Betting on Bailey (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing For Love Book 1) (17 page)

“Why?” I ask again.

Daniel shrugs. “Sebastian works too hard.”

I roll my eyes. “Pot calling the kettle black much?” I ask him.

He smiles. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “Everyone in this room is guilty of that particular sin. It’s easier to tell your friends that they should relax than it is to take your own advice.”

I snuggle into their bodies, and pull a pillow over my head. “I’m taking your advice,” I say, and my voice comes out muffled. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Daniel says, affection tinting his voice. Okay. This is the third time he’s called me sweetheart. Seriously weird.

M
y mother’s
social life is a lot fuller than I think it is, so it isn’t until Friday that we manage to have lunch. She’s picked a cafe where the smell of incense hangs thick in the air, and every server has multiple piercings. In the custom Armani suit I’m wearing, I feel very out of place.

“You could have warned me,” I tell her with a grin, knowing that she’s secretly amused by my discomfort. “I would have worn my Bob Marley t-shirt.”

“Do you own a Bob Marley t-shirt?” she asks with interest.

“I have hidden depths, mother,” I tell her. “You’d be surprised.”

She laughs. “It’s more likely to be you than your sister,” she says, launching on her favorite rant. “Seriously, that girl and her stuck-up fiancé.”

“Mom,” I say patiently. “Leave Sue be. She likes Graham well enough, and that should be all that matters for us.” I can’t bring myself to believe that Sue could love Graham. He’s young and ambitious, and wants to go into politics. He’s very… straight-laced. “I didn’t ask you to lunch to discuss her.”

“No,” she agrees. “Tell me about the other girl. Did you apologize? Did she forgive you?”

My mother likes to know what’s going on in our lives, and I should have known I’d get an inquisition today. The last time I saw her, we’d had lunch with the president of NYU, and we were too busy discussing the details of the Hartman endowment for my mother to quiz me. Not today. Today, she’s looking for answers.

I find myself strangely reluctant to talk about Bailey. “It’s fine,” I tell her. “I don’t want to get into details.”

She ignores my words with practiced ease. “What’s her name?” she probes.

“Bailey.” My mother is like a bloodhound on a trail. When she starts her line of questioning, my sister and I have learned to fold early. It’s easier that way. “She’s an assistant professor at NYU. She teaches Cultural Anthropology and she’s up for tenure this year in a severely underfunded department.”

“Ah.” She tries to hide her smile. “That explains the grant to NYU’s Liberal Arts departments. I should have known from the grand gesture that you were wooing someone. Remember Natalie?”

“It wasn’t a grand gesture,” I say automatically, wincing as I remember the Natalie episode, as my family likes to call it.

One evening when I was sixteen, I was trying to plan a romantic evening for the girl I had the hots for, and I’d asked JP, the family butler, to set up a fireworks show. He’d tried to protest about the expenditure, but I was a teenager and I didn’t listen. When the bill came in, I found out my fireworks display had cost thirty thousand dollars.

I smile at the memory of how pissed my father had been. “I thought dad was going to have a coronary.”

She laughs fondly. “He was not happy with you,” she agrees.

“That’s an understatement,” I note dryly. “He told me I was burning money, yelled at me for an hour, and then grounded me for a month.”

“You would have been in worse trouble had you not stood up for JP. When you told your dad that JP was not to blame, and you’d accept your punishment, but he wasn’t to take it out on JP, I think your dad almost cried.”

“You’ve never told me this.”

She smiles. “You were a teenager who’d just spent thousands of dollars on fireworks,” she replies. “Your father was proud of you that day. He thought your heart was in the right place.”

My father died seven years ago, and I still miss him. Hearing the muted sadness in my mother’s voice, I know she does too. They met when she was twenty-four and he was twenty five. She was a poster child for the seventies, and he was the son of a billionaire. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did. My parents are the reason I believe in love.

“Why haven’t I met Bailey?”

Because I’m in a pretty unconventional relationship, and I’m not sure what my mother will think about it. Heck, I’m not even sure what I think of it. Originally, it was all about physical attraction and nothing else. But the more time the three of us spend together, the more I’m coming to realize that what we have together transcends sex, and that terrifies me.

I settle for a half-answer. “I’m not dating her,” I reply. “Besides, you hated the last woman I introduced you to.”

“Megan,” my mother says in distaste, referring to a very short-lived relationship, “was not good for you. However, I didn’t interfere, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” I say fondly. My parents have always left me to live my own life, and have only offered advice if I’ve asked for it. “A point in your favor.”

“I agree,” she says. “So why aren’t you dating her?”

Bloodhound.

“Invasive discussions about my personal life are not the reason we are having lunch,” I tell her. “I wanted to talk to you about Cyrus.”

She frowns. “Why?” she demands. “I was quite looking forward to my meal. Why ruin it?”

The waitress finally ambles over to us and hands us menus. It’s a pretty laid back place, evidently, and things like serving us food doesn’t seem to be too high on her priority list. I glance at the offerings briefly and order a lentil salad. My mother orders something with kale in it, which makes me shudder. Not even Sebastian can convince me to eat kale. “It’s good for you,” my mother says, looking at the expression of mild revulsion on my face.

“If you say so,” I tell her and wait for the waitress to walk away before continuing my conversation. After the Piper incident, I’m a lot more careful about paying attention to my surroundings. “So, Cyrus.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “Tell me about Cyrus.”

I quickly fill her in on the Kansas City project, and Cyrus’ abysmal lack of progress over it. “I might have to fire Cyrus if this deal doesn’t come through.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That seems extreme, coming from you.”

“It isn’t just this deal,” I explain. “Cyrus is rude and high-handed to the employees. He treats my admin like dirt. He’s just not pleasant to be around. He’s exhausting my reservoir of good-will.

“You want to know if I’ll back you up, if it comes to a board vote.”

I roll my eyes. “I expect you’ll back me up,” I tell her. “What are you going to do, vote against your favorite child? I just thought you’d appreciate a heads-up. Besides,” I look dubiously at the salad that the waitress has just deposited in front of me, “having lunch with you is always an interesting experience.”

She chuckles. “I love both you and Susan equally,” she says loyally. “Of course I’ll vote in your favor. But it would look better if you have the rest of the board on your side as well.”

“I’m working on it,” I tell her. “Half the board are granddad’s old golf buddies, and they are ready to believe that I’m letting down the good name of the Hartmans.”

“Yes,” she says dryly. “I’ve heard a few of their grumblings.
‘It’s the mother,’
Alison Strauss said once when she was talking about you.
‘You can tell by the breeding.’
”

“Alison Strauss is a miserable old hag,” I tell her. “You aren’t bothered by her, are you?”

She shakes her head. “No, Danny, how could I be? This has been my reality for the last thirty seven years.” She looks sad. “When your dad was alive, the two of us could laugh about it. But Graham’s family thinks I’m from the wrong side of the tracks too. It just gets old, that’s all.”

I can’t imagine Graham in this place, but I can absolutely see both Bailey and Sebastian here. Sebastian will want to say hello to the chef. Bailey will order every single thing on the menu, because she likes variety. They’d both fit in perfectly, because they both have a certain kindness and grace and an innate desire to make everyone around them feel comfortable.

The realization strikes me out of the blue. I’m starting to fall in love with Bailey Moore. For the first time, I can see the glimmerings of a future that involves something other than running the family firm. I don’t know her very well, and we haven’t spent a lot of time together, but sometimes,
you just know.

“Hey mom,” I say. “You know our Sunday family lunches?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“In a few weeks, once this stupid Kansas City deal is over, I’m bringing Bailey
and
Sebastian to it.”

Sebastian has come to lunch many times, he won’t be a new addition to the gathering. But she hears the emphasis I’ve placed on the words
Bailey and Sebastian
, and her eyes widen as she processes what I’ve left unsaid. You have to hand it to my mother. She’s not slow on the uptake.

I realize I’m holding my breath as I wait for her to react, but I shouldn’t have been nervous. She starts chuckling, then, unable to contain her mirth, her chuckles turn to helpless laughter. “Oh dear,” she says, wiping the tears away from her eyes, “The expression on Graham’s face is going to be priceless.” Her hand rests on top of mine. “I cannot wait.”

T
he next two
weeks are idyllic.

Juliette’s off my back for the time being, since her investment consortium still hasn’t provided me with the numbers I’m looking for. “I’m following up all the time,” she assures me. I nod, secretly grateful that her relentless focus is being turned to someone else.

At the restaurants, Ben seems to have settled down, and Helen reports that she’s whipping the line cooks into shape at
Seb II
. Our Yelp reviewers seem largely positive, and night after night, our tables are fully booked. The second Michelin star is doing wonders for our bottom line.

“I’m making you richer,” I quip to Daniel as we watch Bailey play pool on Wednesday night. In a few short weeks, her improvement has been amazing. Today, she’s circling the table, her movements confident, looking for her next shot. Such a difference from the timid mouse who was afraid of her breasts grazing the table. Fuck me, those gorgeous tits are a weapon. The poor guy playing opposite her can’t keep his eyes away from them.

Bailey walks over to us, interrupting my dark thoughts about her opponent’s eyes and where he can put them. “Which ball should I aim for?” She frowns. “I don’t want him to run the table if I miss.”

Per pool league rules, Bailey can use two
‘advice’
breaks. Daniel’s paying more attention to the game, so he responds. “Try for the green,” he says. “Even if you miss, the cue ball is going to be in a terrible position for his follow-up shot, and you’ll get another go.”

“Devious,” she quips. “This is all very
‘Art of War’
material. No wonder you two are so good at it.”

“Sun Tzu has nothing on us,” I agree. “Now, get back in there and kick ass, Bailey.”

She gives us a mocking bow that reveals a breath-taking amount of cleavage. My dick stirs instantly and I can tell she knows the effect she’s having on me, because when she straightens, her eyes are locked on my crotch. “Brat,” I accuse her. “Go play.”

She wins in pretty convincing fashion, and she’s delighted by it. It’s the first time she’s won every single game in a match. Once we are done toasting to her success over a shot of vodka, we wait out the rest of the games. Clark is melting down as usual because he’s playing a woman, and Juliette’s standing off to one side, typing something into a phone. She’s been acting weird, Juliette, but I’m too involved in my own life to get fussed about it.

“You staying over tonight?” Daniel asks her.

“Only if you let me grade.” She gestures to her laptop bag, bulging at the seams. “I have to get some of this stuff done tonight, and you two have a way of distracting me from work.”

“We’ll keep our hands off you,” I promise solemnly.

She rolls her eyes. “That,” she says, her lips curling upwards into a smile that she tries to hide, “is a lie.”

“Nope,” I laugh. “I promise to keep my hands off you, but I make no guarantees about you keeping your hands off me.”

“Vain much?” She looks around and steps closer to us. “It’s true, I can’t keep my hands off you.” Her face flushes. “I’m becoming some kind of nympho.”

“You are a tiger, Bailey.” Daniel starts to touch her before he remembers he’s in a public place and checks himself. “Always responsive, always ready.”

“Always wet,” I add, teasing her. “It’s very flattering.”

She goes beet-red, then she laughs good-naturedly. “I blame you two for that. I used to be a normal person before we met.”

She’s joking. As mushy as it sounds, we are all better people around each other. Daniel works less, and seems to be happier for it. I don’t lose my temper quite as readily. Bailey accepts she’s a beautiful woman.

Because there’s three of us, two can always entertain each other if the third is working, and no one’s left resentful. I’m a chef - working long hours is always going to be part of my life. More than that, I work evenings and weekends, and that’s always made dating difficult. It’s an odd thing to voluntarily be in a ménage, but strangely, it’s working better than any relationship has ever worked in my life.

“
Y
ou hungry
, Bailey?” I ask her, when we get to Daniel’s place. We shared a plate of appetizers at the Maxwell Club, but she probably forgot to eat all day, immersed in her work. We are stretched out on the couch, Bailey sitting between the two of us.
If only she didn’t need to correct papers…

“I’m starving,” she admits, “but don’t get up. You’ve been in the kitchen all day. I can fix myself something. Daniel usually has ingredients for a stir-fry or something.” She rises to her feet. “Come on, billionaire boy. You can help me.”

“Billionaire boy?” Daniel snorts. “Geez, that’s a flattering nickname.”

I rise to my feet as well. “This I have to see,” I announce. “Daniel Hartman cooking. Have you ever turned on a stove burner by yourself?”

He looks embarrassed as he leads the way to the kitchen. “Probably,” he says defensively, “though I can’t remember when.”

“You’re joking, right?” Bailey eyes Daniel with open astonishment. “You are an adult. How do you manage?”

“Restaurants,” he admits sheepishly. I’m getting quite a kick out of watching Daniel squirm. It happens so rarely. “Take out. And Sebastian cooks whenever he’s here. You know. Billionaire stuff.”

“We are fixing this now,” she announces. “Don’t worry, Daniel. I’ll teach you.”

Unsurprisingly, Daniel’s not terribly inept. Bailey slices the vegetables and Daniel tends to the stove, and in about fifteen minutes, the stir-fry is ready. They skip making rice - it’s too late for carbohydrates.

They both turn to me with expectant faces when I taste the food, and I stifle a laugh. “It’s not bad,” I tell them. I wink at Bailey. “You, I might hire. This guy, on the other hand…”

“This guy owns half your restaurants,” Daniel retorts with a grin. “Okay, how about an hour of work before we go to bed? I do have some emails to read and respond to.”

“I’m surprised you held off as long as you did,” I say over my shoulder, as we head back to the living room. Daniel used to be like Juliette, huddled over his phone when he wasn’t playing pool. Nowadays, he actually puts his phone away when he gets to the club, and doesn’t reach for it until we are done for the evening.
A definite improvement.

Bailey pulls out a stack of papers to grade. “No fooling around,” she warns us sternly, as we settle on either side of her. “I need to get this done.”

“How’s the writing going?” I ask her. She’s working on a paper with some kind of anthropology super-star, but she’s been unimpressed with the experience so far. From the sounds of it, she’s doing all the heavy lifting and her co-writer is coasting on his celebrity.

She makes a face. “Don’t ask. He was supposed to send me twenty pages. Instead he sent me two paragraphs. Two paragraphs of rambling text with not a single source. Kill me now.”

Daniel shakes his head. “Poor Bailey.” He pulls up his laptop and starts typing. “Seb, you going to be bored while we work?”

“Can you guys concentrate if I watch TV?”

They both nod. “In that case, I’m good.”

We all do our own things for a while, and it feels extremely intimate. Daniel’s fingers tapping away at the keyboard, Bailey’s pen scratching at the papers she’s correcting, with the sound of Sports Centre in the background. I’m tired from an extremely long day at the restaurant, and my eyes are beginning to shut, when I hear Daniel clear his throat.

“Bailey?” He sounds hesitant. “There’s a big company gala coming up next week. Would you like to come?”

I look up. Daniel has been more relaxed in the last couple of weeks, but as far as I know, all the restrictions about not courting publicity still apply. His deal is moving along at a steadier pace now that he’s lit a fire under Cyrus, but it’s not done yet.

Bailey looks surprised as well. “Really?”

He looks uncomfortable. “I don’t like that fact that I have to hide you,” he says. His wave encompasses me as well. “What the three of us share is important to me.” He makes a face. “I have an obligation to my company and I can’t acknowledge you publically as my girlfriend until this deal falls into place. But I would like you to be there.”

“And you?” Bailey’s looking at me. “Are you going to be there as well?”

“Daniel’s assistant Sophie likes me,” I grin. “I get invited every year.”

She stiffens at that, and I put my arm around her. “There’s only one woman I can’t take my eyes off,” I scold her softly. “Only one woman that matters. You should know that.”

“I still can’t believe it,” she says. “I mean, come on. You two are among the city’s most eligible bachelors.”

“That sounds like the Post talking,” Daniel replies. “If
‘eligible’
is a calculation of our net worth, then yes, I guess we are very eligible. But we work all the time, and we’d probably make terrible boyfriends. I don’t think you could drag Sebastian into a dance club, even if you dangled a third Michelin star in front of him. I mean, look at us now. One of us is working, the other has no energy to do anything other than watch Sports Centre.”

“That’s a lie, baby, don’t listen to him.” I wink at Bailey. “I have plenty of energy for what matters.” I put my hand on her thigh and move it up toward her sweet,
sweet
pussy, and she giggles and brushes my hand away.

“I have papers to correct, Sebastian,” she says sternly. “About this party,” she says to Daniel. “When is it?”

“In a week. Saturday night. It’s at the MOMA,” he adds persuasively.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course it is.” She gives the essay she’s reading an A, then looks up. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Daniel? I’d love to go, but I don’t want to put your deal at risk. Is it worth it for something that has an expiration date?”

I sit up at that. “What do you mean, has an expiration date?”

She doesn’t meet our eyes. “Look, you guys have a bet to win and I want to beat Trevor. What we are doing is nice, and I’m really enjoying myself. But is it real?”

Daniel has gone still on the other side of me. “What do you mean, is it real? What are you talking about? You think we are here right now because of the stupid bet?”

“Look at me,” I order Bailey, and she reluctantly listens. “Here’s the only question that matters. What do you want? Do you want us to have an expiration date?”

I can’t breathe as I wait for her answer, but she doesn’t leave us hanging for long. “No,” she whispers. “I really don’t want this to end.”

Though her words are exactly what I want to hear, I can tell from her expression that there’s something she’s not telling us. I exchange a glance with Daniel. I wonder if he knows what’s going on.