Diced: A New Year’s Novella Read online

“You did good, Neil,” I say. “You got this handled?”

  “Yeah, but don’t you think Mia’s going to want to drive now that you guys are all thawed out?”

  I considered that, but then I figured that what Mia cares about most is the end-game—a big night now to guarantee thousands of full houses in the future. One glance at the kitchen, and the works of art being set up for inspection along the pass, and I feel pretty solid that she’s going to get her way. And it turns out I’m also still selfish—there are things I need to say to her.

  “You good telling everyone that matters this was her show?” I ask.

  “Sure, yeah…of course,” Neil answers, one brow lower than the other.

  I step up to him and re-straighten the tie he just loosened.

  “Good,” I wink.

  Chapter Five

  11 p.m., drinks, entertainment…and dessert!

  Mia

  I get like this when I’ve had too much caffeine. My world gets bright—everything yellow and glowing, like I’ve been in the swimming pool all day and am seeing the effects of chlorine. Only I haven’t had a thing to drink in hours, and I haven’t been in a swimming pool in maybe two years.

  “Shit,” I hum to myself.

  “Are you all right, Mia?”

  Camille dries her hands then reaches for my elbows, steadying me.

  “I’m okay, I just think…” I start to giggle, maybe cry a little too, everything I’ve just learned starting to penetrate my thoughts. I didn’t even get to wear my chef’s coat—the one with the pretty logo and that reads HEAD CHEF. Damn.

  That thought almost makes me cry.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  My eyes dart around in the direction I heard a voice coming from, and when my eyes finally settle on Jamie’s, I start to tremble. One of his team members is standing next to him, staring at me like I’m nuts.

  “She’s all right,” Jamie speaks on my behalf. “Probably just needs to warm up. I’ve got her.”

  He waves off my young protégé, then links his hand with mine, his grip strong. I have no choice but to keep up with his long strides, but when he leads me right back inside the frozen box we just escaped, I dig in my heels.

  “Hell no!”

  He turns without pause, and before I can yell again, I’m hoisted up over his shoulder, his arm tight around my waist while he drags me—quite literally—kicking and screaming back into the goddamned freezer.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? We just got out of here!”

  He flings the door closed behind us, and it bounces, not fully latching. Gesturing to the temporary pins propping up the weight of the door, he never takes his eyes off of me.

  “Do you not remember the scene five minutes ago—the drilling and ripping that broke that goddamned door open? It’s not locking ever again, Mia.”

  He’s shouting his words, and it incites me to step up to him, my toes to his. My finger rigid, I press it to the center of his chest and push hard. He’s twice my size, and I know I can’t physically overpower him, but damn it all to hell, I’m going to leave a bruise on his ribs at the very least.

  “Get me out of this goddamned freezer, Jamie!”

  “No!” His fast answer leaves me rattled.

  “No?” I echo.

  His hands move to his hair, digging into the strands and gripping as he takes one large step back, his eyes trained on mine. His nostrils flare with a heavy breath just before he exhales, letting his arms fall to his sides and his head tilt back so he’s looking at the ceiling.

  “No, Mia,” he says.

  “I need to run the dessert. I need to make sure Jeffrey…”

  “He’s been escorted out, and the dessert is handled. Neil has the trays circulating already. It’s fine. Everything…is fine.” His head falls forward again, and he looks exasperated. “Everyone important knows tonight was yours. This…all of this…it wasn’t about me saving you, me taking over—it was about you, Mia. That service was all you—your menu, and your plan.”

  I breathe in hard, and my mouth betrays me, my lip trembling. Weak fucking lip—I hate it.

  “We need to talk about what I told you. What you know now,” he says.

  I shake my head, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my expression trained—hardened.

  “There’s nothing to say. You got in over your head, Jamie. I get it…you were in trouble and had to leave.”

  My voice breaks with that final word, and Jamie notices, his face flinching at hearing my hurt. I don’t really want to hurt him, even though for so long…I did. But I also missed him. I dreamt of him, and every other man I’ve even considered since him has been held up in judgement—never with a shot in hell at comparing.

  “I did have to leave,” he says, my heart now drumming steadily. He’s inside me, his words poisoning my chemistry.

  I hate it.

  “Right.” I breathe out a laugh. He draws in his brow, and I bite my tongue for maybe six seconds before letting my emotions begin to speak for me.

  “You had to leave…I get that. I never knew why, but even without knowing, I knew you, I knew us—so in my heart I understood that you leaving me when you did must have been for a damn good reason. So I waited, Jamie. I was the last to close every night at my father’s place, sometimes waiting an extra hour under this false delusion that you would come strolling up. That you would come back.”

  His eyes tilt and his face falls.

  “That’s it, Jamie. That’s why I’m done talking. That’s why this…this…grand gesture of yours is pointless. Because I waited, and you…never…came…back!”

  His eyes close slowly, and not having to stare into the endless blue gives me more courage.

  “You had time to open a restaurant—three fucking restaurants. You had time to meet some French girl and take her out on dates. You had time for lots of things, Jamie. You just didn’t have time for me.”

  “No,” he interrupts.

  “No?” I laugh out the word.

  His eyes open and the blue is back; it always halts me. So clear, surrounded by a face that’s aged just right.

  “That’s right, Mia. No. No to all of this—to your version of our story. No, no, no.”

  I start to laugh again, but in a breath his hands are cupping my face and he’s stepping into me, guiding me backward until my shoulders are resting on a wall of boxes and his eyes are inches from mine, just far enough that I can still flit between the two.

  “No, Mia,” he says, his voice a rumble now. I feel it in his fingertips, and it numbs me. He’s somehow incredibly warm, and the cold that I was beginning to feel has vanished.

  “First, before your imagination gets it any more wrong, that date? She’s an investor—a friend.”

  I puff out a painful laugh because what a typical answer, but Jamie is quick to stop me.

  “Yes, she’s a model. She’s also wealthy and very well respected in France. She got us our deal there. And beautiful or not, she’s just a business decision. And maybe yeah…she finds me attractive. But she also knows who you are.”

  I gulp.

  “That’s right. You.” His eyes level me. “I spent the entire wedding telling her about you.”

  I blink under his stare. My stubbornness wants to reject his reasoning, probably because I’ve spent so long feeling rejected. He talked about me though?

  Me?

  “I made a promise to your dad. I swore that I would let you fly, and I was terrified of ruining that. I know the man I am. I got to where I am because I gamble—I gamble with everything. But I knew I couldn’t gamble with you.”

  His mouth close enough that the next word from his lips will cause us to touch, I wish for him to speak. Instead he backs away, just enough. I want to shove him for it, but that’s not the point is it? None of this is the point.

  “I waited,” I barely eek out. I feel foolish, and I know my cheeks are flushed.

  “I’m freezing,” I mutter next, looking down and
away. He steps back enough that the small distance between us sends in a rush of air that makes me shiver. “Jamie, thanks for tonight. If it’s all right with you, though…I think I’d just as soon get back to the dessert. It was always Dad’s favorite.”

  My cheek puckers with the slight rise on the right side of my mouth. I still can’t bring my eyes to Jamie’s, so instead I get lost in the thoughts of way-back-when. Dessert is where it all started for me. My dad loved the kitchen, and he let me bake with him before I did anything else. He’d smile when I’d lick spoons before we dropped them into the soapy water. Those were the rare times when I saw him smile.

  He’d smile for Jamie, too, though. He loved this stupid boy, but I bet he hated him by the time he died. Because this boy…he broke my heart.

  “I’m gonna go,” I say, slipping to the side and moving the door just enough to let me out and into the kitchen. Jamie was right. Everything’s handled. Every tray has left the pass, save for one small plate of my favorite trio—my dad’s favorite trio.

  I place a palm on either side of the dish and look down at how perfect the colors complement one another. White chocolate, candied lemon and orange, swirls of cinnamon and light white cake pressed into thin sheets divided by crème. I invented this dessert. My dad challenged me when I was sixteen to make a meal using only the things I could find in our fridge and pantry at home. We rarely had the good stuff; he saved the good stuff for work. But we had the basics.

  “My dad said these pastries were brilliant, you know.” I can feel Jamie looking on from behind me. He steps up into my periphery.

  “They were,” he says, reaching across me and catching my gaze. “May I?”

  I smile with tight lips and nod for him to taste it. He picks up the delicate orange cookie and holds it at his lips, staring at me with a slight smirk before taking a bite that causes the flakey insides to dust the counter and his chin. He chews slowly then lets the rest melt away in his mouth, just like it’s supposed to. He wipes his chin with one hand and starts to set the cookie down with the other, thinking wiser and popping the rest in his mouth.

  I chuckle, and he grins with puffed-out cheeks as he chews.

  “It’s damn good,” I mumbles, pointing to his mouth. “Tastes just like his.”

  I laugh through a crooked grin.

  “That’s cuz they were always mine,” I say.

  “No shit,” he says, mouth still a little full.

  I shrug.

  “I know I probably should have cared more…about the credit and stuff. But I don’t know; it was all just so important to him, ya know? Being seen as this legend, even at the end.”

  Jamie shifts on his feet and leans his hip into the counter, taking a small napkin and wiping at the corners of his mouth then folding it and tossing it with the others in the small bin nearby.

  His gaze settles on me for long, uncomfortable seconds, and eventually I have to ask him “what?”

  His shoulders lift along with the corners of his mouth.

  “I don’t know, it’s just funny.”

  My brow pulls in.

  “What’s funny?” I ask.

  He glances around.

  “All of this. You, working in this cut-throat environment with this goddamned angel heart beating in your chest. Just…I hope it doesn’t break you is all.” His eyes linger on mine for a beat then trail down my cheek to my mouth then lower.

  “Nothing will ever break me again,” I say.

  He winces, and I feel guilty for cutting him with words.

  “That wasn’t nice, and I’m sorry,” I say, softly.

  He shakes his head.

  “I deserve it,” he says.

  “No, you don’t,” I reach at his hand on instinct, and he’s quick to catch mine.

  My phone buzzes, and I reach with my opposite hand to take it from my pocket, not wanting to break away from this little moment of intimacy between Jamie and me.

  “This is Mia,” I say, my eyes flitting to Jamie’s. He smirks, holding in a laugh. I’m sure I sound nerdy.

  When the voice on the other end sounds vaguely familiar, I force myself to really listen, just long enough to hear the words I’ve been dreaming of since I first touched a whisk as a little girl and sat up on the counter helping my dad whip eggs.

  “The restaurant…it’s yours…”

  My eyes widen with the news, and I don’t register most of the details, but I agree with every single word. I may have just signed my soul away, but that’s fine because I probably would have anyhow. When the call ends, I fall deep into Jamie’s anxious eyes and ride the beat of my pulse.

  “It’s mine. I got it. This place…I…”

  A tear surprises me, sliding down my cheek. I pat it away and laugh nervously. I didn’t know tears of joy were real, but they are.

  “Mia, I’m so happy for you.” His lips fall into this perfect bend, and his warm eyes celebrate me. The fact that he is here for this—

  “I couldn’t have done this without…”

  “Shh,” he says, lifting his free hand to my lips and pressing lightly. When his hand falls away I’m left with hot tingles.

  “You could have. And you’re still going to have a crazy man to deal with, but now you have friends in high places, and knowledge, and that will keep your kitchen safe—at least from Jeffrey.” I shake my head rapidly, mentally flying through the whirlwind of it all, everything that happened.

  Dizzy from joy and exhaustion, I give my attention over to the one thing that calms my nerves and grounds me—Jamie’s touch.

  Our fingers move in millimeters, taking seconds to move against one another as if any sudden movement might scare away a butterfly. I’m mesmerized by the way we touch, how afraid we both must seem to be, and it all just makes me wonder if everything that’s tearing up my chest is also tearing up his.

  “Jamie…” I start to say, my gaze lifting to his face. “Are you still in danger? I mean…if those guys wanted to kill you then, and now your face is kinda, well, out there.”

  His mouth draws up in a smile as he laughs.

  “Yeah, that wouldn’t be good. But no…I’m not in danger. Marcos died about three years ago, in prison. And I got a little love from the LaPasso family for keeping my mouth shut about them.”

  “Love?” I quirk a brow.

  “Love…as in I left one line of the FBI’s RICO case tangled in a dead end because I kept my mouth shut,” he says, eyes incredibly wide.

  My lips hang open as I blink slowly. What surprises me most in hearing all of this is the ache in my chest. I get the danger. I know how real it all must have been. I still wish I had Jamie through it all. I wish he had me.

  My thoughts stop when I see his lips parted in this hungry, desperate way while his eyes bore into our hands. His eyes lift to mine slowly, and the moment they connect, my lips tingle and part just the same.

  His grip is instant, and my body is compliant as I follow him through back doors. In seconds we’re outside, nowhere near warmth, and between two buildings that are acting more like a canyon, the chill of desert wind ripping through me.

  “Christ, Jamie! It’s even colder out here than it was in the box. Are you nuts?”

  Jamie turns as he continues to walk and glares at me with a familiar stare. His expression sinks into the oldest parts of my heart, filling in gaps and cracks. That look is the one he used to give me when I was being a pain in the ass—a pain in his ass. It’s also the look you give someone you have history with, and who you love.

  I swallow down my pride and croak out a “sorry” before he turns, my hand tight in his, and continues to guide me through a channel of back alleyways. We dart around a few dumpsters and poke through a few rows of hedges, the grass wet and the ground muddy in a few spots, so much so that my shoes start to sink in.

  “Jamie, we don’t need to help with the gardening now,” I bite out. He stops abruptly and turns to square his shoulders with mine. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, he lets go of my
hand and lifts me in his arms. I literally “whoop!” as he hoists me up against his chest.

  I’m left to look at his jawline while his eyes are trained on wherever it is that we’re going. When his skin begins to orange with the reflection of flames, I realize that he’s led me to one of the garden fireplaces that link this hotel with the others nearby. He sets me down gently, but doesn’t break his hold this time, taking advantage of the fact that my body is now flush with his.

  “I can’t live without you anymore.” We’re so close that our noses nearly touch, my small frame tucked under his taller one, his shoulders hunched as he shadows me. His hands move from the sides of my back to my shoulders and soon into my hair. With the slightest pressure, he tilts my head so our lips are aligned, and he stops just long enough to bring my top lip between both of his briefly, sucking in lightly. “I can’t live without you, but I know my weaknesses now. I am breaking a promise to your dad, by standing here, touching you,” he stops, his mouth making one more light pass along mine.

  I shiver.

  “Your dad was wrong about me,” he says, moving to the curve of my neck, his teeth grazing against my skin as his right hand sweeps down and tugs the collar of my shirt down my arm. I jolt, my lips parting, wanting to protest because we’re so public, because anyone could walk up and see us. One touch of his lips to my skin and I forget to care about any of that.

  “Fuck my promises, Mia. The only ones that matter are the ones I make to you. And I’m making one right now.”

  His nose tickles my ear, and eventually I feel the heat of his breath. My hands come forward, reaching for the soft white cotton of his shirt, finding the gap where both sides come together, and pulling his shirt open just enough to feel his searing hot skin and the hard muscles of his chest.

  “I promise,” he begins, stopping to slide my blouse’s collar down my shoulder so he can kiss at my neck. My breath hitches at the feel of his teeth gripping the strap of my bra. He tugs it with his mouth and lets it go in a tiny snap.

  The sky pops with color and he grins down at me before we both look up to see the fireworks lighting up the strip. This town can be so ugly. This business can be so brutal. This moment right here, though…it’s beautiful. I feel like somehow, he made this moment for me, even though I know he had nothing to do with the fireworks and the fact that the world is ringing in yet one more year.