Chapter 48
What a coincidence
Kazimir
Ipark my Mercedes inside the parking area annexed to my home office.
My eyes slide to the passenger seat.
Focusing on what’s important, I grab the bottle of champagne and large bouquet of flowers, and get out of the vehicle. I’ll make a second trip for the bottles of beer later. Still riding high from my unexpected meeting, I whistle a tune as I stroll across the space.
This Monday was weighing heavy on my shoulders as the fight with Harley had created a wedge between us.
Coming face to face with my ex-wife turned a bad day into a shitty one.
The few minutes I spent in that woman’s presence were like standing in the bowels of hell.
I didn’t think anything could turn my mood around. Hoppy Joe proved me wrong.
When I open the door leading from the home office to the rest of the house, music coming from the surround sound system greets me.
Looks like I’m not the only one whose day took a turn for the better.
I climb the steps to the kitchen and when I reach the threshold, I freeze.
My heart gallops at the sight.
My blood pressure can’t handle seeing Harley so carefree in my house.
The scene is so… comfortable.
She’s standing in my kitchen, wearing my navy-blue and white charity jersey with my name and number on her back, swaying her hips left to right, as she stirs something on the stove while belting out the bridge to the song playing.
Had it not been for yesterday’s fight and this morning’s cold front, I’d be puffing my chest out right now, taking credit for her song selection—’A Natural Woman’.
She bangs the wooden spoon on the pot a few times before bringing it to her mouth and singing the bridge.
She can’t carry a note to save her life, but damn those hips. She can dance.
I take in the kitchen.
It’s like a tomato farm exploded here.
Harley is a messy cook, but instead of being freaked out by the chaos, I can’t help my smile.
When I lived with Devlyn, her social calendar was so packed, she was never home. Even without her calendar as an excuse, the idea of my ex cooking a meal is laughable. The woman would put on disposable gloves to peel an avocado so she wouldn’t ruin her manicure.
But this is my space. And this beautiful blonde is occupying it like my queen—
She isn’t your queen.
She isn’t even your girlfriend.
She wants things to remain fake.
I shake my head.
Harley McKenzie Lancaster is a real fucking problem.
The bombshell who knocked my world sideways made our position clear.
The errant thought has my palms and forehead sweating. I wipe the moisture away with the back of my hand.
I tamp down my feelings of rejection and clear my throat. “Someone is cooking up a storm.”
Harley jumps and whirls around. “Holy shit. I didn’t hear you sneak up on me. You move through the house as if you were a ghost. For a guy your size, that shouldn’t even be possible.”
“Between the singing and the stirring, it’s no surprise you didn’t hear me come in. It’s not like I was trying to be quiet.”
She laughs. “You’re right.” She drops the wooden spoon on the spoon rest on the oven, strolls to the other side of the kitchen, grabs the remote, and lowers the music.
She turns to face me. “For a minute there, I thought I was pretending to be a contestant on a talent show. But since I can’t sing to save my life, I have to be content with being a closeted performer. ”
Her playfulness unfurls the knot of dread that’s been sitting in my gut since yesterday’s fight.
I drop the champagne on the countertop and stride toward her. “For you.” I hand her the bouquet.
She frowns. “I’m confused. These are stunning, but why did you buy me flowers?”
“After bumping into my ex-wife at the Pompadour Hotel after a meeting, I thought I was going to blow a gasket, when an interesting text message landed on my phone.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Good news?”
“Fucking amazing news. And it’s all because of you.”
“Thank you, even though I don’t know what I did to deserve these beautiful yellow freesias.” She takes them from me and brings them to her nose, inhaling the scent. “I love their sweet, fruity fragrance. I miss not being surrounded by flowers.” A veil of sadness covers her green eyes.
“Now that you’re a miracle worker, I’ll make sure my house and your office are full of flowers.”
She brushes her shoulder off with one hand. “I always knew I was capable of saintly things.” She grins. “Which miracle did I perform today?”
“I spent the last two hours with the Montana brewer who’s been ghosting me.”
Her head rears back. “He texted you?”
I nod. “Since I’ve been leaving messages with his receptionist, I didn’t recognize the number. It so happens he’s in town. I still struggle to believe I met Hoppy Joe in person. For almost seven months, not a word, and then, I get a face-to-face. And I didn’t even have to board a plane.”
She drops the bouquet of flowers on the countertop. “Oh my God, Kaz. We did it. We turned your image around.”
“The irony wasn’t lost on me that Joe texted me right after an altercation with my ex. The photos and videos of us at the rink went viral for all the right reasons. I can’t believe the insane traction, but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“He shoots he scores.” And if she doesn’t do a little hockey move as if she was scoring a goal. “Take that, Devlyn.”
I chuckle. “For once, I made the headlines, and it wasn’t related to a ridiculous drama drummed up by my insufferable ex.”
“I’m so excited for you.” She jumps into my arms.
I catch her and bring her close, enveloping myself in her warmth and her lovely floral perfume. Unwilling to make the moment awkward, I pull away after a few beats.
She brushes a few strands of blonde hair that escaped from her ponytail behind her ears.
I jerk my chin toward the stove. “You do know I own several restaurants and my freezer is packed with meals prepared by my chefs. You didn’t have to cook.”
“This is the celebratory dinner, which is why I’m cooking the only meal I mastered.”
“How can it be a celebratory dinner, when I just told you about meeting Joe?”
“The video hit three-hundred million views… and counting.” A giddy squeal rips through her as she does a happy dance.
“Holy shit, it exploded this afternoon.”
She nods. “I kept refreshing the page and every time, the number of views kept climbing. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Your social media also boasts some impressive numbers.”
“Wow.”
“That win is one of the reasons why I’m cooking.”
I tilt my head to the side. “And the other?”
She lowers her gaze for a beat and bites her lower lip.
“Because of… yesterday.” Her eyes are steady on mine, a riot of greens and golds swimming in them, melting into a depth of emotion I can’t quite read.
I ponder on her words, unsure how to respond.
She shifts from one foot to the other, staring up at me from under her long lashes.
My throat goes dry and tight, and I clear it before speaking. “Since both of us are ending the day on a positive note, why don’t we focus on that.”
She offers a warm smile. “That’s why I wore this.” She pulls at the jersey. “I feel like a champion. This is my first experience at going viral.”
“I’ll put the champagne in the fridge and go change out of my suit.”
“In the meantime, I’ll put the freesias in a vase. The homemade con amore spaghetti and meatball sauce is ready.” She turns to the stove and her hands go into a ta-da! gesture.
That’s so Harley.
“The garlic bread is easy peasy. I already took care of the appetizer—Caprese salad. I even got a couple slices of the dessert of the day at Number 22. You can’t celebrate without cake. It’s going to be dee-licious.”
Her lightheartedness is back in full force.
“Thanks for cooking this incredible meal, Harley,” I say.
She beams. “You liked?”
I nod. “I had two portions.”
Her smile takes over her face.
I tap the side of my dessert plate with my fork. “Good job on insisting we have cake. The pastry chef outdid herself with this caramel cake,” I say sliding the last bite into my mouth.
“Had I known this would be this lip-smacking, I would’ve grabbed more than two slices.”
“I’m sure I can talk her into making a cake just for you.”
“It’s good to know the boss.”
I nod.
“Speaking of you being the boss, should we try the new test flavors you brought from the brewery?”
“Let’s do it a little later. I’d prefer to have a clean pallet to appreciate the beer. Between the caramel and the champagne, I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
“Okay. I’m eager to try out blueberry craft beer for the first time.”
“Wait until you try the citrus or blood orange ale. You’ll be a convert.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” She smiles. “I agreed with your suggestion not to mix business with pleasure, but now that we’ve enjoyed my world-famous spaghetti and meatballs, guzzled down champagne, and we’re all sugared up, I want to hear all about your meeting with Hoppy Joe.”
I stand. “First, more champagne is in order.”
She claps. “I love the way you think.”
I return with the bottle, top up her glass, and then mine. After placing the champagne in the refrigerator, I return to my seat, pausing for the briefest moment to admire the bouquet of flowers I bought her, taking center stage on the kitchen island.
I sigh.
Pushing my conflicting feelings away, I slide into my seat.
Harley lifts her glass. “Here’s to us sticking it to your ex.”
I lift my glass.
We each take a sip of our champagne.
“I’m all ears,” Harley says.
“The short version is he’s agreed to sell me his Brooklyn operation and his Montana one.”
“Are you looking to expand out of state?”
“I’m only interested in his Brooklyn operation. I don’t need more headaches in my life.”
She tilts her head to the side, her brows touching. “Isn’t Montana out of state?”
“The reason why Joe has to sell is tragic.”
She frowns. “That doesn’t sound too good.”
“I don’t know the man, and I was devastated by his story.
” I’m still shaken by what the guy shared.
It takes courage to open up like that to a stranger.
“What happened to him is so over the top and layered with embarrassment and shame, he couldn’t bring himself to approach another brewery in Montana—or any surrounding state. ”
“Can you share what happened to him?”
I ready myself to answer her, but she gets up.
“I’m going to grab a glass of water. Do you want one?”
I shake my head. “I’m good. Thanks.”
“Sorry I interrupted you.”
I wave it off. “Joseph Kozinski is in his sixties. He got married when he was young, got divorced after a year of marriage, and never remarried. Throughout his life he’s had on and off relationships.”
Harley opens the fridge and grabs the water pitcher, fills her glass, and guzzles down a long gulp.
“He started thinking of retirement and not wanting to be alone for the rest of his life.”
“I can understand that at his age.” Harley takes another sip of water.
“Long story short, a stunning young woman befriended him on social media, and they started exchanging messages on the platform. Within a few days, they moved the conversation to their phones, at her suggestion. Every day, they’d exchange a flurry of messages—your typical honeymoon phase. Fast forward a few weeks…”
Harley trails back toward me, her attention rapt.
“The gorgeous twenty-nine-year-old brunette with the big blue eyes proclaimed to be so in love with him, she couldn’t imagine not living together.
She suggested a way for him to gain financial and location independence, so they could live in the same country.
That’s when their lovey-dovey conversation turned to investment 101. ”
Harley freezes, her fingers skimming the top of the table.
“The so-called love of his life brainwashed and manipulated him. Before he could grasp the monumental mistake he was about to make, because he trusted her, his whole world imploded. Over a matter of a few weeks, the Eastern European woman he thought he was in a relationship with, siphoned his life savings and his business funds into her own accounts.”
Harley blinks in rapid succession, her hand going to her chest.
“I know. Tragic.” I shake my head. “According to the police who did a reverse image search, he was catfished. He was probably in communication with a team of scammers overseas and not an Eastern European beauty—who’s an innocent participant in this deplorable story because her photos were stolen from her socials.
Joe was looking for love, but in the end, he became a romance and finance scam victim. He has nothing left to his name.”
Harley opens and closes her mouth.
She’s taking this to heart.
So did I.
My molars grind together. “What kind of piece of shit humans prey on hard-working people? Especially a man his age. Those scammers deserve to be hung from a tree.”
Harley goes as white as a sheet.
A skittering of worry zips through me. “Are you okay?”
She tries to grip the side of the table as her eyes roll to the back of her head.
I jump out of my seat.