Stay A Little Longer

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

When Jayson’s number flashed up on the screen of her cell phone, Athena almost smiled. Not even twenty-four hours in Tennessee. He hadn’t wasted time getting to the groveling, and she appreciated that. Not that it would be anywhere near enough to make her accept whatever bullshit explanation he intended to offer for his cheating, but abject supplication would go a long way toward mollifying her temper in the absence of actual bloodshed. Which she owed Moses a thank you for preventing.

“What do you want?”

“Don’t hang up. Please. We have things to discuss.”

She gritted her teeth at the sound of his voice, her empty fingers clenching for the knife that wasn’t there. “I don’t think I’m much in the mood for discussion.”

“I’m sorry for how things went down.”

“You’re sorry you got caught, you mean.”

He heaved a sigh, and she could just imagine him pinching the bridge of that blade-straight nose. “Athena, I’m trying to apologize.”

“There is no ‘I’m sorry’ big enough to make up for what you did. If you think you’re going to weasel your way back into my bed, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“I’m not calling for that.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. She didn’t want him back. She hadn’t been in love with Jayson so much as the idea of him. Of a man who shared her passion for food, her vision for the future. It wasn’t heartbreak she was wrestling with but sheer, unmitigated fury at her own stupidity for trusting him in the first place. Still, him not begging her to take him back was a blow to her pride.

“Then why are you calling?”

“About Olympus.”

Ah, here was what she really wanted. Him imploring her to come back to take her rightful place in the kitchen. That was what really mattered in all of this.

“I want to buy out your share in the restaurant.”

Her brain staggered and stopped. She hadn’t heard that right. For a full ten seconds she sat on her bed, mouth agape as she tried to figure out what he’d really said.

“Athena, are you there?”

“You…what?”

“I think we can both agree after how things ended that working together will be impossible. You made the right decision in leaving, so I want to buy out your share. You’ll be free and clear to do your own thing.”

Which really meant, I’ll be free to put the chef of my choosing in your place. She was under no delusion that it would be anyone other than her backstabbing b***h of a sous chef.

The tide of fresh betrayal rolled over her like a tsunami, knocking her off whatever even keel she’d managed to cobble together since she’d left Chicago.

Had they planned this? Had the two of them played her? Known her well enough to predict that she’d fly off the handle and quit her own restaurant in retaliation for the affair? The very idea of it had her blood boiling.

“Do you have any idea how insulting that is?” She snarled the words, wishing for something sharper that would do more damage. “Olympus is mine, Jayson. My vision. My dream. My f*****g Michelin star. It isn’t Olympus without me.”

“You are, unquestionably, the creative mind behind the menu and the concepts. But the recipes belong to the restaurant, and you don’t own the controlling share. I do.”

Of course he’d throw that back in her face. The truth of it scalded her. She shoved up from the bed to pace. “You bastard.”

“I’m trying to do the right thing here, Athena. I’ll make you a generous offer for your portion.” He named a figure that had her brows climbing to her hairline. “I know you need the money.”

And that was just another betrayal. She’d cared for him, confided in him. He knew the reason she hadn’t been able to buy up more shares in the restaurant than she had. And damn him for using that against her.

Damn him for being right.

But if she did this, if she handed her baby over to him, to them, she wouldn’t just be severing professional ties. She’d be lacing that bridge with C-4 and blowing it to kingdom come.

She tried to imagine going back to Chicago, back to Olympus. Tried to imagine some sudden windfall that would allow her to turn the tables and buy that controlling share from him. And she knew almost at once that she couldn’t do it. He’d poisoned the whole place for her. She’d never again be able to cook in that kitchen without imagining them there. Without remembering the pain and the fury and wanting to stab him all over again.

She let out a slow, controlled breath. “Fine. I’ll sell you my share.” Thinking about Maggie’s blood-thirsty negotiation tactics, she shot a figure back at him that was a good thirty percent higher than what he’d already quoted her. He’d probably say no, but she might as well try to get in one last lick on him.

“Done. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up and sent to you as soon as possible.”

Staggered by his ready agreement, she could only stare at the wall.

Jayson’s tone went soft. “You’re a brilliant chef, Athena. I wish you all the best.”

Before she could snarl back an appropriately scathing reply, he’d hung up.

She dropped the phone onto her bed before she could hurl it at the wall. It was over. The dream she’d fought for tooth and nail, sweated blood and tears to make a reality, was gone. On some level she’d known that when she walked out, and it hadn’t stopped her. The hurt, the anger, was too huge to stop her from throwing it away because escape had been more important. Now she had no job, no source of income to take care of the responsibilities that hung around her neck like a noose.

What had she done?

Panic and grief welled up, tightening her throat, making her eyes burn.

No. f**k this. She hadn’t cried at her mother’s funeral. She wasn’t going to cry about this. Tears were senseless. A waste of hydration and energy. But she needed to do something to let all of this out.

In less than a minute, she was searching through kitchen cabinets and drawers, taking stock of the contents of the refrigerator and freezer. She needed comfort food. Not merely the soothing deliciousness of carbs and fat but the act of creating it. She needed to prove that something in her world still made sense.

Ari came in, Kennedy behind her, as she piled ingredients on the big island.

The girl dumped her backpack in one corner. “Ooo, you’re cooking! What’s on the menu?”

“Shepherd’s pie.” Because it had been Mom’s favorite and being back in this house where she’d spent her teenage years made her ache to curl up at Joan’s feet and ball yarn as she spilled out the whole sorry mess and waited for her adoptive mother’s unique brand of wisdom to make her feel better. But she’d never get the chance for that again.

“I love shepherd’s pie. Can I help?”

Before she could come up with a response that wasn’t a growl, Kennedy swung an arm around Ari’s shoulders. “Athena’s pretty territorial about her kitchen space. She doesn’t like anybody underfoot.”

“I can follow directions,” Ari insisted.

Athena wanted to say no. She wanted to be alone. Wanted the chance to actually cook, preparing a meal herself from beginning to end, with no waiting patrons, no stakeholders, no prospective critics, no snooty-ass foodie wannabes putting in their two cents. There’d been no opportunity for that in months. But looking at the open enthusiasm and gangly limbs of her niece as she folded herself onto a stool at the counter, Athena couldn’t bring herself to snap at the girl. This upset wasn’t about her and she didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of Athena’s shitty coping skills.

“You know how to brown ground beef?”

Ari grinned and brought her hand to her brow in a sharp salute. “Aye, Captain!”

Despite the simmering rage, Athena’s lip twitched. “The correct response is ‘Yes, Chef.’”

As Ari slid off her stool and came around to pull out a skillet, Kennedy lifted her brows in surprise. Of everyone in the family, she was the only one Athena had ever trusted in the kitchen.

After a moment’s hesitation, she jerked her shoulders. “You wanna prep the mushrooms?”

Kennedy’s smile spread slow. “Yes, Chef.”

This, too, was a Thing. She hadn’t cooked with Kennedy in years. She’d barely spoken to her sister to spew anything other than accusations about how Kennedy had selfishly left all of them behind when she turned eighteen and stayed away a full decade. When Kennedy had returned to Eden’s Ridge for Mom’s funeral, it had been…bad. Still reeling from the loss, Athena had needed a punching bag, and Kennedy had been a prime target. But the situation hadn’t been what they’d all believed. Her reasons for leaving hadn’t been selfish. And over the past year, Athena found she’d finally let go of the resentment she’d been toting around.

As Kennedy moved smoothly around her, she felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. This felt familiar. Good.

At the opposite side of the island, her sister began cleaning the baby Bella mushrooms. “This feels like old times.”

Athena glanced up, her knife not slowing as she efficiently cubed the potatoes she’d scrubbed. “Nah. There’d have to be Verdi playing at ear-splitting volume and Lorenzo constantly trying to pinch our asses.”

“I do not miss that man.”

“Who was Lorenzo?” Ari asked.

“Lorenzo Ossani is one of the most lecherous, temperamental chefs to ever walk the streets of Florence, Italy. He’s also a freaking god of food. Kennedy and I spent a memorable summer sweating it out in his kitchen, learning everything he’d teach us. The stuff I learned from him was the reason I got into Le Cordon Bleu.”

“That was the last time we cooked together,” Kennedy murmured.

A band squeezed around Athena’s chest as she thought of the years they’d lost. No going back to change things. They only had the now. She swallowed against a knot in her throat. “I’ve missed this.”

“Me, too.”

The click of a camera had them both turning to look at Ari, who shrugged, unrepentant. “I had to capture that Hallmark Moment.” She shoved her phone back into her pocket. “Now tell me more about your adventures in Italy.”

Athena scraped potatoes into the pot of boiling water on the stove and checked the progress of the meat. “Mind what you’re doing. Break those big clumps up into something smaller with the back of your wooden spoon, and see that you get the surface brown but not burned. That’s the Maillard reaction and where all the flavor is.”

“Yes, Chef.”

Returning to her cutting board, Athena started on an onion. “So there was this guy we called Meatball…”