Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
OLIVIA
“I’m not a fucking nepo baby,” I mutter, leaning back and crossing my arms over my chest, glaring moodily at Jeremy Wright.
One of my brother’s best friends, former NHL star, and current happy father of three, he is utterly unphased, grinning at me like he just handed me the keys to the goddamn castle.
“What’s a nepo baby?” Jeremy’s twelve-year-old daughter, Maddy, asks from the next table over, where she’s pouring over a very intimidating looking math textbook.
We’re sitting at tables in the back of Fireside, the Pittsburgh bar Jeremy and another one of Gabe’s friends own.
Jeremy texted me earlier and told me he had a business proposition for me, asking if I could stop by the bar a little before dinner time.
Alarm bells immediately started blaring, and I almost said no.
The second Jeremy told me why I was here, I knew I was right to be suspicious.
There’s fuckery afoot, and its name is Gabe Sullivan.
Turning to Maddy, I take a sip of my drink. “It means someone who has opportunities given to them because of who their family is. Opportunities they wouldn’t have otherwise had.”
Maddy furrows her freckled brow, twisting the end of her red ponytail around one finger thoughtfully. “But my dad is offering you a catering job, and you’re a chef who wants to start a catering company. That doesn’t seem like an opportunity you wouldn’t have gotten otherwise.”
“True story, Little Red. You’re the smart girl.
” Jeremy holds up a hand and Maddy slaps it, grinning at her dad, and I can’t help but smile at the way the two of them are together.
Jeremy’s wife, Emma, adopted Maddy when Maddy was seven, and then Jeremy adopted her a year later, a little after Jeremy and Emma got married.
They had just started dating when Maddy came to live with Emma, and she and Jeremy formed this, like, unshakable bond right from the start.
She may have only officially become his daughter four or so years ago, but in all the ways that matter, she has been his right from the start.
“Not true story,” I say pointing at Jeremy.
“You offered me the catering position for your Kids Play gala, which, for the last twenty or so years, has been held in a downtown hotel in July. You’re telling me you randomly, at the very last minute when every caterer in the city would be booked, decided to hold it at the football stadium in December the exact year that I wrote a business plan for a private catering company I’m planning to start in six months when I get home from Europe?
A business plan I have shared with exactly four people, all of whom are related to me by blood or marriage, and none of whom are you?
” I roll my eyes. “If you’re going for subterfuge, your routine needs some work.
This screams Gabe trying to make me want to stay in Pittsburgh instead of going to Italy.
Also, didn’t you resign from the foundation years ago? ”
Jeremy gives me a smug grin. “I may not be the executive director anymore because that shit bored me to tears, but I’m the former famous hockey player, and this face”—he waves a hand at his face—“sells gala tickets. I’m making my triumphant return to plan this year’s gala, and I decided on a holiday theme for a change. ”
“Of course you did,” I mutter. “That was probably my brother’s idea too.”
“Aw, don’t be mad at him Liv,” Jeremy says, leaning back in his seat and stretching his long legs out under the table. “Gabe loves you and he loves having you here. He wants you to chase all your dreams, but I think he just hopes that maybe your dreams are closer to home.”
I huff out a breath, glancing around the bar.
With its dark wooden accents, exposed beams, and long, mahogany bar, all cheerfully decorated for Christmas, it’s warm, cozy, and one of my favorite places in the city.
This city I love calling home. I want my dreams to be here too.
But I think they have to be somewhere else for a little while first. “I know he does. I love him too. But I’m twenty-five years old.
By the time Gabe was twenty-five, he had founded a billion-dollar company and was the most famous tech entrepreneur in the entire world.
I’m not competing with my brother—the idea of being famous gives me hives—I just want to make my mark too. ”
“And to make your mark you think you have to go to Italy for six months?”
I shrug, stirring the remains of my apple cider margarita with a cinnamon stick. “I think when the Italian Culinary Institute sends you an acceptance letter, it’s a really hard offer to pass up.”
Especially for someone like me, who discovered my love for cooking in high school after my older sister left for college and Gabe was busy with his company.
Experimenting in the kitchen, starting with my mom’s old recipes and then graduating to developing recipes on my own, became both my joy and my salvation.
I only realized I could turn it into a career when I was in college myself, and I worked my ass off to catch up to all the people who had been working in kitchens for what seemed like their whole lives.
The acceptance letter feels like the culmination of all that hard work, and I’m fucking proud of it.
“I’ll really miss you if you go,” Maddy says suddenly, looking up from her homework. “You’re, like, the only one around here who isn’t married and boring.”
Laughing, I run a hand down Maddy’s ponytail.
Since I moved to Pittsburgh a couple years ago, Maddy and I have gotten really close.
With a degree in hospitality management with a culinary focus but no real desire to work in a restaurant kitchen, I found myself a little aimless for a while.
A few weeks after I moved, Jeremy and his wife Emma, one of my sister-in-law Molly’s best friends, lost their nanny, and I filled in for what was supposed to be a temporary gig.
It ended up lasting for more than a year, while I apprenticed with a couple of local caterers to gain some experience before I started considering my own company.
Even though they have someone new now, I still pick up Maddy sometimes just for fun, and every few weeks she comes over to my apartment for a sleepover that includes dinner, a spa night, and a rom-com movie marathon.
My chest pinches at the idea of leaving her.
At the idea of leaving everyone. “It’s just for six months, Mads.
And think of all the amazing desserts I’ll learn how to make when I’m there. ”
Maddy rolls her eyes with such pre-teen drama that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “You make amazing desserts now.”
“You absolutely do.” Jeremy takes the last swig of his beer and crosses his arms on the table. “And dessert is one of the most important parts of the Kids Play gala.”
“Oh my god, yes,” Maddy says. “Remember those chocolate cakes last year with the runny middle? You brought one home for me, and it was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” When Jeremy narrows his eyes at her, she slides her gaze to mine, giving me a sly smile. “You could definitely make them better.”
Laughing, I drop my head back in defeat.
“Fuck, fine. I’ll cater the damn gala.” When Maddy cheers and Jeremy beams at me, his eyes alight with victory, I point to him.
“But not because Gabe puppeteered this entire thing like the meddling older brother he is or because you rearranged the entire gala schedule. Because catering is fun, and this kind of thing will look stellar on my resume when I come back from Italy and start my company.”
“You’re going to Italy?”
The deep, rumbly voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I look up, straight into the whiskey-colored gaze of Brian Simpson, Jeremy’s half-brother.
With those piercing eyes, dark hair tousled like he’s spent all day running his fingers through it, and the light scruff covering his jaw, he and Jeremy could almost be twins.
But where Jeremy is all easy-going smiles, Brian is more…
layered. Not broody, exactly, but it’s like he’s more…
muted, maybe. Like there’s an extra layer of heaviness on his shoulders that Jeremy doesn’t carry, and something about that complexity is absolutely scorching hot.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach as he studies me, those dark, intense eyes locked on mine.
I could get lost in that gaze.
The thought is heady and also the very last thing I should be thinking about my older brother’s best friend. My older brother’s ten-years-older-than-I-am best friend.
“Uncle Brian!” Maddy says, bouncing up from her seat and tossing her arms around his waist before I have a chance to answer his question. “You missed my game earlier! You should have seen my goal in the third period. I did the wrist-shot and it was epic.”
Brian looks away, focusing on Maddy, and I swallow hard, not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed to have his attention off of me. He bends to kiss the top of her head. “I hate that I had to miss it. They needed me at the stadium, but I bet your dad has it on video.”
He looks at Jeremy, who grins again, pulling out his phone. “Whether I have it on video or not isn’t the right question. The right question is which video you want. I’ve got the live action shot, the slow-motion replay, and also a bunch of still pictures for good measure.”
Brian grins back, and my breath catches in my lungs. He doesn’t smile often, but Jesus, when he does? It’s killer. “Send them all. Gotta see my girl’s athletic brilliance.”
Jeremy taps his phone a few times, and I hear Brian’s cell chime in his pocket. “Sent. Okay, Little Red,” he says, pushing up from the table. “Pack it in. You and I are on dinner duty tonight and it’s snowing, so you know what that means.”
Maddy’s eyes light up as she shoves her books and binders into her backpack. “Tacos and a blanket fort?”