His personal life might be in the toilet, but professionally, he was on top of the world.
Sedici’s opening had been a success.
From the moment he’d crossed the restaurant’s threshold, it had been Game on, bitches! Deliveries of food had to be put away, there was glassware to be cleaned and silverware to be rolled and all of it needed to be recorded by the photographers.
It had required every ounce of Jonathan’s skill as chef to empty his mind and focus on the tasks at hand. Not easy when his heart was crushed as if it had been through a pulverizer and he was operating on zero hours of sleep. But there was no time to whine and no one to give a shit. Blood, sweat, tears and a hell of a lot of money had gone into this moment and he intended to do right by it.
All too quickly, it’d been showtime. After a quick pep talk with the staff, he’d left the front of the house to Robby and Zach and retreated to his domain, waiting for the printer to roar to life and give him his first dupe.
Receiving it, he got down to business. “Ordering, first course . . .”
Service was flawless. The cooks stepped up and he couldn’t have been more proud. The comments coming into the kitchen were incredible, giving the cooks an in-the-moment review of the food. Gib did her job masterfully, so much so that thirty minutes after the first seating began, he was able to leave her in command and head out to the floor.
He shook hands with Bob from the Eastern Market and gave his wife, Opal, a kiss on the cheek.
“Where’s that beautiful girlfriend of yours?” Bob asked. “I wanted Opal to meet her.”
Jonathan’s heart twisted painfully. “I’m not sure, but hey, thanks for coming. Enjoy your evening,” he said, moving to the next table, trying to dodge any follow-up questions.
Zach was a blur. He spoke to all of their guests, reporting back that there was a great deal of interest in their next venture. People were already inquiring about investing. Music to Zach’s ears. Jonathan made sure to personally greet each food writer, restaurant critic and blogger and thank them for attending. He did brief interviews, directed requests for longer meetings to Zach and even received a fair number of propositions, phone numbers and profile names for dating websites.
The verdict was in: Sedici was the most exciting DC restaurant opening of the year.
Whoop-de-fucking-doo.
His head throbbed, his cheeks hurt from smiling, and his mouth was dry. He stole away and hid in his office.
From the moment he’d realized his calling as a chef, he’d wanted to open a restaurant in DC. Tonight, he’d achieved that goal, more successfully than he could ever have anticipated and yet it had meant nothing.
Because Leighton wasn’t there to share it with him.
His brother had stopped by earlier, when Jonathan had been in the middle of butchering for the dinner service, still angry about last night and ready to lay the blame squarely at Jonathan’s feet.
“I guess you’re proud of yourself,” Thomas had sneered.
Jonathan hadn’t looked up, his attention focused on breaking down the squab. “No, actually, I’m not.”
“It’s your fault all of this happened.”
Jonathan had set down his knife, wiped his hands on his towel and given Gib command of the kitchen. He strode out of the back door and past the loading dock. He’d be damned if he’d allow Thomas’s energy to pollute his kitchen, especially considering the importance of this occasion. If his brother wanted to have it out with him, he’d follow.
He did.
“You know,” Jonathan said, turning to face Thomas, hands jammed on his hips, “I know what I did was wrong and I take full responsibility for my actions and decisions. At some point, you’re going to have to do the same.”
Thomas scowled. “I take responsibility for assuming you’d changed. That was my mistake. I ask you to take care of my fiancée and you decide to move in on her. All you’ve proven is that you’re as selfish now as you were when we were kids.”
He was like a broken record.
“Dude, just stop! You’ve been blaming me for shit that’s gone wrong in your life since I was born. I’ll admit I was attracted to Leighton from the moment I met her, but I didn’t set out to take her away from you. I tried to keep my distance, but couldn’t, and because of that I’ll have to live with the consequences. But I want you to think about what would’ve happened if you’d made another choice. Instead of focusing on what everyone else did wrong, consider how things might’ve been different if you’d stayed behind. If you’d made the decision based on your heart instead of your head. If you’d chosen Leighton over your career.”
Thomas’s head jerked back. “Choose her over my career? You think that’s the type of man she needs? When did you get soft? You won’t keep her if that’s what you believe. She’s a strong woman. She’ll walk all over you, then leave you behind.”
“What kind of Cro-Magnon shit is that? Don’t misconstrue my easygoing nature with weakness. I know who I am and I’m comfortable enough in my skin to achieve my goals and support her as she pursues hers. I don’t know if that’s the type of man she needs, but I hope it’s the type of man she wants.”
Thomas twisted his mouth and his expression tightened, as if he’d tasted something sour. “Fuck you. I’ll never forgive you for this.”
When Thomas strode past, Jonathan grabbed his arm, halting him. “We can’t let it end this way. A big part of why I came home was to work on our relationship, so we can act like the brothers we are.”
Thomas had jerked his arm out of Jonathan’s hold. “Then you shouldn’t have tried to steal my woman.”
Thomas was never going to accept his own culpability.
Jonathan leaned his elbows on his desk and dropped his forehead into his palms. He’d irreparably damaged his relationship with his brother, which would only make the tension during family gatherings worse. And once again, something he’d done would be the source of heartache to his parents.
A knock roused him from his musings. He smiled when he saw Mike standing in the doorway.
He stood up, clasped the other man’s hand and brought him in for a quick hug. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”
“I can’t stay long, but I’m doing what I said I’d do,” Mike said, dropping into a chair. “Supporting you.”
“How’s Indi?”
“Tired, hormonal and amazing,” Mike said, lips parting as his expression softened.
The gaping hole in the middle of Jonathan’s chest ached.
“And the baby?”
“Sylvie is incredible. It’s hard to believe that something so little can be so perfect. Last night I spent an hour holding her and looking at her lashes. She has a head of golden brown curls and she smells so sweet—“Embarrassment turned the tip of his ears pink and he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I probably sound like an idiot.”
He did, but it was the sweetest thing Jonathan had heard from his friend in a while.
“Adam told me Leighton got her memory back.”
Another painful stitch—
“Yeah, just before you guys went to the hospital.”
Mike studied him. “That had to be pretty distressing, yet she still came to the hospital with you. That was extremely gracious of her.”
“It was.”
“Everything looks amazing out there. It appears you have a success on your hands.”
Jonathan nodded. “It does.”
“Then why don’t you look happier?”
Adam chose that moment to pop his head in the room. “I thought I’d find you both back here.”
“You, too? Where’s Chelsea?” Jonathan asked.
“I dropped her off at the hospital to be with Indi and the baby,” Adam said, leaning his big frame against the filing cabinet in the corner. “She asked me to relay her congratulations and let you know how proud she is of you.” He frowned. “But I refuse to give you a kiss or a pat on your ass.”
A good belly laugh had been just what he needed. “Thanks, man.”
Mike leaned back in his chair. “So what are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“Global warming,” Adam said.
Jonathan was sure his mouth dropped open in shock.
Mike twisted in his seat to stare at Adam. “Was that sarcasm?”
Adam frowned. “He’s being a dick. He knows we’re asking about Leighton.”
Mike chuckled softly and shook his head before turning back to Jonathan. “We know what’s going on—we both recognize that look. It’s the look of a man who fucked up royally and is in danger of losing his woman.”
“If you truly love her, it won’t get better,” Adam said. “I lasted a day and a half.”
Mike raised his hand. “One week, but only because I had to set up a few things first. But any time spent in relationship limbo is hell. Whatever you have to do to get her back, do it.”
Jonathan shoved his fingers through his hair. “You didn’t see her last night. I want to be with her more than anything, but she doesn’t feel the same about me.”
Adam smiled. “Then change her mind.”
Leighton’s gaze swept the late lunch crowd at OEG, the well-known restaurant on Capitol Hill. Since it was almost two o’clock, the mostly-politico lunch crowd had already hustled back to work, but a few still lingered and it didn’t take long to spot her target. He sat alone, his head bent over a half-filled tumbler.
There you are.
She thanked the sous chef for letting her sneak in through the kitchen and strode past some local businessmen, who talked and laughed loudly, their cheeks flushed with the telltale stain of too much alcohol.
“Well, Congressman, it appears you still like a stiff one in the afternoon.”
The Honorable Mr. Fred Ramsey from the State of Illinois flinched and the blood drained from his face.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. He craned his head to peer out of the high backed, forest green leather booth. “Where the fuck is my security?”
“Don’t blame George.” The bodyguard was all brawn with very little brain. “I created a little diversion and snuck in the back door.”
“What the hell am I paying him for?” He demanded into his drink.
Leighton winced. Ramsey was responsible for the consequences that flowed from his actions, but this new, depressed demeanor didn’t sit well with her.
“Congressman, I don’t need a lot of your time.”
A wry smile crooked his lips and his head bobbed as if to acknowledge their previous interaction hadn’t exactly matched the runtime of Lawrence of Arabia.
She pressed him. “Unlike last time, I think you’ll like what I have to say.”
Those must’ve been the magic words. Ramsey narrowed his red, bleary eyes, then motioned for her to join him.
She slid onto the facing banquette. “Thank you.”
“The DC gossip mill had it wrong. Word was you’d left politics with a brain tumor.” Ramsey took another sip of his drink.
“You can’t believe everything you hear on the Hill.”
He curled his lip. “I guess it was too much to hope it was true.”
Ouch.
His demoralization was palpable and, surprisingly, she took no pleasure in it. Certainty coursed through her. She’d made the right choice.
Leighton placed her phone down on the table. “Now that Congress is back in session—”
“You want me to ensure the tire amendment makes it into the final version of the bill.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I’m working on it.”
Leighton shook her head. “You don’t understand. I’m no longer on the Concord Tires account.”
He stared at her for a prolonged moment. “What does that mean?”
“Basically, you don’t have anything to fear from me.”
She had no idea who Faulkner would assign to the case, but since the idea to approach Ramsey had been her own strategy, she didn’t feel any obligation to share the plan with the new lobbyist. There was still the issue of the leak, though Leighton had her suspicions, but it was no longer her concern.
“Is this a joke?”
“No. The amendment can either pass or die without any action on your part, and no reprisal on mine.”
“What about Brad Bagley?”
“What about him?”
“You’re not backing him for my seat?”
She pursed her lips. “I never said Mr. Bagley filed the papers, only that he’d had them prepared. But in the end, he decided not to declare his candidacy. He has enough on his plate with his family and his business.”
Ramsey leaned his head against the back of the booth and let out a shaky laugh.
Considering her task completed, she grabbed her phone and scooted off the seat. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’ve given up this case, but I’m not leaving politics. Our paths will cross again.”
“I’m sure. Brian . . .” he signaled the waiter for a new drink.
She narrowed her eyes.
You’ve done what you came here to do, Leighton. You’ve given him a reprieve. It’s not your fault if he’s too stupid to take advantage of it.
She frowned. “You’re turning into a cliché, Congressman and you’re doing a disservice to the people who elected you to represent them. Give the booze, gambling and women a break. Don’t make it so easy for the next ‘me’ to grab you by the balls.”
As she left, she passed a large agitated man, who stumbled to a stop when he saw her.
“Lovely to see you again, George.”
His gaze switched from her to the congressman. “Fuck!”
Smiling, she stepped from the restaurant’s dim interior into the bright afternoon sunshine and made a call. “It’s done.”
“How do you feel?” Andrea asked.
Leighton took a deep, satisfied breath. “Like I’m ready to get to work on a certain governor’s presidential campaign.”
Five minutes into the meeting with her bosses and Leighton had realized she’d lost her taste for lobbying. Her recovered memories had helped her to understand why she’d initially made the professional change—she’d been reacting from a place of pain. But she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life making choices to spite her parents instead of doing what would make her happy.
Andrea cleared her throat. “And we’re good?”
When Leighton had contacted the other woman to see if the offer to work on Wittig’s campaign was still viable, Andrea had sought forgiveness for her part in their argument the day before her accident.
“You were being my friend,” Leighton had told her. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“We’re good,” she confirmed now. “When do we start?”
“After the new year. We need to get through this election first. Take some time off. I’ll be in touch, doll.”
Leighton ended the call and strode down Fifteenth Street. She felt a measure of peace having taken the necessary steps to get her professional life back in order.
That still left her personal life . . . and Jonathan.
She missed him terribly, constantly experiencing the phantom pain of his absence. Everything reminded her of him. Any billboard or ad about an upcoming film brought to mind the day they’d spent together watching movies. Anytime she was in the Capitol Hill neighborhood—which was often—she recalled their time at the Eastern Market. And food—seeing it, eating it, smelling it, all made her think of the sexiest man she’d ever known.
With her recent neurological trauma, she wouldn’t have blamed her brain for a mental hiccup. She actually would’ve considered it a serious solid if she lost all of her memories of Jonathan. But her brain was like a recently re-hired eager intern, determined never to let her down again. It brought all of her remembrances of them to the fore, whether she wanted them or not.
And for the record, she didn’t.
And DC wasn’t helping, either. This was her city and yet he was everywhere: on the news, in the paper, on freaking bus shelters, his handsome face taunting her.
“Remember this? It could be all yours.”
What was she supposed to do? He’d lied to her. Played her. She couldn’t forgive that, no matter how much her heart begged her to reconsider. Anytime she weakened and pondered going back, she thought of her mother and how her father had made a fool of her.
Why had Beverly Clarke allowed it?
Leighton stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and set her jaw. Maybe it was time she asked.