Page 16 of Burning Rivalry

“I hate to say it, Sebastian, but we were right.” Something told me Nicholas Davis didn’t hate it one damn bit. No more than I would in his place if I had given him my money to invest in a business. At least he didn’t make a big deal of rubbing my nose in it.

“You know I always trust you gentlemen to steer me in the right direction.” If this didn’t end soon, their asses would end up chafed from all the kissing I was doing, to say nothing of my self-respect. Thankfully, they were busy men, taking their leave with promises to catch up in the coming weeks. I couldn’t pretend there was anything but relief in watching them go, the three of them driving away in cars much too young and flashy for anyone of their advanced ages.

The last tires had barely rolled from what would be the parking lot when Felix turned to me. “There’s a problem.”

I couldn’t have a single minute of self-satisfaction without cold reality being thrown in my face. “What the hell is wrong now?” Sweat began prickling under my collar, so I popped the top button and loosened my tie. Rather than stand out in the open under a blazing sun, I followed Felix inside the building. I had suggested this Saturday morning for our meeting since there was no work scheduled to be done today. We had the place to ourselves.

Good thing, too, because he had the sort of news I needed to hear in private. “We’ve had some issues with permits,” Felix informed me, removing his glasses to wipe them with his striped tie. “I got a call from my guy at the union, and he said there’s a lot of double-talk going on. One person says one thing, another says something completely different, but the message is the same… we’re being held up on this. We can’t move forward with work until the permit situation is cleared up.”

“What the fuck?” My shouted question echoed off the walls and floors. The sweet smell of sawdust in my nose paired well with the bitterness in my throat. “Why the hell was I not informed of this?”

“I got the call late last night,” he explained, though his explanations weren’t worth much at the moment.

“Who the hell is responsible for this? Permits. I thought all the permits were lined up and taken care of by now, or else we never could’ve gotten this off the ground in the first place.” I was wasting my breath, taking my anger and frustration out on someone who could do nothing about it.

“I hear you,” he insisted, looking and sounding pained. Now I noticed his gray pallor, the dark circles under his eyes. He’d done his best to look bright and chipper for the sake of the investors, but now was a different story. “And I’m working to get to the bottom of it. But I wanted to let you know in case you get word that work doesn’t pick back up Monday morning.”

“Well, thanks for keeping me in the loop,” I growled, ignoring his exasperated sigh in favor of pulling out my phone. “I need to get to the restaurant. I’m going to call a friend of mine and see if there’s anything he can do.”

“Keep me posted on anything you hear,” he urged, following me out, waiting while I locked up. Motherfucker. Just when I thought all of that backstabbing, shady bullshit was over. As if I needed something else to be concerned about. One more hurdle, one more roadblock.

I waited until Grayson picked up the call, then connected him to the car’s Bluetooth, and pulled out from the lot. “I’ve got a problem,” I told him, the words coming out flat. “I was thinking you might be just the person to help me with it.”

His knowing laughter filled the Lamborghini’s interior. “Depends upon the kind of problem we’re talking about. You know, I’m going to start charging for my services.”

He had to be referring to the work he and his team of freelance security guards had performed a few months back when Vaughn’s wife, Nova, was in hiding from her criminal father and his team of henchmen. The fact was, none of us asked for many details when it came to Grayson’s work. There were some things we didn’t need to know about. He seemed to prefer it that way.

All the same, it was helpful knowing he had connections none of us could boast. “Felix just told me about some permit issues with the labor union, and it looks like there’s been a stop put on all construction work at the new location. This is completely out of the clear blue since everything was running smoothly until now.”

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled, and it was a gratifying sound. Knowing I wasn’t the only one baffled and angered by these constant setbacks.

“Would you happen to know anyone who could do a little digging for me?” I cringed at the question since I hated calling in a favor like this, especially knowing he hated being put on the spot as much as I did. But we went back long enough that I felt I could ask. “I need to know who is behind this shit, once and for all.”

“Thank fuck,” he muttered. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask. It took you long enough.”

I barked out a laugh. “Seriously?” I asked, stopping at a red light and watching handfuls of tourists crossing in both directions, completely oblivious, gazing up at the signs and structures that weren’t half as impressive during the day as they were at night.

“I was going to look into it for you, but I thought you might take it the wrong way. Like it would be the same as accusing you of not being able to handle your shit.”

The thing was, I probably would have taken it that way. Now, I could only be grateful. “Thanks, man. You know how much this means. I owe you one.”

“Please,” he muttered with a chuckle. “Let’s not start keeping track now.”

It was good to laugh with a friend, though my jovial mood did not last the time it took to reach the rear entrance of Home. The number of cars parked in a long row told me the kitchen would be full, as it needed to be. Unless we were able to resolve this permit issue soon, I would need all the good news I could gather to keep the investors happy. Eventually, they were bound to find out things had slowed down.

I expected to be bombarded by the musical clang of pots, pans, spoons, and spatulas. Upon stepping into the kitchen through the back door, I found an almost eerie quiet punctuated by a single voice. “When asked to comment on the experience of working with a seasoned pro with a winning track record, Granger was surprisingly tight-lipped.”

Lucas. It sounded like he was reading aloud. The beating of my heart was a bass drum in my ears as I approached slowly, silently, rounding the corner where my office sat and finding the kitchen crew gathered around him. He stood in the center of the group and read aloud from what looked like a slim magazine. The only person missing was Claudia. She said something about a friend of hers coming to town today, something I had dismissed at the time while preparing for the investor meet-up this morning.

The mention of her name popped the swollen balloon of tension in my skull and flooded me with red-hot resentment. “I’m sorry. Are we off today?” I barked, watching everyone jump and cringe. “What the hell is going on around here?”

It was like magic, the effect the sound of my voice had on the people in my kitchen. They instantly found something better to do than stand around bullshitting like they’d been when they didn’t realize I was here.

I turned to Lucas, who should know better. “Well? Did I miss the memo? I realize it’s a weekend for some people but not for us.”

“Sorry, boss. Somebody came by with an advance copy of tomorrow’s article.” Before I could ask what the hell he meant, he handed over an “Arts and Leisure” insert from the local paper. It bore Sunday’s date. “An interview Claudia gave with the food writer over at the paper.”

He didn’t need to tell me once I saw the title of the article. Can America’s Best Baker Shake Up Home’s Life?