Chapter 2
A Twisted Obsession
Kazimir
Awaiter carrying a tray lined with cocktails weaves with a colleague carrying a tray of martini glasses decorated with skewers punctured by green olives. In doing so, the men engage in a masterful dance that’s no doubt been performed many times already today.
I lean into the table. “The only reason I’m sitting here is because Grazie Mille’s owner is related to one of Max Keller’s cousins. The guy is doing much better after his heart attack, but his doctor forbids him to travel to New York. Max asked me to step in.”
“I see.” My best friend nods. “You flew in overnight from Brazil with Max on his jet. You didn’t want to give it a day? The nearly-thirteen-hour flight must be killing you.”
“Even if I was flying back from outer space, nothing would prevent me from being here today.” I lower my voice. “According to the owner, the manager—who he suspects of foul play—won’t be working tomorrow’s lunch hour. I didn’t want to miss him. I want to check him out before I take him down.”
Erik narrows his eyes. “That’s a loaded statement.”
I drop my cutlery on the table and wipe my mouth. “The owner and I ironed things out during the week I was in Rio with his lawyers and mine. I have the power to act on his behalf until—”
My gaze flies up over Erik’s head.
I squint.
No way.
Of all the restaurants in all of Manhattan, she had to work in this one…
“Kaz, what is it?”
“We’ve already been here for twenty minutes, and it’s the first time I see her.”
Erik’s brows touch. “Her? Who are you talking about?”
I’m guessing she just started her shift. Nearly a year later, and I’d recognize the gorgeous blonde with my eyes closed. “Harley McKenzie Lancaster.”
Erik whips his head around before turning in my direction. “She’s here? Your stepson’s girlfriend? The woman you’ve been fixated on after meeting her once? Your secret obsession?”
More like a twisted obsession.
I curl my hand into a fist at the thought.
Wanting her as much as I do after meeting her only once has always felt weird. Forbidden. Like I’d be breaking a boundary that would send me straight to hell.
I skewer Erik with an unimpressed stare. “Chett is my ex-stepson.”
“Notice how you didn’t correct the other two statements.” His eyes hold mischief.
If he wasn’t my best friend, I’d deck him for that comment.
My focus returns to Harley.
My gaze fixes on her ponytail.
I’d love nothing more than to wrap my hand around it and pull it hard as I take control of her like a wild bull—
“Looks like you’re getting a two for one special,” Erik says. “You get to help the owner of this restaurant and reconnect with Harley.”
“This lunch is all business. I’m here to find out which employee has their hand in the cookie jar.” Bumping into Harley wasn’t on the menu.
He drops his fork in his pasta bowl. “Are you saying you’re not going to approach her?”
I hold his gaze, my nostrils flaring.
“Message received,” he says. “Moving right along. Speaking of your two-timing ex-wife—”
“We weren’t talking about her.”
“By extension, we were. Harley is your ex-stepson’s girlfriend. Devlyn is his mother and your ex-wife.”
“That’s a stretch.”
“Are you going to take your publicist’s suggestion to mitigate the media shit show your ex orchestrated because she decided to rewrite New York’s equitable distribution marital clause?”
Okay, that was a roundabout way to ask that question. “I don’t know, Erik. What the publicist is suggesting isn’t my style. I’m not a Hollywood celebrity who’s been misbehaving or an out of control rockstar. I’m a hockey player turned restaurant and craft beer brewery owner.”
“Perhaps, but perception is everything. You know it. You’re trying to close an important deal, but the owner is giving you the runaround.
My guess is he’s not sure what to make of the sensationalism surrounding your name.
After all, your drama queen of an ex did a bang-up job weaponizing the divorce proceedings.
Sure, in the end, you came out on top because the judge was a stickler for fairness, but your public image suffered. ”
“It’s not like my public image was that of an agreeable man to start off with.”
“You need to woo the owner so you can close that deal. What your publicist is suggesting is a quick image rehab.”
I let out a long breath. “I don’t have the personality to pull off the charade she’s suggesting.” And after Devlyn, I’m weary of getting involved with another woman.
Erik tilts his head to the side. “You’re going to walk away from a deal that would catapult you as a leader in the craft beer industry? Did your competitive nature get snuffed out once you stepped off the ice? Kazimir Lindstrom always plays to win—”
“Would you stop using my full name? You sound like a fucking sports commentator.” Or my loser of a father.
He shoots me a smug look. “I’m only trying to fan the ‘beast on the ice’ energy that always had you fired up and ready.”
I shake my head.
My attention swings back to Harley.
She’s in professional mode, busy taking the order of a table that seats five men in suits.
One of them says something to her.
Harley smiles.
I’ve been on the receiving end of her smile, and it’s so brilliant, it could rival the sun.
It lights up her face, bumping up her natural beauty by several notches.
It’s nothing like the forced smile that’s tugging at her lips right now.
And there’s a veil of… sadness in those sea-green eyes.
It’s as if she’s walking around with a cloud hovering over her head.
Maybe it’s weariness or she’s going through a difficult patch.
One thing is certain, she’s carrying a load that’s way too heavy for her shoulders.
She lost a lot of weight. She lost her curves—
Wait a minute.
What is Harley doing working as a waitress in a restaurant? She’s a corporate florist and she was supposed to start a business with a woman and her husband. Is she working in a restaurant part-time while getting her new business up and running?
My wayward thoughts come to an abrupt stop when Harley’s head jerks back. She frowns down at one of the men at the table.
What did the asshole tell her?
Harley squares her shoulders, turns on her heel, and heads towards the bar. She returns a few minutes later with a tray of drinks, which she distributes to the five men.
Mr. Douchebag says something before flashing her a slimy smirk.
Harley stiffens.
My upper lip curls up.
I want to make him eat whatever he said to her.
“You’ve never set foot in this restaurant until today,” Erik says. “Here you are doing a favor for a friend of a friend, and the woman who made such an impression on you—the one you couldn’t shut up about—is standing mere feet away.”
I’m not sure what to make of this coincidence either.
The day I met the beautiful blonde that captured my attention from the moment she said hello, things weren’t in my favor. She was with my entitled stepson, and I was gearing up for a divorce after catching my wife fucking another man in my home on her birthday—
My eyes widen and my head jerks back.
“What is it, Kaz?”
“A patron who doesn’t value his life just groped Harley’s ass.”
Harley glares at the dipshit.
Mr. Douchebag tells her something, but I can’t make out the words.
There’s a ping-pong exchange between them.
Harley shakes her head.
She’s about to turn around, but Mr. Douchebag grabs her wrist.
I’m going to destroy the motherfucker.