by Layla Nash
When I snorted, he held up his phone, eyebrows raised in challenge. "Give me a restaurant, and I'll get a reservation right now. We can go get coffee."
I put a hand to my forehead, flabbergasted.
Logan put the phone on the island, still watching me. "So I knew the restaurant had a unique product, something that was worth that type of wait. Something that added immense value to the venue as it existed when I went in there. You."
"That's ridiculous, don't —"
"I'm not blowing smoke at you, darlin, it's the God's honest truth." He stumbled over 'darlin,' and so did my heart. Logan plowed on, though, as if neither of us heard it or the purr in his voice. "And third, the food was good. More than good. What I got to taste of it." He gave me a sideways look that made my skin prickle in anticipation. "So from where I sat, it wasn't much of a risk."
"Bob could barely pay his loans," I said, slow and careful so he wouldn't misunderstand. "I couldn't get the good suppliers because we never paid on time. Three weeks ago, they turned off the lights for four hours until Joey came up with the money to pay the electric bill. If it were so profitable and such a sure thing, why the hell were we losing money every night?"
"Because you kicked out paying customers?"
I scowled and he laughed, then reached for my shoulder. Lightning arced between us and I caught my breath. Every part of me warmed with the rough drag of his calloused fingers down my bicep. I couldn't breathe. Logan's voice went soft. "Not really, I promise. There's something else going on, like you said. I'll figure it out, don't worry about it. I won't let it interfere with your work or the soup kitchen. Just cook and run the kitchen for me. Everything else will work out."
He stood over me, close enough I could have slid my arms around him and pulled him close, could have kissed him if I wanted. He leaned closer, brown eyes searching my face for something, and the breath hiccupped in my throat. Logan touched my cheek. His thumb grazed my lower lip, and my heart started to pound. My brain short-circuited as he eased closer, his palm resting on my waist. His head tilted, lowered.
He wanted to kiss me. The thought filtered sluggish and slow through me as I looked up at him, lips parted in shock or anticipation or just plain necessity. Holy crap on a cracker. Logan smiled very slightly as his mouth descended towards mine, I could feel him smiling more as his lips brushed my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. I jerked away and turned on my heel, panic making my hands shake as I reached for a dry pan. Shit.
Logan cleared his throat. "Natalia —"
"I promised Hamilton a grilled cheese," I said, louder than I intended. The pan clanged against the cooktop but I didn't care, throwing open the fridge to search for cheese and butter and bread and anything so I wouldn't look at him. That giant, capable, unfortunately handsome man who made my lungs contract and my knees wobble. "I told him I'd —"
"Hamilton already ate dinner," Logan said, all slow and careful but with laughter in his voice. As if he knew how unsettled he'd made me. I wondered if that was his game — reduce a confident woman to a puddle of lust and uncertainty and then laugh at her when she couldn't string a thought together.
"Of course." It was easily nine o'clock, maybe later. I didn't dare take out my phone or look around for a clock, lest I peek at him accidentally and trigger whatever spell he'd worked. "I should go."
"Natalia."
God, I loved the way he said my name. Like the Russian way, not the mispronounced version of Natalie I usually heard. Na-tah-lee-uh. I closed my eyes and let it shiver through me. I picked up my wet chef's coat and shoved it in the bag as well, fumbling with my purse as I looked him in the chest. "I'll show myself out. Please give my regards to your brothers."
I fled like a coward and bolted for a door. For any door. After two turns I was hopelessly lost. Logan had trailed after me, far too silent for such a big dude, and at length he said, "This way," gesturing down a different hall.
He walked me to my car and even opened the door for me, waiting as I shoved everything in the backseat. He caught my arm before I could dive into the driver's seat. "You never answered me."
I stared up at him, every inch of me flushed from the feel of his enormous hand wrapped around my elbow. God help me if he tried to kiss me again, I didn't have the strength of will to run away a second time. "Wh-what?"
"About whether you would be my partner."
My jaw went slack. "P-partner?"
"At the restaurant." His smile grew to a grin, and my stomach wobbled and swerved to drop to my feet.
"Oh." I turned and pulled my arm free, ducking into the piece of shit sedan and pulling the door closed. Desperate for some space. I turned the key and prayed it would start; if the engine didn't turn over, he would invite me to wait inside and then I would kiss him. I just knew it. And if I kissed him, it was a very short walk to his bedroom and losing whatever integrity and dignity I had left.
Luckily — or unluckily — the engine chugged to life. I cranked the window down enough to say, "I'll give it a trial run. One month. Okay?"
"I want longer than that," he said. The skin around his eyes creased as he smiled. "But we can start with one month. Drive safely, Natalia."
I want longer than that. It kept repeating in my head, over and over, as I drove back to the city. As I parked the car at my favorite pub and went inside, hoping my best friend would be there. She was, thank God, standing behind the bar with her brother. I snagged a stool near the end of the bar, resting my elbows on the smooth wooden surface, and immediately covered my face with my hands.
Ruby laughed at me, sliding a gin and tonic into my line of vision. "What happened? Jake was in here looking for you. Said you had some kind of gig?"
"Oh my God." I collapsed against the bar and hid my face against my folded arms. "Ruby, you have got to help me."
She nudged me. "Sit up, chica." She squinted at me a little. "What's up?"
We'd met years ago when she tended bar at the only restaurant open late enough to feed the hungry cooks after the other kitchens closed. Now I had my own restaurant, and she and her brother, Rafe, owned their own bar just down the street from it. Her dark hair was cut in a super feminine bob, but everything else about her was tough as nails — the spike through her septum, the tattoos across her chest and arms, piercings up and down her ears, and the bold makeup around her eyes. She also wore steel-toed shit-kickers for when the bar patrons got a little too froggy.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and struggled for calm. "The gig tonight was some super rich dude. I kicked him out of the restaurant a couple days ago because he sent back his steak. Well, he paid Bob off to have me cook at his house and then tells me that he bought the restaurant. He bought it, Ruby. Because he was mad."
"Did he fire you?"
"No," I said, still a little incredulous. I drank half the gin and tonic and knew I would regret it the next morning, particularly after having put a dent in Logan's no doubt expensive wine collection. "He wants me to run everything. Set the menu, manage the staff. Everything."
Ruby glanced at her brother, who was eavesdropping rather than pulling beers for the handful of customers hanging out on a weekday night, then back at me. "So what's the problem? That sounds like a solid deal, as long as he's not some creep."
"That's the worst part." I sighed, shaking my head at the glass of gin. "He's not. He's a dick, but he's gorgeous. With a capital 'g.'"
Ruby laughed. "That doesn't sound like the worst part."
I groaned and slapped a hand over my eyes. "He almost kissed me. And I panicked. I ran."
"What are you, twelve?" She bumped my elbow. "You'll be fine. Just suck it up and keep your knives on you. Play hard to get."
"That's terrible advice. You should be —" I half-turned as the door to the bar opened and the bell jingled, distracting me from my own embarrassment. Until I saw the man who walked through — the giant bruiser who was Logan's youngest brother. Atticus. I swore under my breath, about to say something as I turned
back to look at my best friend, but Ruby frowned at him as well.
She glanced at Rafe and he made eye contact with Atticus, gesturing for him to come around the bar. The two men disappeared into the back, and I looked at Ruby. "How do you know Atticus?"
She dropped the glass she held, jumping back as it shattered on the floor. She didn't look away from me. "How do you know Atticus?"
"He's Logan's little brother. The guy who bought the restaurant — Logan Chase."
Her eyebrows climbed slowly to her hairline. "I'm sorry, what?"
"The capital 'g' gorgeous guy who bought the restaurant," I repeated slowly. My heart sank, though, since the expression on her face did not inspire much confidence. "Was Logan Chase. Atticus is his little brother. Do you think he followed me here?"
Ruby took a breath, looking at where Rafe and Atticus disappeared, then shook her head. Offered a fake smile. "Doubt it. He and Rafe go way back. I wouldn't even worry about it." She fussed with the broom and dustpan, cleaning up the mess before she went on. "You should be careful around the Chase brothers, Nat. Especially Logan."
I braced my hands on the bar as I watched her. Exactly what I needed to know but the last thing I wanted to hear. "Why?"
"Just — be careful. They're used to getting what they want, and they don't always have good brakes. Sometimes people get hurt. It just comes with the territory of having that much power, I guess. Eventually, everything is a commodity to be purchased. Guard your heart, okay?"
"It's nothing," I said, heart sinking. Her words, at least, rang true. Truer than Logan's. "Just a silly crush. I'll be fine. And thanks for the warning."
"Sure." She focused on new glasses but slid me a side look. "But if you get the chance to fuck him, no strings attached, do it. Don't even hesitate."
I laughed, let the gin warm the dread from my stomach, and rested my head on my fist. "Noted. Anyway. What else was going on?"
She filled me in on her day, though she kept looking back at where Rafe and Atticus argued in the shadows of their office. I didn't mind, though, since I kept hearing Logan's gruff voice instead of her pixie-high one. I want longer than that. I shivered, trying to concentrate, but nothing could keep his face out of my mind. God help me, I was in trouble.
Five
I had enough of a hangover that waking up the next morning at six to meet the seafood supplier was a special kind of hell. Even double-fisting coffee didn't help. The headache beat behind my eyes as I stood on the loading dock and looked at the crates of fish. I counted them up and made notes on my clipboard. I needed to design the menu for the next week, and there was no telling what Joey would decide to get rid of next. I could try to put salmon on special, change things up a bit.
The greasy-looking guy, smelling very strongly of old bait, held out the invoice for my inspection. "Just what you ordered. Joey was supposed to be here for this delivery, though. Where's he at?"
"I'm not his keeper," I said under my breath, then nudged a crate with my foot. "Some of that mahi mahi looks kinda sweaty. How old is it?"
"Caught it myself this morning, sugar." He lit up a cigarette, waving it at me. "Just sign the papers and get back in the kitchen."
I scowled. "You can go fuck yourself. Take back the mahi mahi, I don't want it."
"Joey wants it," he said, then turned and walked away. His truck started up and drove off before I could open my mouth to yell at him, and I stared at the invoice in my hand.
Unbelievable.
The kid I had helping me in the kitchen in the mornings hauled the rest of the crates into the cooler, though I had him leave the offending mahi mahi on the loading dock. It looked off-color when I examined it more closely, and I started unpacking it. Maybe only the top couple of fish were bad, the others...
I sat back on my heels. Wrapped in cellophane, under two overripe fish, were stacks of cash. Hundreds. Tens of thousands of dollars worth of cash. My breath caught as I touched it, looking around to see if anyone else noticed. Nothing. I was alone in the alley, and suddenly more terrified than any other time I'd been almost alone at the restaurant. Especially with Edgar's comment about no cameras. I swallowed hard, then pulled out my phone. I didn't know what to do about cash in the fish, but there was someone who would.
The phone rang at least six times before he picked up, and he sounded half-asleep, voice all rusty and gruff. "Good morning, Natalia."
Shivers ran all the way through me, sparking heat and fire low in my stomach. Logan sounded like rumpled sheets and soft pillows and tangled limbs. I cleared my throat, glad he couldn't see me blush. "I'm sorry to call so early, but —"
"Not a problem." A rush of breath, as if he yawned, then rustling and movement. "What can I do for you?"
For a moment I thought about answering honestly — or at least correcting his question to 'what can I do to you.' I put a hand to my forehead and turned away, praying for maturity and calm. "There's a problem. At the restaurant."
"Oh?" Less flirting, more serious. "What kind of problem? Are you safe?"
"Safe? Yeah, it's just — I got the fish delivery today, and something's wrong with it."
"I don't think I'm the kind of restaurant owner who is overly concerned about —"
"There's money. In the fish." I looked at the mahi mahi, wrinkled my nose. Christ, it smelled.
A long pause. A hint of disbelief in his voice, as if he thought I prank-called at six in the morning. "I'm sorry, say that again?"
I lowered my voice. "There are three crates of mahi mahi, but there are only about six fish in each. Underneath the fish are bundles of cash. Of hundreds. Tens of thousands of dollars. Joey was supposed to be here to accept the delivery, but I haven't seen him all morning, and —"
"Go inside the restaurant." Logan sounded like he was moving very fast, all business and tense. "Lock yourself in one of the offices. Leave the money in the fish, leave the crates where they are. Edgar and Atticus are closer; they should be there in a few minutes. I'm on my way."
"Logan, it's not —"
"Someone put that money there for a reason," he said, his tone that weird overly-calm one used by professionals when the normal people flipped out. Like how doctors talked to incoherent patients. My heart started to beat faster; he was worried. He went on despite the rumble of a car engine in the background, still managing to sound unruffled. "Joey expects it to be there, and since we don't know who put the money there, I don't want you anywhere near that fish. I can't think of many legitimate reasons to put thousands of dollars in fish, can you?"
I backed toward the restaurant, my attention still on the crates. "No, I don't think so."
"Right. Lock yourself in one of the offices, just to be safe in case someone shows up to retrieve the cash, and wait until Edgar or I call you. Okay?"
"S-sure." I cleared my throat, suddenly wishing I had my knives on me. Or a gun. A gun might have been better.
"I'll be there soon. Everything will be fine." It sounded like he wanted to convince himself as much as me.
I concentrated on breathing, "Yeah, it's —" and retreated another step. I bumped into something and froze. Hands grabbed my arms and Joey said, "Going somewhere?" right in my ear.
The phone slipped from my hand and I elbowed him, tried to throw off his grip. Instead, his fingers tightened on my elbow, and he yanked me into the shadows near the edge of the loading dock. "Who were you talking to, Nat?"
"No one." I cleared my throat. "Let me go, Joey. I need to figure out what we're going to do with the salmon this week, and the menus go to the printer in a couple hours."
"You don't want to use the mahi mahi?"
"No." I swallowed, wrenching at his grip once more as I waved at the three crates. "It's shit. Smells off. Send it back."
"Stop fucking around," he said, low and cold. Shoved me up against the wall and pinned me, his forearm a bar across my throat. For a short guy, his upper body strength surpassed mine, even as I kicked at him. "Who did you tell about the money?"
/> "I don't know what you're talking about," I said. I choked, clawing at his arm and his face. "Let me go."
"You've been a pain in my ass for too long." Joey glanced behind him before looking back at me, exerting more pressure on my throat until my breath rasped. "How about a little lesson in remembering your place, hmm?"
His knee pressed between my thighs, and I screamed. Screamed and prayed someone would hear, would intervene. Joey back-handed me, grabbed my shoulders and slammed me against the wall until my head bounced off the bricks. I swung at him, stomped at his feet, elbowed and raged. Never again. Wasn't going to be a victim again. I clawed at his eyes and he cursed, struggled to keep a hand on me as I fumbled at a loose brick.
I almost had it in hand when he tripped me and I landed hard on my knees, crying out. He landed on top of me, a knee in my back. The frozen concrete burned against my skin as my sweater and coat hiked up, and Joey shoved my cheek to the dirty ground. I tried to breathe. Had to stay calm. Panic meant dead.
His voice hissed in my ear, hateful and cruel. "Should I fuck you out here in the garbage, Nat? Or drag you inside and have you in the cooler? You're a cold fish anyway, might as well —"
The brick in his face cut him off. My shoulder and back screamed as I swung it behind me, into his nose until the blood gushed and spattered across my coat and hair. I shoved at him to get free, desperate to get back on my feet, and screamed again, mostly in rage.
Son of a bitch. That unbelievable, dirty son of a bitch. I elbowed him in the throat, half blind from dirt and his blood.
His fingers dug into my thigh. "Don't you —"
His hand disappeared and then so did the rest of him.
Silence.
I scrambled to my feet, staggering to lean against the brick wall as my knees objected and my back spasmed. Pain everywhere, blinding pain — but escape was more important. Pain would heal. What he threatened — would not. Breath sobbed in my throat as I searched the alley. Ten feet away, a mountain of muscle held Joey by the throat, his heels dangling three feet off the ground. Atticus. He looked at me, unmindful as the much smaller man flopped around in his grip like a dying fish. "Are you okay?"