Jennifer Probst - All the Way

He pressed his forehead against hers and spoke the words against her lips. “Your grandmother wanted you and loved you.” Gavin paused. “And I want you and love you, Miranda.”

Joy shimmered in waves and crushed the last of the dark. Gavin put the bowls in the sink, wiped her mouth carefully with a napkin, and placed a kiss on her lips. She leaned into his strength and rested her head on his shoulder. This time, when he led her back to bed, their lovemaking took on a sacred tenderness that shook her soul and made her realize she’d never be the same woman again.

…

Gavin punched in the number of the code for the conference call and set up the Skype. The last thing he wanted to do was play corporate executive, but Sam insisted. The younger executive was Gavin’s right-hand man, and if Gavin succeeded, he succeeded. He was due in China soon, and the set up was key. Unfortunately, MacKenzie and Associates believed he was the only one able to target the huge electronics corporation and make their dream come true.

Dreams in the business world revolved around money. Or prestige. Or power.

Now, he’d be at the top of the food chain, amidst it all. Full partner.

So, why did the thought of leaving make him slightly ill?

The familiar pang beat through him as his colleague came over the screen.

“Tell me you’re done playing waiter and getting your ass on a plane, Gavin.”

He chuckled at the image before him. The pinstripe suit, red tie, and conservative hair cut looked the same on everyone at the firm. His hand automatically checked the length of his hair and realized he needed to get a cut. The shaggy ends looked ragged and reminded him of a surfer dude.

“My three months aren’t up, Sam. Don’t tell me you’re so intimidated you can’t take a step without me.”

His friend flashed a set of perfect white teeth. “Touché. I’m sending you some files I need you to study. Weaknesses and strengths of upper management. Some names of the lovely administrative assistants.” He waggled his brow. “Janitorial staff is pretty tight, but I found a guy who’s willing to tattle if we need leverage.”

His normal business tactics suddenly seemed…wrong. If they battled with another company, creativity for the campaign was number one. Number two was who you knew, what information you owned, and a little blackmail never hurt gaining the upper hand. Gavin shook off the wimpy inner voice causing havoc with his meeting. “Sure. I’ll look at them tonight. I need to—”

“Gavin! We got a crisis, you gotta get out here.”

He swiveled in his chair and glared at his brother. “Out, Brando. I’m on a conference call.”

“Dude, you know that new assistant chef you hired?”

“Yeah.”

“Tony found him tweaking the special behind his back. They had a fight about how to prepare it, because this guy thinks he’s a serious foodie. Tony put him in his place, but just found him changing the spices on his own. He insisted on saffron, saying it brought the fish to a higher flavor, but it’s a fucking Italian special!”

His head pounded and Gavin rubbed his temple. “Umm, okay, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Fine. But the dude has a black eye and he called the police to press charges against Tony.”

“Fuck. I’m coming.”

“Thought so.” Brando waved to the guy on the screen and left.

Sam cackled. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re settling brawls between chefs? You’re starting to scare me, Gavin. Come on, leave early. It’ll be like the old days. The lure of a challenge, partying at the top clubs, posh hotels. I’m setting up some free time while we’re there, for touring. I know you like that.”

The world he lusted after throughout his youth now seemed tainted and old. He should be dying to get back in the game. He always hated the restaurant industry. Late nights, hard work, low profit. Crazy chefs, hard ass critics, and nothing to show for it but a plate of good food.

Then why did it feel lately like he was finally home?

“I’ll get back to you tomorrow, Sam. I can’t leave yet.”

“Your funeral, man. See ya.”

The screen went dark.

He jumped out of the chair and shot into the kitchen. Jules, the assistant chef, held a piece of raw meat on his eye. Why the hell did he use the good ribeye instead of an ice pack? Tony ranted in Italian about betrayal and codes and honor. Brando hung on to Tony’s arm, and Pop looked on the whole episode with a confused expression on his face. Ah, crap, another nightmare. What would happen when he left?

“Jules, let’s talk. No need to bring police into our business.”

“Bullshit.” The rounding out of his consonants gave him an odd accent Gavin could never place. “I am humiliated. I try to make the food better and I get a black eye. I will be throwing him into jail.”

Tony’s face reddened. “Try it. I’ll smear your reputation all over the city. You will never work again in this town!”

Yep. Tony had been watching those damn Italian movies again and was deep into his role.

Pop recovered and looked Tony in the eye. “As Sinatra would say: ‘I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption.’ You must do it your way.”

Everyone stopped and stared at his father. Then, with a serious nod, he lapsed back into silence.

Gavin quickly grabbed Jules and walked him away, murmuring soothing phrases and swearing to fire Tony’s ass. As he spoke, he swiftly catalogued all the information he’d learned before hiring Jules. “I understand your situation. I just hope you will understand mine once the police arrive.”

The chef frowned. “What do you mean?”

Gavin sighed and lifted his hands. “You call the police. Tony goes to jail. I have no recourse but to call my lawyer. He will dig into your past and find that awful predicament you were in.”

Jules cringed. “No! You would dredge up something so painful? I had nothing to do with that girl. She was legal.”

Gavin nodded. “I know. Again, my hands are tied. It is the way the game is played, no? Lawyers are a horrible bunch.”

One beat. Two. Three.

“Forget it. I’m leaving. I want nothing to do with this restaurant.”

Gavin watched as the man untied his apron, ripped off his hat, and marched out.

His muscles sagged with relief. Another disaster averted. His father patted him on the shoulder. “Good work, son. That could have been an extremely bad scene.”

The realization socked him in the gut. His father couldn’t run this place anymore. He had no idea how to solve a crisis, other than quoting Sinatra. Brando tried but was just too young. Tony’s temper was legendary. He turned and faced his staff. “How are you going to handle these situations when I’m gone?”

The men shared a shocked look. Brando lifted his chin. “What are you talking about? I thought you decided to stay. Work with us long-term. You can’t run off when Mia Casa is just starting to turn around.”

His voice came out cold and clipped. “I can’t keep babysitting everyone. I told you up front I had twelve weeks and then I was going back. They need me.”

Tony cleared his throat. “We need you, dude. You belong here.”

His father inclined his head. “A choice must be made soon. Frank faced many in his day. We need you to seriously consider staying with us, Gavin. Promise you will at least think about the possibility.”

The words stuck in his throat. The faces in front of him reflected an open longing that tore him apart. He’d never asked for this. His intentions had always been clear, and God knows, the guilt began to choke him. “Fine. I’ll think about it. That’s all I can say for now.”

Brando stared at him for a long time. With a muttered curse, he sneered. “Don’t do us any favors, bro. We’ll be fine without you.” He turned and left the kitchen.

Gavin watched him leave with an ache in his chest he didn’t know how to deal with.

Miranda knocked on the door to his office and peeked in. Gavin slumped in the chair with a bunch of spreadsheets open on his computer. His BlackBerry lay to his right, and a laptop showed a scroll of emails flashing across the screen. Open folders spit out massive amounts of paper. She shuddered. Paperwork was a bitch.

“Gavin?”

He spun around and smiled. Like gooey caramel, she warmed and melted into a puddle. “Hey, baby. I didn’t expect you tonight.”

“I got out of the wine tasting early. I think I’m tipsy.”

He laughed and met her halfway. Dipped his head and took her mouth in a long, thorough, heated kiss. “Hmm, Merlot. Nice flavor.”

“You look swamped. I can go.”

He pressed his forehead to hers and held her. Miranda relaxed in his embrace and wondered when they’d crossed the line into the familiar. With each day that passed these past two weeks, they fell into a cozy routine. She stayed at Mia Casa to keep him company in the evenings. He accompanied her on foodie outings. He brought her lunch in the office and seduced her through the hours of darkness. “Don’t go. I need to get a leap up on this deal, but I’m burnt.”

Her muscles stiffened but she kept her voice casual. “Work for MacKenzie & Associates?”

He seemed about to tell her something important, then closed his mouth. “Yeah.”

The inner voice in her head screamed in warning. His job would never be stable or home-based. He planned to get Mia Casa on its feet and leave all of them. Yes, he loved her. Yes, he probably had a plan to get her to accompany him, or deal with a long-distance relationship. Nausea tickled her stomach. She didn’t want either. Even worse, she was afraid he loved the excitement too much to ever give it up. The ticking clock was the huge pink flamingo in the room they both stepped around. Soon, they’d both have to admit it was there.

But not now.

She stroked back his hair. The strands curled around her fingers like raw silk. “Let’s not talk about that now. I have an idea. Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Out.”

He hesitated. “Brando will kill me. We had a crisis today and he’s still freaked out. I have to study the janitorial staff for this new deal. Yell at the fish guy for the crap he gave me yesterday. Other stuff, too.”

She cocked her head. “Interesting. Don’t be a wimp. We’ll sneak out.” Miranda peered down the hallway and gripped his fingers. “No one will ever know you’re not in there.”

They tiptoed out and tore down the back alley. His laughter rung in her ears. The frosty air nipped at her nose and her boots crunched on black, leftover snow. The city was dirty, feisty and full of life, even late at night. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Within moments, those talented fingers roamed over the curve of her buttocks. “You have a thing for doing it in public?”

He looked offended. “I didn’t take my jacket. I need the warmth.”

Miranda decided the least she could do was not let him freeze.

They walked fast and in companionable silence until they reached Central Park. The crowds thinned in the frigid temperatures after the holidays, and by the time they arrived at their destination, no one was there.

He looked up at Wollman Rink. “No way. We’re going ice skating?”

“Yes. You need some exercise, fresh air, and to clear your head. Let’s go.”

He dragged his feet through the process, but in a matter of minutes, they’d rented their skates, laced them up, and entered the ice. Gavin paused with one blade halfway down. “I don’t know about this.”

“You loved ice skating when you were younger.”

Surprise flickered across his features. “You remember that?”

“Of course.” Still, he didn’t move. Almost as if he was afraid of touching something he loved when he was young. Almost as if he wasn’t worthy to remember. “I’m doing this for your own good.”

She pushed him.

He stumbled, caught himself, dipped halfway, and found his balance. She tamped down a giggle and joined him on the ice.

Miranda learned to ice skate as soon as she decided New York City was the place for her to settle down. She used to watch the families and children skate around the big Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, and longed to join them. Huddled on the sidelines, one day she put on skates and never looked back.

She loved the slick slide of the blades over the ice. The wind on her face and the odd sense of freedom she achieved by gliding round and round. Miranda did a few laps, then skidded by his side. “How are you doing?”