10. Jolie
JOLIE
I hear the news about Rudolf Wolfe before I even finish my coffee.
Jett is on the phone in the kitchen, his voice low and sharp, and when he hangs up he looks at me with that half-smile that means someone has been destroyed.
"He's gone, sunshine. Packed his office last night and left town before dawn.
Banks froze his lines of credit, the association voted to expel him this morning, and his business partners are already turning on each other to save themselves. "
Jarvis sets a mug in front of me, his hand steady and warm. "He won't be back. And he won't ever bother anyone the way he tried to bother you."
I should feel guilty, but I don't. I feel safe for the first time since that man walked into the restaurant with his threats and his poison, able to breathe without waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The problem is settled, the villain is gone, and now I can finally walk into my mother's office without feeling like I'm trespassing in a war zone.
I stand in the office and stare at the desk drawer.
It's the same drawer where I hid the sale papers three weeks ago, the ones that would have handed the restaurant to Rudolf Wolfe for a price that insulted everything my mother built.
I pull the handle, and the folder is still there, crisp and official, with my mother's signature forged in places where she was too tired to read the fine print.
I take the folder out and flip it open. The numbers blur together, but I see the bottom line—the amount that would have made me walk away from the only place that ever felt like it could be mine.
I tear it in half.
The sound is loud in the quiet office. I tear it again, and again, ripping the pages until they're nothing but strips of white and black, then drop them into the trash can beside the desk. They land on top of coffee grounds and old receipts, right where they belong.
I look up at the new calendar on the wall. Jarvis hung it days ago after he took the old one down. It's blank except for the hearts he drew around the dates we've already spent together. I'll fill it in later. But first, I have something to say.
I smooth my navy blue dress, fitted at the waist with a neckline that shows just enough of my collarbone. Jett picked it out this morning, saying I needed to look like the boss. I feel like an imposter, but I also feel like myself.
The dining room is full when I walk out.
Every member of the staff is here—the chefs in their whites, the servers in their black shirts, the contractor who finished the crown molding this morning still holding his toolbox, and the painter who touched up the trim standing near the bar with a coffee cup in his hand.
My grandparents sit at the corner booth where we ate breakfast that first morning. My grandmother wears her lavender cardigan with her hands folded on the table, and my grandfather has his arm around her shoulders. They're both smiling.
Jarvis stands near the kitchen door in a dark suit with no tie and the top button of his shirt undone. His arms are crossed, and his eyes find me immediately, steady and certain.
Jett leans against the bar in dark jeans and a blazer, his hair still damp from the shower. He winks at me when I look at him, and my stomach does that familiar flip.
I walk to the center of the room. The new chandelier hangs above me, brass and glass, something Jett found years ago when he traveled to Italy.
It caught his eye immediately, and he bought it knowing he would use it somewhere someday.
Now it casts warm light over the fresh paint, the new flooring, and the tables set with white linen for tonight's soft reopening.
I clear my throat. The room goes quiet.
"Three weeks ago," I say, "I walked into this restaurant planning to sell it.
I thought it was the only thing my mother left me, and I thought that meant it was a burden.
I thought the best thing I could do was take the money and give it to my grandparents, the people who actually raised me, then run back to a city where nobody knew my name. "
I pause. My hands are shaking, so I clasp them in front of me.
"I was wrong. This place isn't a burden. It's a chance. And I'm not going to sell it. I'm going to run it with Jarvis and Jett as my partners, with my grandparents as my family, and with every single one of you as the team that makes this place worth walking into."
A murmur ripples through the room. The head chef, Diego, grins, and one of the servers, a girl named Tina who's only a year younger than me, claps her hand over her mouth.
"I'm staying," I say, my voice growing stronger.
"Permanently. I'm the co-owner now, and I'm putting my marketing degree to work right here.
We have a new menu, a new brand, and a new future.
And if anyone has a problem taking direction from a twenty-two-year-old who cries over uncooked patties, you can talk to Jarvis or Jett.
They're both very large and very scary."
The room laughs. Even Jarvis's mouth twitches.
"Thank you," I say, my eyes moving from Jarvis to Jett. "All of you. For showing up. For believing in this place. For believing in me."
The applause starts slow, then builds. Diego whistles, and Tina claps so hard her hands must hurt. My grandmother stands up, and my grandfather stands with her, both of them clapping, my grandmother's eyes wet but her smile so wide it makes my chest ache.
Jarvis walks over to me without touching me in front of the staff. He doesn't need to. His presence alone is enough—a wall at my back, a foundation.
"Well done," he says, low enough that only I can hear.
"I didn't throw up," I say.
"Progress."
Jett pushes off the bar and saunters over. "You forgot to mention the part where you fired the old social media manager and replaced her with a TikTok account that already has thirty thousand followers."
"I was getting to that."
"Show-off."
My grandparents approach, and my grandmother hugs me first. She smells like vanilla and the lavender sachets she keeps in her purse, holding me tight, tighter than she has since I was small, as she whispers in my ear.
"I'm proud of you, sweetie. We're so proud of you."
My grandfather hugs me next. He is not a big man, but his arms are strong. He pats my back twice, then holds me at arm's length.
"Your grandmother and I talked last night," he says. "We are not going back to the city right away. We want to be here for the opening. And for you."
I nod because I can't speak with my throat too tight.
The staff disperses quickly, because there's work to do—the soft reopening is in two hours, the kitchen needs to prep, the servers need to review the new menu descriptions, and the florist is delivering centerpieces.
But Jarvis catches my wrist.
"Not you," he says. "You stay."
"Why?"
"Because we have something to celebrate first."
Five hours later, the restaurant is empty.
The staff has gone home, and the soft reopening was a success—every table was full, every plate came back clean, and the new Instagram account blew up with tags and stories. The local food blogger I invited wrote a glowing review before she even got to her car.
Now it's just us. The dining room is dark except for the chandelier, which Jarvis dimmed to a warm glow. The tables are cleared, the chairs are stacked, and the kitchen is clean and silent.
I stand near the bar in my navy dress, but my feet are bare. My heels were killing me, and Jett told me to take them off or he would carry me everywhere for the rest of the day.
Jarvis locks the front door. The click echoes.
Jett walks up behind me. His hands settle on my hips. His chin rests on my shoulder.
"Do you know what I have been thinking about all night?" he asks.
"That Diego's new risotto recipe need more salt?"
"Well, that. But also this."
He turns me around. His mouth finds mine, and he kisses me slow and deep. His hands slide down to my ass, lifting me slightly, and I gasp against his lips.
Jarvis approaches from the side, not kissing me yet, just looking at me with that dark, burning gaze that makes my knees weak.
"The table," he says. His voice is rough. "The one in the center. Where she planned to sign the papers."
He means the table where I sat with Rudolf's folder open in front of me, calculating how fast I could escape, convinced this place was a cage.
"Yes," I whisper.
Jett lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me to the center table. He sets me down on the edge. The wood is smooth and cool against the backs of my thighs.
Jarvis stands in front of me. Jett stands behind. They are both so big that the room feels small.
"Lift your arms," Jarvis commands.
I do. He pulls my dress over my head in one smooth motion, and Jett moves behind me, his hands sliding under the fabric to unhook my bra and tug my panties down before I can even catch my breath.
Just me, sitting on the table where I once planned to sell my future, now naked and waiting for the men who taught me to stay.
Jett's hands slide up my back. He unclasps my necklace, the small gold chain my grandmother gave me for graduation, and he sets it on the table beside me. Then his mouth finds my neck. He kisses me there, sucking lightly, while his hands come around to cup my breasts.
I moan. They are heavy and full. Even though Jett milked me early this morning, the pressure is already building again.
"She's leaking," Jett murmurs against my skin. He thumbs my nipples, and milk beads immediately, thick and white.
"Then feed her to me," Jarvis says.
Jett lifts my breasts from below, offering them up. Jarvis leans down. He takes my left nipple into his mouth and sucks.
The relief is instant as I cry out, my head falling back against Jett's shoulder.
Milk flows into Jarvis's mouth in a steady stream, and he swallows with a groan, his cheeks hollowing.
Jett holds my other breast, his fingers strumming the nipple, and more milk spills out, running down my stomach in warm trails.