the counters and putting things away.
“You think I’d trust you to put away my things!” Giorgio glared, but Nathaniel knew him well enough to know what lurked under his gruff exterior.
/> Nathaniel ate ravenously as he watched his staff make short work of the remaining chores. He hadn’t eaten all day. Before opening, he was too nervous. After opening, he was too busy.
When he finished, he tried again to help, but Giorgio glared until he sat back down. “There’s one last piece of tiramisu left. You will eat it because my creations do not go into the trash!” he declared.
This time, a tear escaped before he could stop it as he dug into the luscious dessert.
Once everything was done and they were finally filing out, Nathaniel found himself hugging each and every one of them. He couldn’t help himself.
“See you all tomorrow!”
When he was finally alone, he looked around the kitchen. It was his. All his. Okay, the bank owned seventy-five percent, but Nathaniel’s was his. His dream, his vision, and now his reality. He’d even given it his own name so that if any of his family ever…but hell, even if they ever came to Chicago, they wouldn’t believe that their useless Nathaniel owned Nathaniel’s the restaurant, particularly if it was successful.
He peeked out into the restaurant. One of the tables was leaving. He walked over to them, thanking them for coming and locking the door behind them.
He still had a one table with customers who were lingering over their after-dinner cognac. There were four men, one slightly older who seemed to be in charge. The other three deferred to him. Nathaniel smiled to himself. They almost looked like a mafia don and his bodyguards. Clearly, he had watched far too many movies when he was younger.
He could handle that one table by himself and if they wanted to linger, he’d let them linger. It was opening night and he wanted it to be perfect for everyone. He stood and checked his apron and then headed out to see if his customers, his customers, wanted anything else.
“Gentlemen, can I get you something else? Maybe some more cognac? On the house, as tonight is opening night.”
The three men looked at the fourth man for his decision. He gave a small shake of his head.
“How much do we owe you?” One of the three, this one not quite as bulky as the other two, spoke. Nathaniel adjusted his inner assessment. This one was clearly the right hand, maybe the money man. He stifled a smile as his fantasy was working overtime. Clearly, he had been exposed to far too many stereotypes as a child.
He looked at these men. They were probably well-to-do businessmen and could give him a lot of business in the future if they were happy with the meal and the service. He was also a businessman and couldn’t comp all his customers, but he was just so damned happy.
“On the house.” The man, who had been about to pull out his wallet, paused and glanced at the older man. Whatever had passed between them, Nathaniel couldn’t read, but he watched as the man pulled out a number of bills and laid them on the table.
“We don’t take anything for free, but we’ll remember the offer, kid.” Nathaniel glanced down. He could see a hundred dollar bill on top and it looked like there were several more below. He had to restrain himself from scooping up the money and stuffing it in his pocket.
“Thank you all for coming to my opening, and I hope to see you all again soon.”
“You the owner, boy? You Nathaniel?” It was the older fellow speaking now. The one who had made the payment was helping him with his coat and the other two were on either side. They were bodyguards, he was sure of it.
“Yes, I am, sir, Nathaniel Hawthorne.”
“Like the writer? Any relation?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“You write, Nathaniel?”
“Only the menu. I cook, sir.”
“Sir? You got good manners, kid. You may not be a writer, but you are a genius in the kitchen. Kind of young to own your own business, aren’t you?”
“I’m twenty-eight and this has been my dream since I was a boy.”
“Well, you did good, kid. We’ll be back, and we’ll be sending our friends.”
“Thank you so much, sir. That means a lot.”
“You are welcome. Come on, fellows. The boy’s trying to lock up.”
Things had happened so fast after that. Nathaniel had escorted the four men to the door. Nathaniel unlocked it and then pulled it open. He just caught sight of a man in the doorway, standing right under the light. He moved forward, and as Nathaniel raised a hand in the universal gesture for “stop” so he could tell him that the restaurant was closed, the stranger raised his right hand and Nathaniel could see the gun in his hand.
Nathaniel stumbled back into the restaurant, tripping and landing hard on his ass and just as the first shot was fired.
One of the bodyguards went down first. Without thinking, Nathaniel got to his knees and threw himself against the door, trying to shut it, but the stranger kicked it hard. Nathaniel was knocked back, hitting his head on the corner of a table before going down hard enough to see stars, taking the table down with him.
He landed heavily on his left shoulder and felt a stab of pain, and the world started to go dark around the edges of his vision. Self-preservation soon took over and he crawled behind the overturned table even as a gun battle erupted. He heard the sound of breaking glass and breaking furniture intermingled with the sounds of more gunfire. One shot even hit the corner of the table he was hiding behind. He was going to die on the best night of his life. Maybe it was fitting.
It seemed to go on forever, but it was probably no more than a few minutes before the sound of the sirens penetrated his brain, and only another couple of minutes before the place was flooded by yet more people with guns, both men and women this time, most wearing blue uniforms, but a few in suits. It was two of these who hauled him to his feet and pulled him out the back door. He caught a glimpse of four bodies on the floor surrounded by spreading pools of blood and the destruction of his restaurant. His last four customers. Maybe his last customers ever.
He didn’t go quietly. He wanted to cry, rage against the unfairness. He struggled and fought until finally they cuffed his hands and shoved him in the back of an unmarked car. And then he just went numb, and all the fight just went out of him as he sagged against the seat and the tears started. Ten years of his life gone in less than ten minutes. Maybe his folks were right? Maybe he was destined for failure. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t his fault. Maybe if he’d picked another neighborhood. Maybe if other staff had been around. Or maybe they’d be dead, too? He didn’t know what to think. His mind went around and around until it finally just seemed to shut down and he slept.
Over the next few days, the two men, Tait Sorenson and Aaron Day, stayed with him twenty-four-seven, even when he was questioned by the police, which seemed to happen a lot. He said little to them, though. He didn’t know who the men were. He’d never seen them before. At first, he thought they were cops or even Feds, but eventually he figured out that they were from some private outfit, Southport Security and Protection. He wasn’t sure why it was them and not someone official watching over him, but they seemed competent, and by that he meant bossy and annoying. But at least they didn’t ask him the same questions endlessly. That privilege went to the actual cops and Feds and others that seemed to be official but he was never quite sure who they were with.
Regardless, they seemed to all keep asking the same questions.
Yes, he had seen the main shooter and could describe him.
“Dark hair, dark eyes, giant gun.”
“Would you recognize him if you saw a photo?”
When he’d nodded, the people questioning him would show him mug shots and he’d identified the man who had started all the shooting. If there was anyone else involved, he repeated told them, he hadn’t seen them because he had taken refuge behind the table. Surely, he’d said, the other diners had seen the shooter and his friends, but they rarely answered his questions.
Over time, he figured out that three of the other four men who’d been dining at his restaurant were dead. The fourth was in critical condition and not expected to live, which meant that
Nathaniel was the only witness, the only one who could testify against Gino “The Hammer” Sorrento, a mob enforcer and hit man with at least a dozen kills to his name that they knew of, although none had ever been proven.
“So when is the trial? I’ve identified the guy who did the shooting. You have the forensics or whatever from the bullets and the gun. Hell, you have got the guy, don’t you? Don’t you?” He was practically shouting now.
“Well, no. That’s why Sorenson and Day have been called in, to protect you. They are specialists.”
“But, you had him. The police got to the restaurant almost immediately.”
“He got away in the confusion. And it’s possible that he had help. That’s why these two were brought in. They weren’t involved in the operation, so we know they didn’t tip anyone off.”
“Operation? That’s how you guys got there so quickly. You knew something was going down. You put me at risk! It’s your fault that my business got shot up. And what do you mean, he got help? Help from who? Cops? Dirty cops? Shit! I’m leaving!” Nathaniel looked around, but he couldn’t see a way out.
“Sorry, man. I’m afraid you are stuck with us for the duration.” It was Day, or maybe Sorenson. Nathaniel still wasn’t sure which was which and didn’t particularly care. “Rodgers from the Feds will lead the hunt for the Hammer.” He looked around and frowned. “He was around here a minute ago. Well, whatever. He’s got the fun job. We’re on babysitting duty.”
“Look. I have a business to run. I need to find out how much damage was done, call my insurance company, call my staff. I haven’t even been allowed to use a phone. I’ve got rights! I’m a victim, not one of the bad guys.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew that it was all over, but he was determined not to give up. This was not going to break him.