“I’M GLAD YOU’RE IN EARLY.” Deacon walks through the kitchen of Grinders like a man on a mission. I did come in early. I figured since things have been so tense between us for the last week, I’d make an effort to smooth it over. With our lives being so intertwined, it makes things fucking difficult when we don’t get along.
“Thought I’d get a jump start on orders for the week,” I tell him, knowing that’ll win me some brownie points, because Deke hates doing the food orders.
Without a glance back or a nod of his head, he grabs a cup of the coffee I brewed earlier. “I need to talk to you before we open.” As he turns to walk out the door, he mentions over his shoulder, “we got word on the insurance settlement for Pockets.”
No “thanks, Micah” or “you da man”, just “we need to talk”, which means he must still be pissed. Or holding a grudge like the fucking immature, overgrown toddler he is.
I may be the younger brother, but Deacon has always been a big kid. And that’s usually one of the things I love most about him. I don’t know why he’s being such a hard ass about this deal with Alex. It makes no sense.
I grab my own cup of coffee and think about going over to the bar and pouring a little Jack in with it to get me through the morning.
When I walk into the office, Deacon is already behind the desk with his laptop open and a serious stare.
“Why the long face?” I ask, trying to break the ice.
“The insurance company has settled,” he says.
“Fucking finally.” I set my coffee cup on the desk and lean back in my chair. “They’ve been dragging their feet. It shouldn’t take a month to decide that there was a fire and that it was an electrical problem and cut us a check.”
“Well, I’m sure it’ll still be a while before we get the check, but since we know an amount, we can start planning for the rebuild.” His fingers type quickly on the keyboard. “I’ve already contacted the framers we used on the initial build. I figure if anyone can put it back together, it’ll be them.”
“Hold up,” I say, leaning forward and resting my arms on my knees. “Shouldn’t we discuss this first?”
“What’s to discuss?” Deacon asks, not even looking up from what he’s typing.
“Like, do we even want to rebuild Pockets?”
That gets his attention.
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” he asks, his face contorting.
“A legitimate question,” I retort. “The money we get from the insurance settlement could be put into anything. Nothing says we have to put it back into Pockets. We could expand Grinders . . . we could use it for the New Orleans restaurant.” I stop there, letting it hang in the air between us.
If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man.
“What the fuck, Micah?” His lips curls in disgust as he squints his eyes, like he must be seeing things wrong. “You can’t be serious with this shit?”
“I’m serious.” I keep a stone-cold face, standing my ground. I’m not going to let him bully me into backing down. I get a say on what happens to my investment, just like he does.
“We’re rebuilding Pockets,” Deacon says, decisively. “And you’re going to forget all about Alex and her hair brain attempts at luring you into a pipe dream. I swear, I thought you’d wise up to her scam before it was too late, but apparently, I need to put this into simple words for you.” He pauses, placing both hands on the desk and pushing up from his chair. It scrapes across the floor and he locks his eyes on me. I stand, needing to rise to his level, because sitting makes me feel like a child being reprimanded and fuck that. “Alex wants one thing,” he seethes, his lip curling up from anger. “She wants you. She might want your money, too, but more than anything you’re a prize she’s trying to win. She’s a spoiled brat who’s been given things her whole life. This building is all she has to offer you. Don’t let her weasel her way into your life and mess everything up.”
“Mess up what, Deacon?” My own chair flies across the room. “What can Alex honestly mess up?” I ask, using air quotes to get my point across. This is ludicrous and the thought crosses my mind that Deacon is just pissed that I’m doing something he doesn’t want me to. This is a display of authority and fuck if I’m going to let him rule my life.
“Everything.” Deacon’s tone is even. The calmness in his voice causes me to pause. “She’s always wanted you, Micah, and Alex is the kind of girl who stops at nothing to get what she wants. The deal is, she usually doesn’t have to try so hard, but you’ve denied her. So, this is a game to her. She couldn’t get you the way she used to be able to, so she regrouped and now she’s back, danglin’ a carrot in front of you, bankin’ on you takin’ the bait.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe Alex does have ulterior motives, but so what? I want that building. I want a restaurant in New Orleans.
“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter,” I tell him, reaching back and righting the chair behind me, leaning against the back of it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I won’t let her win. I know what I want. She can’t bullshit me if I see right through her.”
“You don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into.”
“I do. I’m gettin’ myself into a prime location in New Orleans, in the French Quarter. You should see the building, Deke. If you did, you’d change your mind.”
“I. Don’t. Want. To. See. The. Fucking. Building.” Each word is punctuated for emphasis.
“Fine.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “I won’t mention it again.”
“Good,” he says, straightening up and smoothing back his hair, like he’s won the war.
I said I wouldn’t mention it again, not that I’m changing my mind.
We both walk out of the office and busy ourselves with odd tasks until the rest of the staff start filtering into the restaurant. Joe shows up first, thank God, filling up the place with aromas and noises from the kitchen. When Kara comes to prep for the lunch rush, she turns on the sound system and soon the fight with Deacon is forced into the back of my mind. For now.
The crowd is crazy today, must be a full moon or something, because usually we have a slump between lunch and dinner, but not today. The drinks started flowing way before five and the lunch rush blended into the dinner rush. I haven’t even had a chance to check on Dani and see if she made it back from her photoshoot. I miss her.
Long days like this make me question opening a new restaurant. As much as I want it, I don’t want to do anything to damage the relationship that Dani and I are building. It’s still new and I’m still figuring this shit out. I’ve never been in a serious, committed relationship before. Everything before her was fun and games. I was getting my kicks and so were the girls I was with. Valerie was probably my most permanent . . . fling, if that’s what you want to call it. We were nothing more than fuck buddies, even though she tried to force me into more. I never gave in, always holding my ground and pushing her back. When Dani showed up, it changed everything. Valerie tried to stake her claim, but I let her know I wasn’t a piece of property, she didn’t own me.
Now, I’m fucking owned and I love it.
Sheridan Paige Reed owns every breath I take. She owns my thoughts and my body. She owns my days and my nights. Everything I do, I do with her in mind. Which is why I need to know for sure that she’s behind me on this deal with Alex. I need her to know that even when I’m not physically here, I’m still here. My heart is wherever she is.
A pair of soft hands snake around my midsection and I smile, wondering how she always knows the perfect time to show up and surprise me.
“Did you bring me cookies?” I ask as I collect a stack of menus to restock the hostess stand.
“If that’s what you want to call it,” a smooth, high-pitched voice says from behind me and it’s at that moment a sickeningly sweet smell hits my nose.
Not Dani.
“What the—” I’m cut off when I turn my body around and see Cynthia Miles two inches from my face. I haven’t seen her in at least two years, her senior year at LSU. She used to frequent Grinders, especially on the weekends, and we got to know each other. In the biblical sense.
“Cyndi,” I say, smiling when I want to scrunch up my face and tell her to get the fuck off me. But customers are still coming in and I’d rather not cause a scene. I peel one arm off and get far enough away to put the stack of menus I’m holding where they belong.
“Micah,” she sighs, pulling me back in for a hug, looking up at me with her big brown eyes. “It’s been way, way too long.”
I slip out of her grasp again and smile. Again. “Yeah, it’s been what . . . two years?” I ask, scratching the back of my head, wondering how I’m going to get rid of her. Usually, Deacon would come to my rescue, but I’m guessing that option is off the table tonight, seeing as though he won’t even make eye contact with me.
“March 2nd,” she says, with a wicked grin.
“March 2nd?” I ask, confused, because it’s November, not March, and I have no clue what she’s talking about.
“Yes, silly. That was the last time we were together.”
My memory of Cynthia is coming back in full force. Stage-5 clinger. How could I forget? It took me months to get her to stop calling my phone, even after she’d moved out of state following graduation. My mama answered one time and made the poor girl cry. She stopped calling after that.
“What are you doin’ back in town?” I ask, changing the subject and avoiding her provocative stare.
“Oh, you know, meeting up with some old friends. One of the girls from my sorority is gettin’ married next weekend, so I’m in for the whole week. Thought we might be able to pick up where we left off.” By the time she finishes that statement, she’s practically climbing my leg while I’m backed up to the hallway wall that leads to the bathrooms and office.
Just when I think my day can’t get any worse, I catch a glimpse of red hair blowing through the back door.
Dani’s face tells the story. She’s pissed and rightfully so, but it’s not my fault, damn it.
I push Cynthia off me one last time and take her shoulders, turning her toward Dani.
“Cynthia, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend.” I feel her stiffen before she whips her head around to look at Dani and then back at me. Her expression is a mixture of awe and pure disappointment. That’s right, Cyndi.
“Girlfriend?” Her eyes go wide in disbelief. “You don’t do girlfriends.”
“I do this one,” I say, nodding my head toward Dani who’s taking a few steps closer, holding out a container I’m sure holds something delicious.
“Dani, this is Cynthia. We’re, uh, old friends.”
Dani’s smile is tight and forced, but she offers her hand to Cynthia who slowly takes it, like she’s afraid something’s gonna bite her.
“Nice to meet you.” To a stranger, like Cynthia, Dani’s greeting sound sincere, but I see the way she doesn’t make eye contact and I know it’s a lie. Her eyes dart back to me and she gives me a different smile, a sad one. And I hate it. I want to explain, take her into the office and make her forget all about Cynthia what’s-her-face.
“Well,” Cynthia says, smoothing out the front of her shirt and pushing her tits up. “I guess I’ll catch you later, Micah.”
Deacon steps out of the office about that time, looking at me and then Cynthia and then to Dani and back at me. “What the hell?”
Dani shrugs and lets out a frustrated breath. “Ask him and Cynthia.” I catch the roll of her eyes as she blows out a frustrated breath. “I have to go edit some pictures. There’s enough cookies to share.” She points at the container and then turns around and leaves.
“Dani.” I start to go after her, but she waves me off.
“I’ll see you at home.”
Fuck.