Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) (38 page)

The revelation sank into his gut, a cold iron anchor weight. Ethan wanted Del because of the potential to milk his screw-ups for audience entertainment. His slot on
Ward On Fire
had little to do with his skill as a chef; instead, the producers had been attracted to the whiff of scandal surrounding him, like sharks scenting blood in the water. That they’d use him—and God forbid, drag Jessica and her family into it somehow—well,
fuck
.

Del wanted to punch the smug bastard’s artificially whitened teeth out, but the two people laughing in the next room stopped him. He wouldn’t ruin West and Piper’s wedding by pummeling one of their guests.

So, he set his jaw and dipped the neck of his beer bottle at Ethan. “I guess I owe you.”
A punch in the bloody nose
. “Working with you these last few days has opened my eyes.”
To what a self-absorbed idiot I’ve been.
“And thanks for not mentioning my history to the staff.”
Since I’ve managed to quite nicely screw things up without your help.

Ethan huffed and then smiled benevolently. “There must be something about this place you see and I don’t. But regardless of the lack of decent cuisine and the dreadful muck here you call coffee, Oban seems to produce some talented chefs. Like you.” He raised his glass. “And my most excellent date, to whom I must return.”

He turned away from the picture window and said, “And there she is.”

Del spun around—
oh, shit
.

Shaye was a few feet behind them, a trembling hand clasped over her mouth and her cheeks flushed crimson. He didn’t need to ask how much she’d overheard, the answer was in every terse angle of her body.

“Is it true, Del? What Ethan said?”

“You haven’t told
her
about your little secrets, Del?” Ethan’s finger ticked to and fro in a scolding metronome, and he clicked his tongue. “Oops. Kind of a no-no with the ladies.”

Del resisted the urge to break Ethan’s wagging finger off. “Piss off, Ethan.” He set his beer bottle down on a table and stepped toward Shaye. “Can I talk to you privately—?”

“So you can
explain
some more?” Shaye moved closer to Ethan’s side.

Ethan folded his arms. “I’ve no intention of leaving Shaye alone with you. Not while you’re out of control.”

“I’m not out of control,” he snapped at Ethan—then turned to Shaye. “Look, I tried to tell you a couple of times, but we got distracted by—” He clamped his mouth shut in time. “Stuff got in the way. Please. Let’s just go to West’s office and—”

“No, I won’t go anywhere with you while you’re like…this.” She flicked a hand at him, including the beer bottle in the gesture.

“Legless,” Ethan supplied helpfully. “Your head chef is on the way to being completely shitfaced.”

Del’s fingers clenched into a fist at his side, but one glance at Shaye’s shiny eyes and the fire in his belly dampened to hissing embers. Making a scene wouldn’t solve anything. It’d only make this fucked-up situation worse.

Ignoring Ethan, Del lowered his voice and spoke directly to Shaye. “I’m not drunk, but you’re right, I’m a little out of control, and I don’t want to fight with you. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He stared at her, desperate to identify any of the fleeting emotions crossing her face.

Getting zero reaction, zero feedback, Del sucked in a breath, his chest hitting an invisible barrier as if it’d been encased in concrete.

“I’ll stay out of your way,” he said. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

Then mentally apologizing to his brother who was still celebrating with his new wife, Del walked out of the bar and into the night.

Chapter 20

Shaye loved Guy Fawkes night. The roaring bonfire, the fake Guy—made out of a collection of old clothes and stuffed with newspaper—which they threw on top of the blaze, the glee on kids’ faces as they watched the fireworks.

Tonight, though…not so much. Tonight, she stood on Halfmoon Bay beach next to Ethan and the other wedding guests, forced a fat, false smile, and pretended Del hadn’t diced her heart up with a cleaver.

He hadn’t denied Ethan’s accusations of being drunk on the job at Cosset—and how could he? The truth had been written all over his hang-dog expression. Caught out, busted, by Ethan confronting him. How could he have kept this from her the whole time? She’d bared her heart to him—telling him how her father had hid his alcoholism from his family with dire consequences. Would her father’s life have been saved if he’d trusted his kids enough to accept his flaws? Did Del not trust her with his? Is that why he’d kept silent about his own issues?

She shook her head and shut her eyes, the bonfire flames flickering on her closed lids.

Sure, she’d shushed Del the morning after Piper’s hen party—saying who he’d been wasn’t as important as who he was now. And that was still true. She’d never seen him drunk or out of control. He
was
making himself a better man. But. A sob rose in her throat, but she forced it back, making her chest ache. She’d trusted him with her insecurities, with the circumstances of her father’s death that still hurt her today, but
Del’d held back
.

Shaye sucked in a deep breath.
Keep it together, woman
.

“Not as impressive as the Fourth of July display over the East River, I guess,” she said, as the silence between her and Ethan stretched into awkwardness.

He’d been very sweet after Del stormed out—gluing himself to her side, fetching her drinks, and fielding off curious locals who’d wanted to know where West’s best man had vanished to. It’d been a relief when thirty minutes later the party had shifted to the beach.

“Have you seen it?” he asked.

“Only on video clips.”

“Ah. So is New York on your bucket list?”

“Yes. It sounds like an amazing place.”

A group of rockets screamed overhead, exploding into tiny stars and spangles. Red, white, and blue. So pretty, so fleeting.

“Come work for me at
Ward’s New York
.”

She blinked up at the night sky, flashes of color still blinding her. Couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Maybe he was joking.

“I’m serious,” he said.

Shaye turned to look at him. “What?”

Ethan shrugged. “I can’t offer you a high-level entry position like sous, but I’m willing to give you a trial run as a line cook.”

Ethan Ward, the Ethan Ward, offering her a job? Then she got it. “I’m not sleeping with you, Ethan.”

His eyes bugged wide, and he barked out a laugh.

Shaye’s belly dropped into the chunky soles of her combat boots. Yet another humiliating outcome to a string of disasters today.

Ethan stopped laughing and patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry; you caught me off guard. Of course I’m not offering you a job in order to sleep with you—you’re very pretty, but sadly, not my type.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice a mousy squeak.

“The offer is legit, no shagging me or anyone else required. You’d work with my team in New York, starting at the bottom, but with a drive to succeed, you wouldn’t stay there long. New York’s just one of my restaurants, and I’m always head-hunting talent.”

“You think I have talent?”

“I think you’ve hidden your talent too long in this little town. Now’s your chance to spread your wings and see how far you’ll fly.”

Another barrage of fireworks exploded, and Shaye tilted her head. Could she do it? Could she walk away from her family, from Due South, from…Del?

No chef would be stupid enough to turn down the opportunity to work in one of Ward’s restaurants. You’ve let your wings be clipped by lack of ambition and your loyalty to this goddamned island. It’s not disloyal to put yourself first once in a while
.

Del’s exact words.

Wasn’t it her ego thinking Due South would fall apart without her? No one was irreplaceable, and after the publicity Oban got from
Ward On Fire
, chefs would be lining up to work there.

But her mother, her sister, her little nieces…She’d been the glue for so long. But again, would her family fall apart without her? Of course not—they’d be fine.

Del?
A little voice inside her head whispered.
What about Del?

A louder, more strident voice in her head piped up.
What about him? Are you still expecting to ride off into the sunset on his white frickin’ steed? The only thing Dell’ll ride off on is an Air New Zealand flight to London.

Shaye curled her fingers, the French manicure digging crescents into her palms, holding back the tears that so desperately wanted to come. “Why would you offer me this chance, Ethan?”

“You want honesty?”

“After tonight, I don’t want anything from men other than brutal honesty.”

“Well, then. Reason number one is my show is to blame for getting you fired—temporarily fired, of course.” His attempt to look sheepish failed epically. The man didn’t do humble.

“Show business, right?”

He flashed a toothy smile. “Exactly, nothing personal. You don’t hate me?”

Unlike another male she’d had to deal with tonight, she didn’t let grudges fester. “Would I have asked you to be my plus one if I did?”

“I figured you hadn’t kissed and made up with Del.”

Shaye chose to ignore the dull ache that throbbed in her chest.

Stupid heart.

“What’s the other reason?”

He cocked his head. “I’m the youngest of three brothers, all of them in the food industry. I was the overlooked baby for years. None of my siblings took me seriously, so I worked twice as hard as everyone else to be the best, to make them respect me. Maybe I see a little of myself in you.” Ethan shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Or maybe I’m hoping a good deed will get me off Santa’s naughty list this year.”

She sighed, tugging the light Pashmina shawl around her shoulders. “Can I think about it and give you an answer tomorrow?”

“Take your time,” he said. “Long as the answer is yes.”

Another explosion of sparks lit the sky above Due South. How could she possibly say no?

***

Shaye crept downstairs at 7:00 a.m. She did some funky ninja moves to avoid Charlie and Helena, there early to start the tidy up, and slunk through the front door. She couldn’t bear to take a short-cut to Bill’s place via the kitchen. In fact, she hadn’t been back since Del fired her.

Hurrying along the sidewalk, she continued to check over her shoulder. It seemed everyone who’d been at West and Piper’s wedding the night before still slept off the after-effects. Was Del, too, sleeping off the after-affects? Quicker than greased lightning, she slapped a pot-lid on
that
witch’s brew.

Shaye cut across the parking lot and tapped on the cottage door.

Soft footsteps came from the other side then the door swung open to reveal Claire’s smiling face. “Shaye, this is a nice surprise.”

“I’m here to see Bill, if he’s feeling okay this morning. I know he likes to get up early, catching the worm and all.” Shaye nipped her mouth shut, stopping the stream of words desperate to babble forth.

God, she hadn’t been this nervous about talking to Bill since she’d asked him for a job as a teenager.

“Come on in.”

She followed Claire down the short hallway and into the open plan kitchen-dining room.

Bill glanced up from the table. “The hell you doing up already? You should be having a lie in after the wild party last night.”

“I wanted to ask for your advice”—she shot a glance at Claire—“in private, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is, honey,” Claire said, patting Shaye’s arm. “I’ll hang out a load of laundry, it’s going to be a beautiful day.” Claire disappeared into a small room off the kitchen and shut the door.

Bill flicked a thumb toward the stove. “Kettle’s hot if you want a cuppa.”

Shaye shook her head and sat down opposite him. “No, thanks. I can’t stay long.”

“With all this wedding kerfuffle, I haven’t seen you since Del fired you. He told me what the little director weasel made him do, and I’m bloody sorry my boy put you through that. Once the Hollywood lot clears out, you’ll be back here—”

Shaye jerked in her seat and the words shot from her mouth like bullets. “Last night, Ethan Ward offered me a job. In New York.”

Bill’s bushy white eyebrows flicked up. “Well, now. That’s not something you get dropped in your lap every day.”

“No.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I said I’d think about his offer.” Shaye couldn’t drag her eyes from the folds of Bill’s woolen jersey. The same jersey he’d worn for years—one Claire knitted for him before she left Stewart Island. Now, instead of fitting snugly around his stomach, it sagged loose, stretched to the shape of the man Bill was no longer.

He leaned forward, bracing his palms on the dining table. “Then you’re a damn fool.”