A Taste of You (4 page)

Second mile. Lungs clearing. Lengthen stride. Pick the pace back up. Work the cardio. By the third mile, the wine from lunch started working its way out of his system.

Sometime after that, the endorphins kicked in. His head cleared. He started thinking. He could do this. Outrun the saber-tooth. Find a new career, or at least a new job. Live without Garrett.

The endorphins weren’t up to the task of that last one. He turned his brain back off and pushed harder. He wasn’t a fitness freak like Garrett, who liked competitive sports. He jogged because he was of an age and body type that made it necessary if he wanted to keep buying fitted suits and because it beat drinking for stress relief.

The panting came back, and there was a reason you waited an hour after eating before swimming. He ignored the stitch in his side and sprinted through his normal cool-down stretch.

And it hurt. God, it
hurt.

Keep going. Push through the pain. Because the physical discomfort was a distraction and a helluva lot easier than the emotional shit waiting for him when his brain turned back on.

He slowed when his building came in sight. Ran a hand through his dripping hair, slicked the wetness from his face, and walked through the lobby pretending he didn’t look like a train wreck. Nothing to see here.

By the time he made it back up to his apartment, he wasn’t thinking about much except a shower and maybe a gallon of water. Not a permanent fix, but it worked for now.

That comforting thought lasted until he opened the door and came face to face with Garrett.

Thank you, endorphins and exhaustion. He didn’t have the energy for any kind of emotional outburst. He didn’t slow down, just headed for the kitchen, turned on the faucet, and stuck his head under the stream. That ought to tweak Mr. Fussy.

He stood back up, still dripping, reached for the glass on the dish rack next to the sink, and spoke without turning around.

“Go away.”

“Not likely.”

No, of course Garrett wouldn’t make it easy. Carlo slugged down two glasses of water before turning around. He leaned back against the counter and tried to look relaxed, in charge, not a care in the world. This was his turf, damnit. He should have the advantage.

But he knew how he looked.  He was standing in a pool of water and sweat. He had pit stains down to his knees. He was
steaming
. Literally steaming. Although, yes, he was still fuck-off pissed.

Garrett stood in front of him looking cooler than one of his citrus and champagne granitas. He looked totally lickable. He stood in Carlo’s kitchen as though he
belonged
there. As though he hadn’t just ripped his partner’s heart out and left him bleeding on the floor.

“Why are you here?”

Garrett managed to look incredulous. “You don’t think I’m actually going to accept your resignation?”

Hell. The goddamn saber-tooth was standing in front of him, and all Carlo wanted to do was step closer, bury his face in its neck, and let the scent of sugar and vanilla surround him while the damn thing eviscerated him.

He focused on his anger. Anger made his heart pound and his pulse race when he looked at Garrett, who had no right to let himself into this apartment after what he’d done. He had no right to treat his partner this way. He had no right to stand there sounding injured and looking like sex on stick.

Carlo did
not
want to lick him. He certainly didn’t want to bury his face in his neck and be seduced by that lie of a sweet scent. For the first time ever, Garrett was standing in his apartment and Carlo didn’t want to make love to him. He didn’t want to hold him close and beg him to stay.

He wanted to bend him over the nearest surface and bang some damn sense into him. Right. Fucking. Now.

“I’m going to take a shower. Be gone when I get out.”

He made a point of breathing out as he passed Garrett, and he almost made it. Then Garrett’s hand wrapped around his wrist and brought him to a stop. They were close, so close. He tried to breathe through his mouth and kept his eyes fixed forward. He tried to ignore the firm grip on his wrist and the touch that burned against his already over-heated skin.

“Carlo, please.”

Please
. Garrett used the word all the time.
A finer dice, please
or
more seasoning, please
or
like this, please
. Because Garrett had been raised correctly in a proper British household and his upbringing included an observance of the courtesies.

Except when Garrett said please, he wasn’t really asking anyone for anything. Garrett did what he was going to do, and you either came along for the ride or got left by the side of the road.

Carlo, please.

Carlo found it unlikely that Garrett was actually pleading now, no matter how it sounded. But Garrett had never used that tone before, and Carlo had never known him to try to stop anyone from walking out of his life. And, no, goddamnit, that did not make him feel special. It didn’t ignite a tiny flare of hope somewhere in the empty cavity where his heart had been this morning.

“I need a shower.” Had he agreed to something?

He pulled his wrist away and headed for the sanctuary of the bathroom. He was halfway there before he allowed himself to breathe normally again.

No way did he pick up a hint of sugar and vanilla through the overwhelming funk of sweaty Italian.

The endorphins were wearing off. He stripped off his sweat-soaked clothes and stepped into the shower. He felt tired and shell-shocked. He didn’t want to leave Ransom, no matter what Garrett had done.

Ransom. Matt’s hand stroking down Garrett’s arm. Matt answering the door at Garrett’s apartment. He couldn’t face that either.

Ransom was theirs, his and Garrett’s. He didn’t want Matt there, and it had nothing to do with any rules about dating the staff.  He couldn’t exactly tell Garrett what his objections were either. What was he going to say?

Yes, he’s perfect for you. He’s hot, talented, and shares your passion for food. He undoubtedly “gets” you in ways I never will. You’re so compatible you’re the same goddamn person. Of course, you’ve broken all the rules for him, but I’ve been waiting for you to break them for me.

Yes, that would go over just swell.

And what kind of shitty person begrudged his best friend finally growing up and finding someone to get serious about? It wasn’t like Garrett had asked Carlo to fall in love with him. Carlo was the pathetic dweeb who had, all on his own, structured his whole life, career included, around hoping that Garrett would one day wake up and realize they were meant to be more than business partners.

He ran a towel over his head and did a quick buff down his body before pulling on fresh clothes. The last of the shock, endorphins, anger, adrenaline, whatever, was wearing off, and he was left with the realization he had been avoiding earlier. No, even if he wanted to, he could not just walk away from this. Ransom bound them together closer than the child he sometimes compared it to. There were contracts, shares, bank accounts. Yes, Ransom was Garrett’s. But it was his, too.

When he walked back in the living room, Garrett flicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the coffee table. They had spent plenty of time on that sofa together, watching TV, going over plans for Ransom, hanging out. Garrett had left plenty of room. Carlo took the chair on the left instead. He didn’t want to get too close or too comfortable.

He sat down and waited.
Don’t want me to quit? Persuade me.
He was probably persuaded already, but Garrett didn’t have to know that. It might be nice to be the one who had to be talked out of a snit for once.

Garrett leaned forward. “Shit, Carlo. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you like I did. Are you calmed down now?”

“That the best you got?”

Garrett dropped his gaze and stood up to pace the apartment.

“Okay, fine. I shouldn’t have hired Matt without talking to you first, but—”

“No buts.” Hell if he would make this easy.

“All right.
All right
. I’m
sorry
. You’re right. I should have talked it over with you.”

“So why didn’t you?” Was he really going there? Did he really want to hear how Matt was so wonderful that Garrett hadn’t even considered consulting his
partner
before hiring him?

He waited. Bracing himself for the awesomeness of Matt, waiting to hear how in love Garrett was because nothing else could have made Garrett offer him Ransom, sight unseen, other than true love.

And he waited.

Garrett had migrated over to window next to his tiny balcony. “You’ve added more herbs.”

What
?

“Can you spare some of the basil?”

Carlo stopped himself from asking what kind Garrett wanted because this was not the conversation they were having.

“Garrett? What’s going on with Matt?”

“Hired him for Ransom.”

“Why did you do that, Sweets? We didn’t need him.”

Garrett avoiding the issue like this gave him a bad feeling. The hairs at the back of his neck were telling him there was something more going on here than he had realized. Something worse. That was scary. Because what could be worse than Garrett bringing home a permanent boyfriend and putting him in charge of Ransom’s kitchen?

No answer from Garrett, who was not shy about making his views known.

“Is it. . . .” The adrenaline made a comeback in a hard, vicious pound of his heart. “Is it because you want Matt here permanently? Are you in love with him?”

“What?” Garrett spun around to stare at him, shock evident on his face. “No! Are you crazy?”

“But he’s your boyfriend?” Giancarlo tried to tamp down the relief and stay focused.

“No.”

And there went the relief. “No” should have been the right answer, the answer that made everything okay, but Garrett’s gaze slid away again. Why couldn’t anything with Garrett ever be simple?

“Lover, then.” He had no doubt about that. “You can’t tell me he was just a trick when you brought him all the way from California and stuck him in our kitchen.” He held up a hand when Garrett opened his mouth to reply. “And don’t even think about telling me you haven’t fucked him.”

This broke the wall of silence.

“Well, of course I fucked him. Have you seen him?”

“Then how did we wind up here? If I remember correctly, we agreed that you weren’t going to mix business and pleasure when it came to Ransom. Cut the crap and tell me what’s really going on.”

“I needed to break up with him.”

Another answer that should have made him happy. Carlo felt like his head might explode.

“Make fucking sense. You’ve never had trouble breaking up with anyone before. And how does hiring him and putting him in the kitchen with you constantly equal breaking up?”

“That’s just it. If I hire him, he’s off-limits. I’ve already told him. Plus, he’ll be here.”

Carlo played back all the words from the last few minutes in his head to make sure he had them right. Nope. Still didn’t make sense.

“Garrett.” He forced his hands to unclench. “Sweets, sit down, start at the beginning, and tell me exactly what is going on. Everything. Or, I swear, we really are finished.”

So Garrett did.

And it was worse. Much worse.

After Garrett left Carlo paced the apartment, too upset to sit still.

I needed to break up with him.
Because a lasting relationship was outside Garrett’s skill-set. Because Matt had inconveniently turned out to be the son of a network executive. Messy breakups were right behind “food genius” as one of Garrett’s talents, but even he couldn’t afford one this messy.

If I hire him, he’s off-limits.
Clever Garrett had offered Matt the choice. Garrett not only got rid of an inconvenient lover, he got to be the injured party.

And all of that was just the tip of the iceberg. Was it going be awkward to work every day with one of Garrett’s ex-boyfriends? Yeah, not his favorite thing, but he was an adult, not a twelve-year-old girl. He would get over it.

Garrett forgot to take his basil.
His mind twisted, not wanting to review the final point.

Plus, he’ll be here.
Matt would be here, and Garrett wouldn’t. Garrett had decided to move forward with plans to open Ransom West in L.A., and he intended to run the kitchen there. So, instead of being gone three months out of the year, he would be gone. . .more.

Permanently
. His hands were shaking.
Face it, he’ll live in L.A. and visit here. You’ll hardly ever see him.

Garrett had been so excited about the new restaurant, the one that put him as far away from Carlo as he could get without falling off the continent. And he expected Carlo to be just as excited about “their” expansion.

Carlo felt cold. Abandoned.

He tried to tell himself that nothing had changed. Garrett hadn’t loved him yesterday, and he still didn’t love him today. Nothing was different.

Except now he found himself wondering at what point he should cut his losses and move on with his life. He couldn’t call Ransom a loss, but, without Garrett, the restaurant they had built would be a constant reminder of what he didn’t have. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t have options.

He reached for his tablet. Thanks to Garrett and Ransom, his business contact list looked like a Who’s Who of the New York culinary world. If he wanted to move on, he could have his pick of new partners. But as he scrolled through the names, he realized none of them represented a real change. He didn’t know if he wanted to stay in the upper stratosphere of the restaurant world.

He loved Ransom because he loved Garrett, but he was tired of being a destination. He missed having customers who were his friends and neighbors. He missed knowing their families, seeing the same faces every week, and knowing what they would order as soon as they walked in.

He tapped the screen, changing the contact sort from “business” to “family.” His finger hovered over one name for a long time.

A few feelers didn’t equal a commitment, he told himself.