Playing with Piper (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing for Love Book 3) (6 page)

T
he macaroni
and cheese is a revelation.

Creamy and cheesy, with a tang from jalapenos, black olives and tomatoes that Piper’s added to her sauce. The top of it is crusted with a mixture of panko and parmesan, seasoned with salt, pepper and herbs. It is absolutely fantastic.

I’ve had forgettable meals at
Aladdin’s Lamp
, but this isn’t one of them. This is… transcendent.

And yes, I’m using the word transcendent to describe macaroni and cheese.

“So we’ve learned once more,” Owen says at my side, “that the Middle Eastern food here is forgettable, and everything else is amazing. Why do we keep ordering Middle Eastern food?”

“Because I like Middle Eastern food, and because the place is called
Aladdin’s Lamp?
” I reply through a mouthful of food. My mother would frown at me if she could see me. For all her faults, and there were no shortage of them, she taught me good table manners and always made sure my clothes were cleanly laundered.

If you were in rags, somebody might have come to check on you, and she couldn’t have that.

That thought from my past is sour, and the food is good, and I would rather focus on the food.

It isn’t just my past that I want to forget today. It’s also Carl’s words. From the moment he told us about Piper’s circumstances, I’ve found it difficult to breathe. I’ve always thought of myself as tough, but fair. I’ve never been an asshole.

Yet we’ve both been dicks to her.

I can’t blame Owen. The work he’s doing for Mendez blinds him, it always has. His father, mother, and baby sister were murdered by the mob. After that, he’s entitled to a blind spot the size of the state of Texas, if that’s what he wants.

But me? I should have done a background check on her last week. Distracted by my father’s sudden reappearance, I didn’t.

That’s not a reason, Wyatt. That’s an excuse.

She comes out of the kitchen, her head held high, her eyes fixed on us. Earlier this evening, she’d seemed diffident, tentative. Now, she looks the way she did the first time we met her, when she told us she didn’t want our pity. She blazes. She is steel and determination; she is fire that will either warm me or burn me.

I don’t care which, really.

“Gentlemen,” she comes up to us. “I hope the last dish was…” She hesitates, then finds the perfect word. “
Worthy.
”

But the blood that had pounded through my veins when I saw her approach freezes to ice as soon as she opens her mouth. Because though her words are defiant, the accent is still pretty, still Southern.

We have secrets, Owen and I. Dark secrets, kinky secrets. Secrets we’ve never apologized for, secrets we’ve barely bothered to hide.

But secrets can be chasms.

My world is filled with chasms. Between me and my mother is a gulf that has widened with each passing year. Between my father and I lies an insurmountable rift. Owen and I will never see eye to eye on Mendez’s schemes.

All of those divides narrow compared to this one. She’s a debutante from the South. Her parents expected her to find a husband in college and marry on graduation.

And Owen and I share women, and we like it that way.

Maisie and I broke up because of my sexual preferences, and I’ve learned an important lesson from it. No matter how my cock might stir at the sound of Piper’s voice, this is not a chasm that can ever be crossed.

I
sit down
at their table. For a few minutes, there’s silence and neither of them will look at me. My fear solidifies in my throat. They're going to bail.

Then Owen looks up. “You realize we’re going to rename the restaurant, right?”

My heart starts beating again. He said
we.
“You aren’t backing out?” I exhale in a long shuddering breath, trying my hardest to hold it together and not break down in sheer relief. “I thought you were going to pull out of the deal and walk away.”

“No.” Wyatt’s voice is curt. There’s a peculiar sort of clenched anger on his face. He’s acting like I’ve accused him of torturing puppies. “I don’t walk away.”

Owen shakes his head at me in warning.
Leave this be.
“Before we talk about the menu,” he says quietly, “both Wyatt and I owe you an apology.” He looks down at the yellowed tablecloth. “We’ve made a lot of snap judgments about you.”

Wyatt looks up and meets my gaze squarely. “And we were wrong about almost everything.”

“What?” My voice comes out as a surprised squeak.

Wyatt’s expression is genuinely contrite. “I misjudged you,” he says openly. “You were late to our meeting, and you showed up with a three-thousand dollar purse when your restaurant is in trouble. I put two and two together, and reached eight.”

“I talked to Carl Marcotti today,” he continues. “He cleared up a lot of my misconceptions. You worked your way through school, didn’t you? Your family didn’t help.”  

“No, they didn’t help.” My voice is a whisper of sound in the quiet room, the normal noise of the city seemingly muted in this moment.

“Instead,” Owen says gruffly, “they saddled you with a rundown restaurant, overpaid employees, and a set of conditions that almost guaranteed you would fail.”

“I thought I was doing something wrong.” I’m close to tears.

Wyatt shakes his head. “You’re being hard on yourself, Piper. You were thrown into an impossible position. Given the circumstances, you’ve done a great job to keep the place going.”

I swallow. This is the first time someone in the restaurant business has ever told me I’m doing a good job. For the first time in five months, I don’t feel alone.

Wyatt places his hand over mine, and awareness jolts through me at his touch. My senses instantly go on high alert. “I was wrong to judge,” he mutters, his voice gentle. “But I promise to make it up to you. We’re here now. We’re your partners, and we’re going to make things easier.”

So many images dance through my head. A restaurant crowded with guests. The constant worry about money lifted from me. Being able to tug free of the invisible strings that tie me to my parents. Images of Wyatt pulling me close to him as Owen watches...

Whoa. What was that? Focus on the restaurant, Piper.

“Thank you.” I’m still in shock. “What do you mean, you’re going to rename the place?”

Owen’s lips twitch. “Piper,” he says, his eyes dancing with amusement, “the place is called
Aladdin’s Lamp
, and there’s macaroni and cheese on your menu. That’s demented.”

I give him a withering glare, but it rolls off his back. He’s laughing at me again, but strangely, it doesn’t bother me as much as it did a few days ago. Maybe it’s because for the first time in our brief partnership, they’re actually on my side. “I don’t know if I can rename it,” I confess. “The trustees have set up some very strict rules about what I can and can’t do.”

“At every turn,” Wyatt remarks with a frown, “the terms of your aunt’s will keep coming up.” He gives Owen an annoyed look. “I hate how unprepared I am. Piper, do you have a copy of the terms and conditions?”

I nod ruefully. “I do.”

“Good.  Let's see what we're facing.”

When Carl told us about Piper’s struggles, I wasn’t sure what to think.

There’s a part of me that desperately wants to believe Piper’s involved in something nefarious, so I can act. My burning desire to avenge the death of my family hasn’t gone away in seventeen years.

But the more rational voice in my head points out that she’s probably innocent. Restaurants mixed up with the mob lose money year after year, but somehow manage to stay in business. Piper’s situation is very different. I can smell her desperation. Without help, she’s not going to survive the rest of the year.

Mendez called me this morning. “Well?” he’d barked into the phone. “I haven’t heard from you, Lamb.”

“We just met last week,” I’d pointed out. “I can’t drop everything and do your bidding.”

He’d huffed in displeasure and hung up.

Now, as I watch Wyatt flip through the terms and conditions, I wonder why I’m dragging my heels on investigating the restaurants Mendez asked me to. My mother’s face swims in front of me. I remember my sister’s toothy grin and my father’s hearty laugh.

They’re dead. I’m alive. I should have been with them when the gunman came. I might have been able to do something.

Or I might have shared their fate.

I make up my mind. Tomorrow morning, I’ll give Max Emerson a call and propose a meeting. Maybe I’ll tell him I’m reconsidering my decision to pass on his restaurant. Whatever it takes to get access to his books.

And Piper? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do about Piper Jackson.

“
T
his is insane
.” Wyatt says flatly.

We’ve just spent the last two hours going through all one hundred and thirty one pages of the terms and conditions, and it’s left me with fresh respect for Piper. Despite a thousand restrictions and constraints, despite a set of trustees who scrutinize every move she makes, she’s kept this place running for five months.

“Why did you take this on?” I ask her, leaning back in my chair. “Carl said you had an offer at
Le Bernardin
.”

“Hubris.” Her tone is wry. “I went home for Aunt Vera’s funeral. I didn’t think I was going to inherit anything; I didn’t even know Aunt Vera owned a restaurant in New York. Then the executor of the will told me I needed to make a decision right away.” She looks sad. “Running my own restaurant has been my dream my whole life, and it was being offered to me. I accepted without finding out what I was getting into, and I’ve been paying for it ever since.”

“Yes, well, you’re not the only one who jumped in without doing any due diligence.” Wyatt rolls his eyes in my direction. “This is a problem,” he says, tapping the book in front of us.

Piper stiffens, and he frowns at her. “Will you relax?” he says exasperatedly. “We told you, we’re not going anywhere. This is a problem to be solved, not an insurmountable obstacle.”

She exhales. “I’m sorry.”

A lightning flash of inspiration strikes me. I need an excuse to investigate the kitchen, and the three of us need to stop tiptoeing around each other. I’m Irish; I’ve made my best friends in a pub, over several pints of Guinness. We aren’t in Dublin and the Guinness in New York is undrinkable, but that doesn’t have to stop us.

I get to my feet. “We got off on the wrong foot. Why don’t we toast to our partnership, and then we can make our battle plans. Knowing Wyatt, he already has a dozen ideas. Piper, where’s your booze?”

I hold my breath. Is she going to let me in the kitchen without supervision? I only need a few minutes. Though I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, I trust my instincts. If something’s amiss, I’m confident I can find it fairly quickly.

It’s ten at night. The restaurant is closed. The sous-chef and the gum-chewing waitress are gone for the day. The exterior lights are turned off. The three of us are alone in the front, our papers spread out all over the table. “There’s wine and beer in the refrigerator in the kitchen,” she says. “There’s also a bottle of vodka in the freezer, if you want to get good and wasted.”

“Do you get good and wasted? You don’t seem the sort.”

“Another snap judgement?” she mocks gently, her smile softening her words of their sting. “Yes, Mr. Lamb, I’ve been known to have a drink or two from time to time.”

“You’ve got to stop calling us that, you know.” Wyatt grins lazily at her. “Especially if we’re going to get good and wasted together. Mr. Lamb. Mr. Lawless. You’re very formal.”

“Fair enough. Owen, you want help finding it?”

“I’ll manage,” I say, keeping my voice casual. I head to the back. I have only minutes to search the place. Trying to be quiet, I do a quick scan of the room, opening drawers and cupboards, checking out the pantry, bending down to search the shelves underneath the counters.

Nothing seems out of place. Even Wyatt would approve of how clean the kitchen is. The dishes have been done. The skillets have been cleaned and neatly stacked for the next day’s work. The garbage has been emptied. Piper’s sous-chef Josef must have seen to this.

Shaking my head, I return to the front with the bottle and three glasses. Piper shoots me a curious look. “Couldn’t resist checking out the kitchen?” she asks me. “Did I pass the Owen Lamb inspection?”

I have to chuckle; she doesn’t miss much. I’m very rapidly reaching the conclusion that she’s clean. Opening the bottle, I pour three generous shots. We each grab one and lift our glasses. “A toast,” I say, “to our new partnership. To new beginnings.”

We clink glasses and I take a sip. “This is good stuff.” I say, looking at the label. Piper Jackson is full of surprises. “You’re a vodka drinker?”

“No,” she replies. “My roommate Bailey gave it to me at the start of the year. By that time, I’d realized I’d made a mistake. I needed consolation.”

“This bottle was unopened.”

Her lips twitch. “I work around knives and fire,” she points out. “Vodka seems stupid.” She returns to the earlier conversation. “You said something was a problem?” she asks Wyatt.

“You’re allowed to take on partners,” he answers, “but you’ll have to stay the majority owner.” He sips at the vodka. “That’s not a problem. Owen and I almost never take a majority stake in a restaurant. But,” he frowns, “
Aladdin’s Lamp
is valued at two hundred thousand dollars.”

“I know,” Piper says, looking confused. She sits up as understanding dawns. “Crap. They won’t let you invest more than a hundred grand.”

Ah. Wyatt’s right. This is a problem.
Aladdin’s Lamp
could be very successful, but for that to happen, it’s going to take quite an infusion of capital. A hundred grand isn’t enough, not in a city where routine renovations cost half a million dollars.

Wyatt nods. “Exactly. We’re going to have to get creative.”

“We can’t cook the books.” Piper looks unhappy as she speaks. “Aunt Vera’s son Colton was pretty angry I was left the restaurant. He’s waiting for me to mess up. The trustees can demand to see my accounts anytime, and I have to comply.” Her lips twist into a grimace. “It’s in the fine print on page sixty-five.”

Wyatt opens to the indicated page and reads the relevant section. “What a pain in the ass,” he mutters. “I’m not suggesting we cheat the system,” he clarifies. “Any ideas, Owen?”

Is it the shared act of drinking together that makes us allies? Is it my search in her kitchen, which has revealed nothing out of place? Is it Piper’s willingness to be open and honest about her business? Is it the muted fear in her eyes that we’re going to back out, a fear I want to soothe away? Is it the raw talent I tasted when I ate the macaroni and cheese?

I don’t know. What I do know is that I want to help. When we agreed to our deal at the start, I didn’t give a shit about Piper Jackson. I was here because of Mendez’s suspicions.

Not anymore. I’m invested now. Piper deserves to be successful, and I’m going to help her. We’re going to fill this place every night.
Whatever it takes.
 

I look around the place. “Getting this place fixed up won’t be cheap,” I warn. “The tables can be salvaged, but that’s about it. The equipment in the back needs to be replaced as well. We can do a lot of the work ourselves to keep the cost down, and we can buy stuff in auction lots, but even with that, we’re still looking at sixty grand, minimum.”

Piper winces. “Right now, I’m breaking even, but not for long. Mr. O’Connor raised my rent by three thousand dollars.”

“O’Connor?” My voice sharpens. “Is that your landlord?”

She looks faintly puzzled by my interest. “He lives upstairs,” she explains. “I think he liked Aunt Vera. Even with the rent increase, I’m still paying less than market rate.”

O’Connor is an Irish name. Is he mixed up with the mob? My spine stiffens. “How long has he been your landlord?”

“Since the place opened,” Piper answers. “The last twelve years.”

I sigh inwardly. Mendez might be right after all. If her landlord is involved,
Aladdin’s Lamp
could be the site of mob activity without Piper’s knowledge. This has the potential of being very bad.

Wyatt gives me an irritated look. He knows I’m thinking about Mendez, and he’s not interested in my suspicions. He’s got a determined light in his eyes. I’ve seen Wyatt Lawless like this before. He’s in problem-solving mode. “Our marketing budget is razor-thin,” he says. “
Aladdin’s Lamp
is getting some buzz with restaurant industry insiders, but you aren’t doing anything to attract the public. We’ll need to get you some exposure.”

Help her first, Owen,
I rebuke myself.
Investigate the landlord later.
We fall silent, trying to think of a solution to our problems. “Wait a minute,” I say slowly, as the seed of an idea forms in my mind. “What about Maisie’s contest?”

Wyatt straightens. “That could work.” He turns to Piper, his lips curving into a smile. “How do you feel about being on TV?”

“TV?” I stare at them, my mouth agape. “What are you talking about?”

Wyatt explains. “You’ve heard of Maisie Hayes, the food blogger?”

“Of course.” Maisie’s New York restaurant blog is very entertaining. She’s witty and funny and she knows her food. I’m not the only one in the business who reads her blog every day.

“Well, Maisie is organizing a reality-TV-style contest for restaurants in Hell’s Kitchen called
Can You Take the Heat?.
I can probably get you in, but the contest starts in a month, and we have a thousand things to do before then. It won’t be easy.”