Cockney: A Stepbrother Romance (28 page)

“Who, me?” I say, grinning as I sip my wine and lean across the table into her, like I just need to be fucking closer to her or something.

“I mean, look at us, we’re like,
on a date
, in Notting Hill of all places.” She sticks her tongue out at me, “It’s like that movie or something.”

“Jesus, are we
that
bad?” I blow air out through my lips before I grin at her, “Hollywood romantic comedy bad?”

Chloe shudders dramatically. “Well, luckily for us, I’m not some movie star who you can dump orange juice on and then kidnap away to London forever.”

“Oh, lovely, because I’m not opening a fucking travel book shop any time, like, ever, so I guess we’re good.”

Chloe erupts into laughter, and I couldn’t stop the grin of pure fuckin’ happiness that spreads across my face then even if I tried.

“Cheers,” I say, raising my glass towards her, “To acting the cliché.”

“Cheers.” She clinks her glass to mine, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. 

“So, I guess I’ll have to do something with red roses, or some other clichéd crap
every
time now, huh?”

“Why Oliver Beckett, you charmer, you.”

The storm always hits when you’re least expecting it. And I use that metaphor as a man who’s lived basically his entire life in the city of London. 

I’m prepping for service like any other day - like any other of the hundreds of days at
Jolie
before it, only I’m glowing. 

Fucking hell,
I’m
glowing now. 

And it’s not
just
that I fucked Chloe on the bathroom sink while the shower ran and filled the room with steam around us this morning before we came in. It’s just,
her.
It’s every fucking thing about her, in the most unexpected ways that have me tied up and twisted like I’ve never been before. 

And I
like it
.

Service starts, and I can barely concentrate on calling orders or expediting, because I can’t fucking stop
staring
at the dark-haired girl in the back corner.

Cupcake girl; the girl I can’t get out of my head, the girl who I woke up to this morning curled in my arms, and the girl who’s somehow making me forget the dirty rotten scoundrel I’ve spent most of my life trying to aspire to be.

Oh, and my stepsister.
Minor details.

We’re not thirty minutes into service when Ian comes in, his face drawn and that
pissed
look on his face, “Ollie.”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs, “Barney’s here.”

FUCK.

I’ve had this talk with my dad a hundred fucking times; do
not
come into the bloody restaurant on a busy night of service. Or, you know, ever. 

There’s one basic rule that most new restaurant owners or investors fuck up, and it’s the reason something like 90% of new restaurants go belly up within the first year. The rule is simple, and it goes as follows: it may be
your
restaurant but it is a
business
, not your fucking playground. Okay, so you’ve got cash and you want to look like some sort of baller? Go be that somewhere else. 

It’s the guys that come into their own places and act like they’re at the Palms or something that go down in flames first. The guys who comp bottles of champagne and pricey dishes for their friends and tell themselves it’s a “business expense.”

Sure it is.

It’s essentially the same as walking into your practice if you were a lawyer and giving your buddies a free laptop off one of your employee’s desks, and how people don’t see that connection is fucking beyond me.

My dad, by the way, is
exactly
that type of restaurateur.

I swear loudly, slamming the towel in my hand down onto the cutting board in front of me, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ian pouts. “I wish, mate, I wish. Your new mum is out there with him, and they’re, uh-” Ian shrugs and pantomimes tossing a glass back.

Shit
.

“Alright, fuck, keep them fucking happy and keep them fucking
distracted
, okay?” Ian nods and walks out.

My whole buzz is ruined then, because having those two here taking up space at a table they’re just going to comp anyways and being loud and drunk for real patrons is seriously the last fucking thing I need on a Saturday night rush. Having Barney and Laura here is the worst case scenario, really.

That is, I
believe
it is, until twenty minutes later just as the rush is hitting its stride, when Ian comes
back
in.

And this time, he’s pale, shaking, and
silent
.

“
Little
fucking busy right now, Ian! What is it?” I yell, barely looking up from the fifteen app plates I’m setting in front of me and shoving out of the service pass. I glance up and Ian’s just quietly blinking and breathing heavily. “
Ian!
” I shout, “
What
?”

“They’re here.”

It’s like someone hits a switch, and somehow it’s like the whole fucking kitchen hears what he says as the whole room goes silent.

“
What?
Who’s here?”

Ian takes a deep, shaky breath, “Ollie,
The Times,
” his eyes dart up to meet mine as the floor starts to fall out beneath my feet. “The fucking
Times
reviewer is back.” 

Oh holy fuck.

I glance back at Chloe out of pure reflex. Her mouth is as tight as mine, her eyes meeting mine as she nods. I turn back to Ian and slowly, I start to stand up tall; it’s fuckin’
go time
.

“Oy, keep the front of the house
happy
, savvy?” Ian nods. “And if you have to lock Barney and Laura in the fucking bathroom,
do it
.” 

I turn to the rest of the kitchen, tossing my towel down and crossing my arms over my chest.
This
is it; we’re in the damn trenches now, and it’s time to marshal this room for fuckin’
war
.  I look back at Chloe, and she smiles at me, and that’s all I need. And this time, I’m
ready
for it; I’m readier than I’ve ever been. I’m not frayed at the edges, or coked up, or in free fall this time.
This
time, I just have to look at her, and I know we’ve got this. 

“You all ready?”

The resounding “yes, chef!” roars across the room, and I’ve never been fucking prouder of anything in my life. This is my army that I’ve built from the ground up and trained. I might rage and roar and swear at them and scream in their faces, but we’re a fucking team, and we all know it. And there’s not a single person in this room right now who isn’t as invested in this as I am.

“Oy,” I say, grinning around the room at Chloe, and Marco and all the rest of them, “We do our jobs, we do what we always do, and we’ve got this, yeah?” They all grin at me and I smile right back, “Let’s cook this fucker the best food he’s ever scarfed down.”

It’s a whirlwind after that, and I’m bouncing around the room testing sauces, touching up on plating, checking temps on the grill even if I know it pissed Marco off when I step on his turf like that. And it’s all looking
perfect,
and I’m so stoked about that and so ready to blow this out the park that it’s almost like some sort of bad dream when the kitchen door opens and
my dad
barges right in.

Jesus Christ, WHY
?

“Oy! Ollie!” He snaps, the glass of scotch in his hand sloshing around as he stumbles right through the pass and into my domain behind the line, “What’re you sendin’ out here to that
Times
wanker,boy-o?”

“Oooo! It’s so
busy
in here!” It’s Laura, red-faced and taking sips from the world’s largest wine-glass as she follows my father into the kitchen.

Yeah, no, we’re not playing
this
fucking game; not fucking tonight.

“Oy,
no
,” my voice is firm as I shake my head, pointing at my dad and then Laura. “Nope, no way;
out
, the both of you.”

Barney’s face gets red as he steps up to me, “Oy
son
, you don’t talk to me like that.”

“I fucking do right now, and it you want me to do my
job,
you’ll do what I fucking say.”

“
Ooooh
now, play
nice
, boys!” Laura says, giggling. I can see Chloe step forward out the corner of my eye, but I turn quickly and shake my head at her.

“Ollie,
listen
to your father, okay?”

“Laura?” I say sternly, my eyes staring lasers at her, “
Out
of my kitchen, right now.”

I jolt back as Barney shoves me, slamming his drink onto the counter. “Oy! You watch your fookin’
mouth
there boy! You don’t talk to your mother like that.”

The whole kitchen goes dead silent, and I can feel every muscle in my body tensing as I turn back to him, my eyes narrowed right at him, “She’s not my
mother
, dad.”

I can feel Chloe’s hand on my arm, and I let my breath out slowly, feeling her back there. My dad looks like he wants to hit me, and I almost hope he does, but he seems to hold it in and lets his face get even redder instead. “Oy, send ‘im the veal, Ollie.”

I glare at my father. “The veal is tired and old, I told you this. And I’m going to send him what he
fucking ordered
.”

“Just
cook it
, Oliver; everyone likes it.”

I feel the rage building inside as he tries to bully me, and I throw it right back. I push him back, back out of the pass to the other side of my kitchen line as I step right after him, “I’m going with the octopus, like he
ordered
, dad.”

Barney’s jaw clenches and he steps right into my face, “Now you listen to me,
son
. You do the veal or you get the fuck out of my kitchen?”

I hoot, “Oh, it’s
your
kitchen is it?”

“THE VEAL, OLLIE!” Barney roars in my face. I take a step towards him, raising my fist before I can even stop myself. There are hands on my arms, multiple hands and I whirl to see both Chloe and Marco yanking me back. Ian stands behind Laura by the door to the dining room, quickly shaking his head back and forth.

My dad roars with laughter; “Oy! You gonna take a swing at me are you?” He
spits
at me, “You
ungrateful,
spoiled little prick! I fuckin’ set you up here!”

“I set
myself
up here!”

I take another step towards him, but hands grab me back again, and I can hear Marco muttering in my ear, “Oy, leave it, mate.”

“Yeah, you listen to your little friend there, boy-o.” Dad points at me, his face red. “Now send that fucking prick the
fucking
veal, or so help me God-“

“Okay, okay, hang on.” It’s Chloe, stepping forward with her hands raised, “Barney, why don’t we all just-”

“Oh
this
piece of work, eh?” My dad whirls on Chloe, his eyes narrow as he grins and shakes his head at her. “You just save it
sweetheart
. You think I don’t see what goes on here?”