Playing with Piper (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing for Love Book 3) (23 page)

I
’m avoiding going
home to Owen and Wyatt after dinner service. I dial Wendy’s number. “Want to meet me for a drink?”

She meets me at
Piper’s
in twenty minutes, by which time I’ve cleaned the kitchen and done the accounts for the day. The two of us settle down with a bottle of red wine in the deserted space. “Another lover’s tiff?” she asks me as we sip at our drinks.

I nod, a lump in my throat. “My mother called this morning when I was with Wyatt and Owen, and I lied and told her I was with you. Then the three of us had a fight about me coming clean to my parents.” My emotions are still raw from this morning’s conversation, and I don’t want to think confusing thoughts about Owen and Wyatt. “Can we talk about something else? What’s going on with you?”

She makes a face and takes a long sip of her drink. “Work. All week, I’ve had to deal with a couple that are snarling at each other. Each of them makes more than a million dollars a year, but they’re fighting over who gets to keep the wedding china.” She shakes her head. “It’s enough to make me lose my faith in people.”

I tilt my head and survey her. I’ve been so busy with my own woes that I’ve failed to realize that Wendy hasn’t been her usual cheerful self. I think she’s right — she has lost faith. She’s been down and dispirited for weeks. “Why don’t you take a vacation?” I suggest gently. “Get away from it all for a couple of weeks? Even a month? You sound like you need a break from your clients.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. I know it’s the right thing to do, but I can’t seem to get excited by it.”

“A one-night stand then? How long has it been? I don’t think I’ve heard you talk about a guy in months.”

“Too long,” she admits. “I’ve given up on men.”

“You have?” I look up, startled. Wendy is the bawdiest of us, the least likely to give up on sex. “Why?”

“All the guys I meet are intimidated by me.” Her voice is bitter. “I’m the ball-busting divorce lawyer. The only guys who are interested in me are the deadbeats who are looking for a sugar-mama.”

“That’s horribly cynical,” I argue.

“But true.”

I gaze at her, troubled. “Wendy, that’s not fair. You can’t dismiss all the guys in the world based on a small handful of losers. Remember how we all tried to talk Gabby out of it when she was doing the same thing? There’s lots of nice men out there. You just have to have a little faith.”

She tosses back her drink, and pours herself another from the bottle. Her hands shake slightly, and I realize she’s well on her way to getting drunk. I’m worried for my friend. “Wendy? What can I do to help?”

She doesn’t answer my question. “You’re one to talk about faith,” she says. “You have everything in front of you for the taking, and you don’t even see it. Owen and Wyatt are crazy about you, and you’re here drinking with me because you can’t acknowledge how important they are to you. Through this entire competition, they’ve been by your side, and rather than confront your parents with the truth, you’re acting as if the relationship between the three of you isn’t real.” She snorts and drains her glass. “You might as well move back to Louisiana and become the socialite your mother wants you to be.”

My first, instinctive response is to lash out at Wendy and tell her she’s a bitch when she’s drinking.

It takes effort, but I fight that urge, because though her words are harsh, there’s truth to them.

I’ve hidden my relationship with them from my parents.

Wyatt was brave enough to open himself up to me. He told me about his childhood, and he trusted me enough to expose his wounds to me.

Owen has, as well.

But I’ve put nothing on the line, the way they have. I’ve been the biggest coward in the world.

Not any more.
I make myself a solemn promise. As soon as
Can You Take The Heat?
is over, I will tell my parents about Owen and Wyatt.

“You’re right.” I rise to my feet. “Come on. You’ve had enough to drink. I’m hailing you a cab, then I’m going to apologize to Owen and Wyatt.”

“You are?”

“I am.” I hug my friend. “And Wendy, I’ve been afraid, but I’m not the only one. You’re beautiful and successful. You can have any man you want. All you need is faith.”

“Faith,” she repeats. She’s a little unsteady on her feet, but for the first time in a while, she sounds hopeful.

O
wen and Wyatt
are watching a basketball game on TV when I walk in. “Hi,” I greet them tentatively.

They look up and Wyatt smiles at me. “Come sit down,” he invites.

I sit between them, and Owen pats his lap. “Want a foot massage?”

“I thought you were angry with me.”

“A little,” he admits. “But people can get angry in relationships, and still be very much in love.”

“You aren’t Maisie,” Wyatt adds. “It’s a sensitive topic for me, and I over-reacted. You’re an adult. I trust you to handle your parents as you see fit.”

“I’m going to tell them,” I vow. “As soon as the contest is over.” I stifle a moan of pleasure as Owen’s hands knead my inner arch, and I lean on Wyatt’s shoulder. “I’m not ashamed of you. I’ve just never been good at standing up to them.”

“That’s not true,” Owen says calmly. “You think you aren’t capable of asserting yourself, but when the stakes are important, you are more than capable of it. You attended culinary school despite their refusal to help you with tuition. You took over
Aladdin’s Lamp
and you persisted with it, even though your parents never valued your efforts. You entered into a partnership with us, despite your mother’s disapproval.”

Hope trickles through me. They’re right. When the stakes are high enough, I’ve managed to defy my parents. And nothing is more important than this relationship.

T
here’s
a long line of people waiting to get into
Piper’s
on Friday. Normally, that should fill me with joy, but I’m nervous and I can’t understand why.

“What do you think Max is planning?” Owen mutters at my side.

I don’t know. Piper’s been protected at all times, and Maisie has taken away the loophole in the public vote process. Part of me hopes that Max has decided to give up, but I don’t really believe it. If Max wins tonight, he’ll be in the finals. Someone ruthless enough to put an innocent woman in the hospital isn’t going to roll over at this stage of the contest.

Sasha, our new hostess, greets each group of people with a smile and seats them promptly. She’s put Piper’s cousin Angelina and her wedding party at the table in the front. They’re loud and giggly and even though they’ve only just got here, they’re already running Gina ragged.

“How are things in the kitchen?” I ask Owen.

“They’re ready,” he replies. “It’s the calm before the storm.”

“I hope so,” I say, as the first of the orders starts to makes its way to the kitchen.  

I can’t shake off my feeling that something bad is going to happen.

I’ve just finished calling out a ticket when Gina, the new waitress, walks up to me with a plate in her hand. “Chef Jackson,” she says nervously. “One of the diners sent back their food. He said the meat tasted off.”

I slice off a piece of the offending fried chicken and taste it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. I frown at her. “What’s his problem?” I mutter. “Fine, we’ll make him another. Salim, one order of fried chicken, please. Right away.”

“Yes Chef,” he calls out calmly. I watch him work for a second, then turn my attention back to the pass. Kevin’s brought up two orders of the jambalaya, overflowing with chicken, smoked ham and Andouille sausage. I plate them up with sides of collard greens, and hand them to Kimmie. “Table Nine doesn’t seem to like the catfish,” she remarks as she takes the plates of jambalaya.

Sure enough, in about five minutes, she’s back, carrying three plates of catfish. “They say the fish smells fishy.”

“Seriously?” I bite into the battered fish, and it’s perfect.

Owen pushes the double doors open and comes in. “What’s with the returns?” he asks. “I’ve never seen so much food get sent back. Do you guys need a hand here?”

“Taste this.” I hand him a fork. “Table Nine sent it back because it smells fishy.”

He brings the plate up to his nose. “Smells fine,” he remarks, cutting off a piece of the fish and chewing. “Tastes better.” He grins at me, though there’s concern in his eyes. “Let me go sort them out. I’m good at pouring on the charm.”

I chuckle. “I know.”

But the problem doesn’t go away. The food keeps coming back all evening long. Fried chicken, battered fish, grilled lamb chops, the strip steak, even my mac and cheese. Whatever we serve, it gets sent back to the kitchen.

Something’s wrong. This has to be Max Emerson’s doing.

“I am going to kill Emerson.”

Owen’s voice is low and fierce, his face tense with anger. I feel exactly the same way. Rage fills me at Max’s move. He couldn’t threaten Piper, and he couldn’t stuff his ballot with fake customers. So he’s resorted to this.

There can be no other reason for the returned food. I’ve tasted the dishes sent back to the kitchen, and so has Owen. Over the last couple of months, I’ve eaten many amazing meals at
Piper’s
, and the food is even better today than it usually is.

“He’s got to be spending thousands of dollars on this stunt. What’s the point? He might get the customers through the door if he wins
Can You Take The Heat?
, but he’s not going to keep them. His food is garbage.”

Owen doesn’t reply. His eyes are fixed on the judges’ table. Three of the judges, Maisie, George Nicolson and Anita Tucker are digging into their meals with every sign of enjoyment, but the fourth, John Page, has just raised his hand to attract Gina’s attention.

“The fucker,” I rage helplessly, as John Page sends his food back.

We’ve underestimated Max Emerson. I knew he was sleazy, but I didn’t think he was capable of devising a plan this devious. The judges aren’t going to question the low public scores when they come out. Why would they? All evening long, they’ve seen food get sent back to the kitchen.

Owen speaks up, his voice grim. “I think we’ve lost.”

Though I don’t want to face that truth, I’m afraid that Owen’s right.