In the Fire (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

May
Ethan

My eyes burned with fatigue as my stint of fourteen-hour days filling in as executive chef for a friend finally came to a close. Instead of going out to celebrate with the staff, I trudged into my apartment building’s lobby on autopilot. I leaned against the wall next to the elevator, trying to remain upright while I waited the seven long minutes until the old death trap made its rattling, rickety return to the lobby. The past month made me appreciate my old staff at Sharpe’s on Fifth and the way they seemed to work together seamlessly. Dealing with Chancellor’s crew hadn’t been difficult, just different. I’d had to learn their whole menu, kitchen, layout and everything involved with running the kitchen. It gave me another peek into what I’d be dealing with when I finally got my own place set up and running with a completely new staff to mold into a cohesive group.

When the elevator finally shuddered to a stop, I yanked the sliding wooden door up. The car slowly started to rise and I prayed to the kitchen gods I’d be able to scrub the grime from cooking all day off my body without passing out first.

After I stripped off my clothes and stumbled into the shower I cleaned up as quickly as possible, then staggered to my bed and flopped facedown without even bothering to remove the towel slung around my waist. When my phone beeped inside the cargo pants I’d kicked off, I almost ignored it, but I had been waiting all day for a text from a certain chef and that had me leaning over the bed in record time to dig it out of my pocket.

The text message made me smile.

Are you alive or do I need to have Claire drag you out of the kitchen so you can finally get some rest?

Ever since Jamie had left we’d been communicating mainly through texts because of the time difference, his busy schedule, and my inability to hold a phone conversation without being socially awkward.

Being busy all day and night didn’t give me much time to dwell on what we were doing. But at times like this, when my body ached with fatigue, I missed the way his skin had felt against mine. I missed the way he didn’t take my shit lightly, instead giving it right back to me. I missed him laughing at something ridiculous I said. I just missed him. Not the Jamie I’d fallen in love with eight years ago, but the older, wiser and sexier version of the man he’d become.

I texted back,
Alive. Barely. Though it’ll be a long time before I want hummus again.

Vegetarian is healthy, E.

Fuck healthy. I need steak. And beer. And meat.

Well, you are a meat connoisseur.

I snorted and fired back a text.
I’ve been known to wrap my lips around a good piece of meat.

After a pause long enough to make me question if I’d stepped over the invisible line we’d created but never discussed, my phone finally beeped again.

You are evil. Pure and simple.

What? I just said I love the taste of meat, you pervert.

I’m the one making the immature meat jokes?

You love my immature jokes. They’re my best feature apart from my cock.

I could picture Jamie rolling his eyes in exasperation three thousand miles away.

I happen to miss your immature jokes. And your cock.
A second later, a new text appeared.
Get some sleep, E.

I grinned at the screen of my phone, wishing I could just be with Jamie wherever he was in the world at the moment. Meat jokes and cocks aside, I wished I hadn’t let him leave without telling him I wanted more than the renewed connection we’d had before he’d left. I wanted us to truly try without the threat of him leaving, or our jobs eating up whatever time we’d had together, or any of the other baggage each of us had. I just wanted him to know whatever he did, wherever he was, I wanted him. Not the world-famous chef James Lassiter, with his picture plastered all over TV or the web or smiling back at me from magazines. I wanted him, the Jamie who smiled at me goofily when I kissed him silly or the one who put up with my ridiculous failures at new recipes.

Nine years. I’d been in love with Jamie Lassiter for nine years. One year of us being in the same city, and eight long years when my heart had refused to let him go. Hell, if I hadn’t stopped loving him when I’d been too angry to see what we’d thrown away, I knew I wasn’t going to stop now.

My smile faded at my realization. He was three thousand miles away and I had nowhere I needed to be except my all-too-empty apartment.

Why the hell is my dumb ass not on a plane right now?

Even though it was late, I fired off a text to Claire.

Going to New York.

Her immediate reply made me smile.

Took you long enough. Good luck.

* * *

Eight hours and one red-eye flight later, I blinked at the harsh fluorescent light of the arrival terminal of JFK. I’d found a seat on the last flight out to New York in coach for an exorbitant sum. The sad truth was I would have paid twice that simply to secure that seat on the plane. During the long five-hour flight, I dozed fitfully, my mind running through every possible reaction Jamie would have to me suddenly showing up on his doorstep.

With no bags to check after I’d impulsively thrown clean clothes on and headed to Sea-Tac, I rubbed my tired eyes as I left the terminal and hopped in a cab. As the cab took off the driver looked over his shoulder and asked, “Where to?”

“Shit.”

I wasn’t sure why this part of my plan hadn’t magically revealed itself last night when I had dragged my delusional ass to the airport. I knew he lived in Midtown, but I was pretty sure that didn’t exactly narrow it down. Even though we’d been doing the text thing, with the occasional awkward conversation thrown in, we had steered clear of anything remotely personal, sticking to our daily routines and work ventures. Ever since the night at the hotel when we’d thrown caution to the wind and acted on our desire for each other, we had taken a huge step back. It had been nice to discover him again as a friend with no strings attached or expectations, but over the past month I’d been aching for more. And since I’d never asked Jamie for his address, I was stumped as to what to tell the cabbie. I had wanted this to be a surprise, so I really didn’t want to call him and explain why I’d thought coming to New York at the last minute at six-thirty in the morning had been a good idea.

Stalling for more time, I waved my hand to the road in front of us with one hand as I dug my phone out of my pocket with the other. “Manhattan.”

The cabbie looked at me with the bored expression he probably gave every tourist. “Where in Manhattan?”

I tried to smile as non-threateningly as possible. “I’m working on it. Just drive and I’ll get you an address as soon as I can find one.”

The cabbie gave me an exasperated look and pulled the cab away from the curb and into the mess of traffic near the airport. My fingers flew across my phone’s screen as I pulled up the contact number I needed. Jamie had given me the information right after he’d gotten back to New York. He called it a safety thing, in case I had problems getting in touch with him. Fair enough. I had given him Claire’s new cell phone number, but at least Jamie liked Claire. It had taken me a day of staring at the phone number he’d given me before I could bring myself to enter it into my phone, knowing there was no way in hell I’d ever use it. Looked like hell had officially frozen over.

Morning Trustfund. I’m going to regret ever sending this text, but I need your help.

My finger paused over the Send icon before I broke down and pressed it.

In less than a minute, my phone chimed.

Do they not have clocks in Seattle? And why do you need my help? Specifically.

I took in a deep breath to avoid typing something I knew I would later regret. The last thing I wanted was to be indebted to Trevor Pratt, but if it got me to Jamie, I would deal with it.

Morning to you too, sunshine. I’m in NY. I need Jamie’s address.

His reply was immediate.

Why should I tell you? If Jamie wants you to know, he can do the honors.

I cursed loud enough for the cabbie to hear as I watched his eyes nervously dart between my reflection in the rearview mirror and the road in front of him.

Because I’m in love with your boss and you want him to be happy. I make him happy. And? You know you owe me.

After a minute of no response, I began to sort through all the ways I could get Jamie’s address without Trustfund’s help. Lily knew a lot of people who were connected. Maybe she could get it for me. Five minutes had passed before my phone chimed again. Two words.

We’re even.

The next message had Jamie’s address and the name of his doorman in it. I ran my hand through my hair, wondering how in the hell I was going to get past Jamie’s doorman.
One bridge at a time
,
Martin
.

I leaned forward and gave the address to the cabbie, running through a list of ways I could get past Jamie’s doorman without him calling up and alerting Jamie I was here.

Forty minutes and no plan in place, we pulled up to the address Trustfund had texted me. The green awning over the glass doors screamed money. I shoved some twenties at the driver, got out and stood outside the building.
Here goes nothing.

The doorman—the text had said his name was Don—looked up from his newspaper the moment I entered the foyer. “Can I help you?”

You have no idea.
“Yeah, you can. I’m an old friend of Jamie Lassiter’s. He has no idea I’m in town and I wanted to surprise him.”

Don the Doorman eyed me up and down. “Name?”

I swallowed hard, trying to gauge the distance to the elevator and whether I’d be able to make it to and close the doors before Don the Doorman stopped me. “Ethan. Ethan Martin. We went to school together in Seattle.”

I mentally facepalmed.
Smooth
,
Martin.
Think you could ramble any more?
Maybe you should offer up what your favorite position is with Jamie.
I’m sure Don the Doorman would buzz you right in after that tasty little tidbit of information.

Don the Doorman shook his head as I flogged myself with my running dialogue of How To Fuck Up Sneaking Up On The One Person You Want More Than Anything. “You’re not on the list. I can call up to his place for you, but it’s kind of early. Sure you want me to interrupt him?”

Did I want Don the Doorman to interrupt him? No. Did I want to interrupt him so I could lay eyes on how incredible he looked when he had just rolled out of bed? Yes.

“Yeah, no. I kind of wanted this to be a surprise. You sure you can’t just let me go on up? I have his apartment number and his manager’s contact information to prove it’s all legit.”

Don the Doorman gave me a withering look. “Mr. Martin, this is New York City. You could have every famous person’s address and you could still be a whackjob. I can either ring Mr. Lassiter’s apartment and let him know you’re waiting downstairs or you can get in touch with him some other way.”

I scrubbed my hand down my face, nodded curtly and made my way back outside the building. I needed help. I could text Trevor back again, but in all honesty, I didn’t want to go there again. Like he said, we were even and I had no desire to tip the scales in his favor. No, I needed someone who knew the town. Someone who knew their way around doormen and fancy buildings. Someone who could sweet talk the devil into doing their bidding. I pulled out my phone and hurriedly typed out a text.

When you get this, call or text me immediately.

Five minutes dragged by before my phone chimed.

This had better be an emergency if you’re waking my ass up this early.

Knowing Lily, she was already awake and ready to take on the world.

I’m in NY and need your help. How soon can you get to this address?

I quickly pulled up the text Trustfund had sent and copied it over to a new text for Lily.

Please tell me this has something to do with you groveling at the feet of your hot, blond ex.

Something like that.

About damn time, E. And let me just say, serendipity is a crazy bitch. My services are at your disposal—well most of them ;)

I was too nervous to overthink her message. I just needed to get into the building without letting Jamie know, and if Lily could help me do it, I’d go along with any plan she had in mind.

* * *

Thirty minutes later I stood in front of Jamie’s building, pacing as I waited for Lily to show up. Don the Doorman had given me the side eye the entire time, watching me from his desk through the glass doors of the lobby as he read his paper.

When a cab screeched to a halt at the curb, a female voice yelled out the window, “If I’m helping you woo, you better pay my damn cab fare, Ethan.”

“Fair enough.”

I dug out my wallet, bending down to hand the driver a few bills as Lily opened her door, head held up like a queen. She exited the cab, slamming the door behind her as she stepped onto the curb in four-inch heels and a knee-length fur coat.

“Jesus. Who did you bang to get the rug? Hugh Hefner?”

Her eyes narrowed in warning. “You’re awfully mouthy for a man who needs my help at six-thirty in the morning.”

I held up my hands in surrender as I took a step back and whistled when she opened the coat, revealing one of her super-short skirts that made her legs look like they went on for days. At my low whistle she grinned, red lips dark against her blindingly white teeth.

“Will this do?”

I blinked for a second. “Why do I have the feeling you haven’t slept yet?”

“I live in Manhattan, Ethan. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Now, please say you’re going to impress your ex with your oral skills?”

I laughed and pointed at the man sitting at the desk behind the glass doors. “I just need him to buzz me in so I can talk to Jamie.”

With a wink at me she fluffed her hair and purred. “Give me thirty seconds and I’ll have you on your way up. But you owe me breakfast next time you’re in town. Got it?”

She poked a bloodred fingernail into my chest hard enough to make me wince.

I rubbed at the spot where her nail had no doubt left a divot and nodded. “Whatever you want, Lils. I appreciate your help.”