Playing with Piper (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing for Love Book 3) by Tara Crescent

this morning. “Well?” he’d barked into the phone. “I haven’t heard from you, Lamb.”
    “We just met last week,” I’d pointed out. “I can’t drop everything and do your bidding.”
    He’d huffed in displeasure and hung up.
    Now, as I watch Wyatt flip through the terms and conditions, I wonder why I’m dragging my heels on investigating the restaurants Mendez asked me to. My mother’s face swims in front of me. I remember my sister’s toothy grin and my father’s hearty laugh.
    They’re dead. I’m alive. I should have been with them when the gunman came. I might have been able to do something.
    Or I might have shared their fate.
    I make up my mind. Tomorrow morning, I’ll give Max Emerson a call and propose a meeting. Maybe I’ll tell him I’m reconsidering my decision to pass on his restaurant. Whatever it takes to get access to his books.
    And Piper? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do about Piper Jackson.
----
    “ T his is insane .” Wyatt says flatly.
    We’ve just spent the last two hours going through all one hundred and thirty one pages of the terms and conditions, and it’s left me with fresh respect for Piper. Despite a thousand restrictions and constraints, despite a set of trustees who scrutinize every move she makes, she’s kept this place running for five months.
    “Why did you take this on?” I ask her, leaning back in my chair. “Carl said you had an offer at Le Bernardin .”
    “Hubris.” Her tone is wry. “I went home for Aunt Vera’s funeral. I didn’t think I was going to inherit anything; I didn’t even know Aunt Vera owned a restaurant in New York. Then the executor of the will told me I needed to make a decision right away.” She looks sad. “Running my own restaurant has been my dream my whole life, and it was being offered to me. I accepted without finding out what I was getting into, and I’ve been paying for it ever since.”
    “Yes, well, you’re not the only one who jumped in without doing any due diligence.” Wyatt rolls his eyes in my direction. “This is a problem,” he says, tapping the book in front of us.
    Piper stiffens, and he frowns at her. “Will you relax?” he says exasperatedly. “We told you, we’re not going anywhere. This is a problem to be solved, not an insurmountable obstacle.”
    She exhales. “I’m sorry.”
    A lightning flash of inspiration strikes me. I need an excuse to investigate the kitchen, and the three of us need to stop tiptoeing around each other. I’m Irish; I’ve made my best friends in a pub, over several pints of Guinness. We aren’t in Dublin and the Guinness in New York is undrinkable, but that doesn’t have to stop us.
    I get to my feet. “We got off on the wrong foot. Why don’t we toast to our partnership, and then we can make our battle plans. Knowing Wyatt, he already has a dozen ideas. Piper, where’s your booze?”
    I hold my breath. Is she going to let me in the kitchen without supervision? I only need a few minutes. Though I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, I trust my instincts. If something’s amiss, I’m confident I can find it fairly quickly.
    It’s ten at night. The restaurant is closed. The sous-chef and the gum-chewing waitress are gone for the day. The exterior lights are turned off. The three of us are alone in the front, our papers spread out all over the table. “There’s wine and beer in the refrigerator in the kitchen,” she says. “There’s also a bottle of vodka in the freezer, if you want to get good and wasted.”
    “Do you get good and wasted? You don’t seem the sort.”
    “Another snap judgement?” she mocks gently, her smile softening her words of their sting. “Yes, Mr. Lamb, I’ve been known to have a drink or two from time to time.”
    “You’ve got to stop calling us that, you know.” Wyatt grins lazily at her. “Especially if we’re going to get good and wasted together. Mr. Lamb. Mr. Lawless. You’re very formal.”
    “Fair