Chapter Eleven
Maddox
I saw the opportunity present itself and slipped between the closing doors without a single person noticing. The cold wind bit at me, and I said goodbye to Alaskan Way and picked my car up at the valet. It never took more than half a minute for them to retrieve it, but I was still waiting after two.
“You still have your restaurant on Market Street.” I turned to find Jackie storming toward me. I cursed. So, someone noticed me leaving.
“I stopped by the other day,” I said. “It’s in my notes. I’m pretty sure you already ordered the new freezer, and I ordered new table covers.”
She furiously typed on her phone and checked our pending orders. Her thick hair was framed around her face in a bob cut, and her black skin was shiny with the heat of standing in a kitchen for too long. Dark eyes glared at me, but I was right, and she knew it.
“Really, Jackie, All You Can Eat is fine. Much more relaxed than you. Take the rest of the night off, get a massage, drink some wine. Add it to our expenses.” I offered as the Giulia pulled up.
“You and I both know I’m not going to do that,” she said and leaned on a hip. “Well, except the wine part. I’m putting a bottle of our most expensive wine on your tab.” She pointed at me, and I smirked.
“Of course,” I said, and slid behind my wheel. Jackie turned on her heels and returned to the restaurant, and I waited a moment and watched as she left with two bottles of our finest wine. I wouldn’t expect anything less.
I checked my reflection in the visor often as I drove to Nick’s house. Tonight was Everly’s first night, and it was a miracle I had gotten through work at all. What would she make? I wondered throughout the day. How would she react if I introduced Abby to her? Was I paying her enough?
I was smart enough to understand that introducing Abby to a woman too early was a poor decision, but I felt as if there was another reason behind it. I was protecting Abby, no doubt, but was I protecting myself, as well? There was no way I was letting my little girl think that another woman was coming into our world until I knew for sure that Everly was the woman I wanted in my life. It would either give Abby false hope that she’d have a mother figure, or scare the shit out of her that someone might take me away too. I wasn’t willing to let her think either thought just yet.
And how long was I going to be able to hide my very successful restaurant chain that’s all over this state and all across the country? It was almost a must now that I’d lied about needing her to teach me how to cook. Why the hell had I done that? Alaskan Way had been open for a year and a half, and already we were the top choice for downtown evening dinner. I was also contemplating adding a dish to the menu, thanks to Everly, and it was hard to hide my passion when it stirred.
And it was stirring. The more I thought about Everly, the worse my desire grew. I squirmed in my seat. Something was stirring, at least.
I was back to normal as I reached Nick’s, and I greeted Abby with a giant hug. She was working on that same painting she’d started Friday, just before the weekend. I made a comment on how amazing it looked.
Nick smirked in his corner, where a new painting waited.
“A little lie doesn’t hurt,” I said as he glanced at Abby’s mess of scribbled paint.
“Clearly,” he said, and his tone gave the impression of a double meaning. I raised an eyebrow, and Nick laughed. “You told that poor woman you needed someone to teach you how to cook. And she believed you! You’re playing her for a fool.” He had trouble keeping his laughter from filling up the whole room.
“I didn’t have another choice,” I said, and I couldn’t help laughing along. “It is dumb, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Nick shrugged. “Really dumb, but horny men do really dumb shit,” he said it quietly, but my head still snapped toward Abby to make sure she wasn’t listening.
“She repeats everything you say!” I reminded him, and he held his hands up. “And that’s not why I’m doing this, anyways. You’re disgusting.” I shoved his shoulder, and we both cracked up.
“But man, she is something, isn’t she?” I said, remembering Everly in that tight, black dress at the fundraiser. What was interesting, to me at least, was that she still looked as amazing as she was rushing down the street in a chef’s uniform, late for work.
“She’s a looker.” Nick agreed.
“Would you mind watching Abby for a few more hours?” I asked. “I haven’t exactly told her about Abby yet.”
“Sure, I understand. She can stay as long as you want her to.” Nick asked Abby if she’d like to stay longer with him, and she cheered and thanked me.
“Uncle Nick and I are painting!” she said and pointed at her canvas. “Do you like it?”
“Of course, sweetheart. It’s perfect,” I said, and Nick laughed behind me. “That pretty woman that you like? With the red hair? She’s coming over to make dinner.”
“She’s eating?” Abby asked, and I nodded.
“We might eat together. Is that okay?” I asked. Abby pretended to think about it, which was a habit she was starting to enjoy.
“Yeah, Daddy,” she said. “I love you.”
For a split moment, I second guessed myself. Was this fair to Abby? She didn’t know Everly, so if things didn’t work out between us, then it wouldn’t be a big deal. But it was important to me that Abby was comfortable with everything. I pulled her into a hug and thanked her for being a great child.
“That’s weird.” She complained and pushed me away. Nick cracked up, and I shoved him aside.
“I guess they all grow up someday, huh?” he said and opened his door for me.
“Don’t even joke about that.” I frowned and got ready to leave.
“Oh, wait, Daddy!” Abby yelled and jumped on my leg. I kneeled in front of her.
“Good luck.” She smiled and ran back to her painting. I watched her for a moment, before fixing my tie and walking back to my house. I was going to need that luck.
I spend the next two hours making sure my kitchen was perfect. High, marble counters, sleek, all-steel appliances, restaurant-grade oven and stove; only the best. I wondered if it was possibly too much, but that couldn’t be an issue. Surely Everly would appreciate it. I was stressing over nothing.
I forced myself to lounge in a recliner in the library, nerves on edge as I waited for the sound of a doorbell. I had sent her my address earlier in the day, and had nearly forgotten how to breathe when she had replied with a simple thanks.
Thankfully, Abby was easy to pick up after, and there was nothing of hers lying around. She was a bit of a neat freak, and always wanted her toys to be perfectly positioned in the corner of her room. She loved dusting the house as well, despite our maid visiting once a week for nearly five hours at a time.
The doorbell rang, and I ran to greet it in record time. My breath was shallow and uneven as I answered it, opening the door to welcome a very startled and wide-eyed Everly.
She was breathtaking, in a form-fitting white blouse and black pants that hugged her curves. Her hair was tied up as usual, and she had an apron hanging on the crook of her arm.
“Everly,” I welcomed her. “Come in.”
She took the first step slowly, as if she wasn’t sure if she should come inside. Her eyes never once stopped zigzagging through my house; at the grand staircase to our left, the vaulted ceiling with a giant crystal chandelier behind us, or the bridge upstairs connecting my seven rooms.
“This is your house?” She almost laughed.
“Yes.” I gestured around us. “There are two restrooms on this floor, on the furthest two corners from each other.” She followed as I crossed the family room into another room. “Here’s the parlor.” It opened up to an office, where a pool table and billiards waited with dust. “And through here,” I took her to the other room on the other side of the parlor, “is the library. If you need a moment to yourself, for any reason, I highly recommend this room.”
She nodded, taking it all in. “If I need a moment to myself,” she repeated. “You have this entire house to yourself? No one else?”
I hesitated, standing in between the family room and parlor. “Yes,” I said after a moment. “It does get quite lonely sometimes, to be honest.”
“And all you had was your chef?” she asked.
“And a maid, Gloria. She comes once a week.”
Everly laughed, a sweet sound that I wanted to hear more of. “How does this place get dirty with just one man? Are you that filthy?”
My eyes widened, and a blush spread across her cheeks.
“I mean, no. That’s not what I meant,” she stammered. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”
“Come.” I waved her off and led her toward the east portion of my house. She gasped at the sight of the fish tank running along the wall, and followed the trail into the kitchen, where she froze.
“And this is the kitchen,” I said proudly.
“Oh my God.” She placed her apron on the countertop and traced along the smooth edge. The kitchen was easily half the size of the family room, spanning nearly two regular restaurant kitchens. Two double ovens faced one another against the wall, and a long, spiral island separated the two halves of the kitchen. “Is this real?”
“I haven’t spent much time in here,” I said and leaned against the counter. “I barely even know what any of this does.”
She shook her head, but I made a point to memorize the smile playing on her face.
“Okay, well, let’s start with ingredients.” She opened one of the two fridges and began pulling items out. “I’m surprised you already had everything I needed.” She had sent over a list of ingredients the other day, asking which ones she needed to pick up. I had gone out and purchased the highest quality selection I could find, and lied and said my previous chef loved to stock up on food.
“Well, it seems like a simple recipe,” I said. Salmon and potatoes were on the menu for dinner.
“I wanted to start easy,” she said. “Plus, living on the coast, everyone should know how to cook a decent fish dinner. It should be a requirement.”
On the counter was a giant fillet of salmon, prepped and ready to cook, whole sweet potatoes, bell peppers, cilantro, lemon, pepper, cloves of garlic, onions, and asparagus. She sorted through my pots and pans until she picked out specific ones. She seasoned the fish with herbs and spices, and set it aside.
“It’s important to get the potatoes in the pot quickly,” she said and dumped four potatoes in a giant pot. She covered it with water, and I patiently listened as she explained the instructions on how to make mashed potatoes.
“Doesn’t seem too hard,” I said, noting the differences in our techniques in my head.
“Now, we prepare the bell peppers and asparagus,” she said and began slicing through them.
“Do you want me to help with anything?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“Just watch for tonight,” she said.
“I’m sorry I stole you away from your previous position.” I made small talk as she began roasting the vegetables. “I only wanted your talents for myself; it was selfish.”
“Phil was selfish,” she said, and apologized. “He was my boss, and I’m sure he had his own problems. But I couldn’t stay in a place that didn’t appreciate me.”
I nodded, understanding every single word. I knew how it felt to be so proud of yourself, and to have little recognition. I pretended to act clueless about this meal, and Everly danced around my kitchen flawlessly as she mimicked the top chefs of my restaurants. I smiled; how could anyone ever not appreciate her?
“The salmon takes the least amount of time,” she said as she placed two seasoned fillets on a skillet. The vegetables were roasting to the side, and a bowl of boiled sweet potatoes were waiting to be combined with salt, butter, chives, and sour cream.
“Just like that?” I asked. “Leave it on there for 10 minutes, and it’s done?”
“It’s the easiest,” she said. “And my favorite. I could eat salmon every day for the rest of my life.”
“What else would you do for the rest of your life?” I asked, unable to hide my curiosity. She paused and glanced at me with a confused look. “If there weren’t any obstacles, what would you do?”
“I would open up my own restaurant,” she said without hesitation. “On the pier. Fresh seafood, amazing cocktails, and the best view in the entire city. It would have an open patio, for the dogs, and an upstairs dining area that’s more formal than the downstairs.”
“And you would just work there? Rest of your life?” I asked.
“That’s all I would need,” she said, and smiled softly. “I guess that and watch all the Broadway shows that came into town.”
“Oh? A Broadway junkie?” I joked. I knew far too many of them, and Everly didn’t really strike me as the type.
“I’ve seen every musical known to man,” she said. “Sung every word, recited each line. I try to make it to the shows, but by the time I have some money saved up, all the tickets are purchased by scalpers, and the prices are triple what they normally are. So, I end up buying the DVD, or watching it online.”
“Have you been to a show?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“Well, if you count high school plays, then sure. I was the director of ours.” She grinned, and I found myself copying her. “God, what a mess we were.”
The salmon was finished, and Everly began plating a single plate.
“I’ll set the leftovers in the fridge,” she said.
“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” I asked. “You made more than enough for the entire week. I’m going to have to bring this into work or give it away to the homeless before it goes bad.”
She glanced at her phone. “Is that okay?” she asked. “I mean, the job was to cook for you and show you how along the way.”
“I like to be friends with my employees,” I said, not that I saw her as an employee exactly. “Come on.” I handed her another plate, and she mimicked the first one perfectly.
I carried them both to a room on the other side of the kitchen, where a giant oak table stretched from one side of the long room to the other. Golden chairs draped with shimmery cloth waited for us, and I placed the two plates beside one another and pulled a seat out for Everly.
“It just keeps getting better,” she murmured and stared at the crystal chandelier above us. “Why do you even have so many chairs if it’s just you?”
“Family get-togethers,” I said. “And I host parties here on the rare occasion.”
Somehow, with just the two of us at a table that seated 30, it felt intimate. Everly coughed into her elbow and draped her apron across the back of her chair.
“Okay,” she said and sat down. “So what exactly do you do, then? I’ve been dying to ask this forever, but it seemed rude up until now.”
“What’s different about now?” I smiled.
“You’re living alone in a mansion with a dining room that’s excessive even for the Queen of England,” she said. “I don’t think even the Queen has enough family to fill up these seats.”
I contemplated the question. I couldn’t tell her I owned restaurants; not yet anyways.
“I’m an investor,” I said, not entirely a lie. “I have stocks and trades, and heavy investments in businesses that make more money than they know what to do with.”
“An investor.” She considered my words and speared a piece of salmon onto her fork. I tried the vegetables first and sighed with pleasure. They were crunchy and warm, and delicious. The sweet potatoes were just as good, and finally, I took a bite of the salmon. Flavor burst onto my tongue, sweet and tangy and flaky and juicy. Everly had combined the ingredients in a unique blend that I hadn’t experienced before, with a strong mixture of lemon and garlic that isn’t overpowered by pepper. She really knew how to cook fish.
“Where did you learn how to cook?” I asked.
“We were poor growing up,” she said. “And my mom couldn’t really buy many groceries. Two months of ramen in a row really teaches a girl how to spice it up. I’d save up money from my awful weekend job, buy some cheap fish at the market, and taught myself how to cook it and add it to the noodles. It evolved from there until I was cooking every night. It wasn’t until I was in high school that my dream of my own restaurant came up, but once it did, I couldn’t stop it.”
She was constantly full of surprises, it seemed. We finished our meal with pleasant chat, and I waved her off as she attempted to clean. “My maid comes tomorrow,” I said, a blatant lie. “She’d rather clean this and get a good bonus for it than come here and find nothing to do.”
“Well, okay,” Everly said, but it was clear that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with leaving such a mess.
“So, tomorrow night again,” I said, and complimented her cooking.
“Thank you.” She blushed. We walked to the front of my house, just between the entryway, and hesitated. It felt like the end of a date, and I wondered if she noticed it.
“I’m thinking of duck or lamb tomorrow,” she said. “I’m an expert at both.”
“Of course you are.” I laughed. “Either one is perfect.”
She nodded. “Okay, then. Well, goodnight Mr. Moore.” She turned to leave, and I sat my hand on her shoulder. Her warmth shocked me, and I had to remind myself to speak as her green eyes looked at mine.
“Maddox,” I reminded her. “I know this is a job, but call me Maddox.”
She smiled, tension leaving her shoulders. “Okay, Maddox. Goodnight.”
I closed the door behind her and rested my forehead against the solid frame. What was the woman doing to me?
I cleaned up our mess in silence, my thoughts tracing our steps throughout the night. Her dreams were brighter than I expected, and she was full of so much potential.
I walked over to Nick’s house and thanked him for watching Abby.
“No problem,” he said, and woke her from a short nap. “She was just watching some guys play Mario on YouTube. How’d it go?”
“She’s talented,” I said. “I learned how to make salmon, mashed sweet potatoes, and roasted vegetables.” I grinned, and Nick shoved my shoulder. “She’s coming back a few times this week; can you watch Abby for a few more hours on those days?”
“Of course,” he said, as if the situation was entirely normal. “I’ll just keep adding our dinners to your tab.” I assumed he was joking until I saw the takeout bag from All You Can Eat on the counter.
“You get free food anyways, asshole,” I said as Abby grabbed my hand.
“Asshole, Daddy,” she repeated as she rubbed sleepy eyes. I groaned and left Nick giggling like a madman.
“Remember what I said about repeating all of my words?” I asked, as we returned to our house.
“Yes,” Abby said, but I knew she was lying. I made her a plate from our leftovers and stood at the counter as she ate mashed potatoes.
“How was the date?” she asked. Nick must have mentioned it a few times through the night.
“She’s just my chef, Abby,” I said and stared at the spot in front of the stove where Everly had worked.
“Okay, Daddy.” Abby shook her head, two curly pigtails slapping her across the face. She had such a grin spread across her mouth that mocked me for the fool I was. She knew better, but still, I repeated to myself that Everly was just my chef.
“Okay, daddy,” Abby said again, in a tone that meant, ‘whatever you say.' I grinned; it really was a ridiculous idea.