Page 33 of Burning Rivalry

I appreciated the solidarity but wasn’t yet sure what I was supposed to do next. I knew what I wanted to do and exactly how much pain I would like to inflict on him while I did it. The words ‘slow, prolonged torture’ came to mind. There was a difference between what a man wished he could get away with and what he knew would land him in prison.

“He’s got connections all over the city, but then you had to know that.” Grayson continued, “He has friends in the union offices. Hence, the last-minute permit issues. He also knows people in the health department.”

“The inspection,” I muttered while my heart sank, cursing myself for not seeing it all much sooner. It was easy to say that now with the evidence laid bare in front of me. It all seemed so obvious. Someone with his penchant for holding a grudge would want to lash out once it was announced I would open a second location, thus confirming the success of Home.

He had never reached that level of success, no matter how fresh and exciting he tried to be. I had dined in his restaurant. If it hadn’t been for trying to fend off Hadley’s repeated touches, I might have fallen asleep. At least I had quality in my corner. People could call me boring all they wanted, but that didn’t stop them from coming back for more.

“I know one thing,” I decided, finishing my coffee with increased determination to get to the restaurant as quickly as possible. “I’m firing this little bitch first thing. Let her wonder why.”

“There’s nothing I like better than firing a traitor first thing in the morning,” Vaughn joked, though there wasn’t much humor in the situation. I appreciated him trying, as I appreciated everyone listening to my problems for the past forty-five minutes.

“If only it were that easy to fire lazy performers who are already under contract,” Jackson grumbled, checked his phone, then stood. “Anyway, good luck. Tell that girl she owes me money for her ticket, whoever she is. I don’t comp tickets for traitors.”

We left the restaurant, chuckling, promising to keep in touch over this latest situation. We rarely got together at breakfast, but I had plans most evenings in the final days leading up to the soft open. Members of the press would be stopping in soon—photographers, reporters, providing foodies and an inside look at the new restaurant. We would run through the menu soon, inviting close friends and family to sample dishes before opening the doors to the public. The thought of it made my body tense in preparation, exhilarating me the way the ride at the top of The Strat had done.

But nothing could touch what came after. It was a memory I had revisited often in the handful of days since but was smart enough not to bring up with Claudia. She had been out of her mind on adrenaline, buzzing on the thrill of conquering her fears, giving me the thrill of conquering her.

It was something pleasant to recall during the drive to work, where the top item of the day involved making a phone call the moment I reached my office without bothering to greet anyone first. Her number was in our system, and I punched it into my desk phone while wearing a grim smile. “Marissa?” I asked when she answered. “Sebastian Kennedy.” Incredible, how non-murderous I sounded.

“Oh, hi!” she replied, chipper. “I wasn’t due to come in until later today. Did I read the schedule wrong?”

She had read a lot of things wrong if she thought she was going to get away with her shit. There she was in the photos Grayson had provided, spread out on top of the folder he’d given me. Cuddling against Kristoff at a blackjack table, blinding herself around him as he played poker. I needed to stop looking at them before I screamed.

Bitterness flooded my veins, and at first, I could only grunt. “No. You’re right about the schedule. Unfortunately, there’s been a change of plans, and your services won’t be required any longer.”

She kept me waiting a beat, then another, before asking, “What do you mean? Why not? What did I do wrong?” Every word sent her voice rising in pitch until she was almost squeaking by the time she finished.

“Like I said, it’s only a change in plans.” I don’t employ women who’ve plotted against me while touching Darden’s dick. “You’ll be compensated for the time you spent training.”

“Please, Mr. Kennedy, if there’s something I can do⁠—”

“Best of luck in the future.” I had to end it there. Otherwise, I would have tipped my hand by sending Kristoff my regards. For once, I was ahead of him. It would mark the first time since all of this began.

There was something else I needed to do, and this time, it came with mixed feelings. I couldn’t help but crave the opportunity to have a few minutes alone with Claudia, an excuse to call her into my office, away from the rest of the crew. She might accuse me of trying to sneak around if there wasn’t a solid reason for pulling her aside. My reasoning was certainly solid.

But I didn’t crave worrying her. I didn’t want her fretting over what Kristoff might and might not be planning next. I had every intention of burying him over this. He didn’t have my resources and hadn’t invested his money like I had. How did I know? I knew him. He liked his flashy cars, his nights out on the town. My lawyers could reduce him to nothing but a stain if that’s what I told them to do.

I considered the words I would use, weighing my options as I exited the office with Grayson’s folder still out on the desk. “Claudia? Can I have a word?”

She raised her head from the supply list she was reviewing with Stella. The suspicion etched across her forehead and bracketing her mouth was obvious. “Be right back,” she said, eyeing me skeptically as she approached.

My hands curled reflexively as I imagined reaching for her, touching her, even something as simple as a kiss against her forehead. That was a first, imagining something as simple and innocent as that when it came to a woman I was interested in. My wanting usually ran along simpler lines. Take, claim, fuck senseless.

Forcing myself to ignore the aroma of vanilla clinging to her, I folded my arms and hunched slightly, my head closer to hers. Rather than touch my lips to her skin, I murmured, “I had to let Marissa go.”

Her head snapped back, dismay replacing suspicion. “What? Why?” Her voice was loud enough to grab the attention of the line cooks, all of whom slowed their chopping and slicing in favor of looking our way. One sharp glance from me changed their minds in a hurry.

“Let’s talk about it.” I nodded toward the open doorway beside me. “Quietly, please.”

Her feet might as well have grown roots binding her to the floor, the stubborn little thing. “No, hang on a second. The time to talk about this was before you decided to fire someone I’ve already spent hours training, developing camaraderie. Wasn’t that the point? I wasted all that time.”

My teeth would crack soon if I didn’t stop grinding them. Why did she have to do this now? “And had I known then what I know now, you would not have wasted your time,” I grunted. “Having a discussion before I called her would not have changed a damn thing. The result would have been the same.” By now, everyone was paying attention while pretending not to. I couldn’t announce this in front of all of them. They didn’t need to know about Kristoff and Marissa. The fewer people aware, the better.

Stepping aside, I motioned toward the inside of my office with one arm. “In here. Privately. I’m not going to ask again.”

Her hair stood out like gold against her tomato-red complexion. “You know what? I need to cover for all the work my former assistant was supposed to get done today.” Heaving a sigh, she backed away, raising her hands in the air. “I’ll talk to you later about it. Unbelievable.”

She had no idea how unbelievable it all was. I could hardly wait to make her eat her words. Eventually, she was going to learn I knew what I was doing. Just who gave her the impression this was her restaurant?