Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(35)

She starts crying.



"Mom?"



"Oh, honey, it's just-" she sniffs. "You're a lover, just like your father, you know. You've got a big heart."



I nod, looking down.



"I mean, he is a bit...crude."



I snort, "I know."



She smiles at me, "There's no talking you out of baking or the kitchens is there."         

     



 



I look up at her miserably and shake my head.



"I was afraid of that," she laughs. "Just like your father."



I choke out a laugh as she brings me back into a hug, nuzzling my face into her shoulder.



"Sorry?"



"Don't be. Don't ever be," she says firmly, "You remind me of him every day, and that's enough."



I look up at her, "So, now what?"



She raises a brow at me, "There's … nothing you want to do in London?"



I shake my head.



"Nothing at all?"



"No," I say quietly, hoping the words cover the sound of my heart breaking.



"Then I guess that's all there is." She gives me one more questioning look before she brings me back in for another hug



"Let's go home, mom."





"You did what now, mate?"



Danny is laughing his ass off while I sit there looking at the bar top of the Rusty Knot, fiddling with the pint in my hand.



"You're serious? In front of the fuckin' dining room?"



I slowly nod my head, "Yep."



Danny hoots and pounds his fist on the bar, "In front of that little shit from the Times?"



"Mm-hmm."



He whistles lowly as he shakes his head, grinning at me. "Oh Jesus did I  create a fuckin' monster with you." He snorts, "Jesus, Ollie," he says,  shaking his head. "You got a temper, you know."



"Yeah, I know." I take a deep pull of my beer.



"No, mate, I mean it's not always a bad thing; it means you've got  balls. But you just have to stop thinking with them so much, you know?"  He grins as he pats me on the back.



"Yeah, gee wonder wherever I could've gotten that from," I say, shooting him a sideways look.



Danny laughs and ruffles my hair, "So, what's with your pops now then?"



I roll my eyes as I drain the last of my pint and then raise it up to  signal the bartender for another. "Well, Danny, I'm pretty certain my  dad just fired me."



He snorts, shaking his head, "Well, that's gonna make for an interesting Christmas dinner now isn't it.



"No shit."



"About as interesting as you fucking your stepsister, yeah?"



I whirl on Danny, who grins and holds his hand up, "Oy, no judgement, mate. That one's a keeper, you know."



I frown at the new pint as it's set in front of me, my jaw tightening, "Yeah, I don't know about that."



"I do."



I shake my head. "Naw, mate, I'm through with that shit now. Besides,  that whole ‘one girl' game's never been my style anyways. The world's a  fuckin oyster, like you always say, yeah?" I toast to no one with my  glass and take a big gulp.



Danny sighs and shakes his head.



"What?"



"Nothin', leave it."



"What?"



He turns, frowning as he jabs a finger at me, "Look, boy-o, you want to  keep trying to be me, be my guest. Keep fucking waitresses and  bartenders and never settle down." He barks out a laugh, "End up old and  alone like me."



"Oh, yeah, you're really struggling with those three Michelin stars and different model every night," I shake my head at him.



"Trust me, boy-o, it ain't what it's cracked up to be." He puts a hand  on my shoulder, "Look, you want to know what the move is? Find that  someone, and hang on."



There's a hardness in his eyes, and I find myself nodding.



"So, now that you right proper fucked things up at Jolie, what your new plan?"



I groan, "Fuck, find a job I guess."



He looks away looks, grinning to himself before he turns back and looks at me.



"You know, I might know of something. There's a project happening; a big  one, and they're bringing me in." He looks at me over the rim of his  pint, "It's a big one, Ollie. They're pushing for a star in the first  six months, a second soon after."



I raise my brows, "Wow, shit, Danny. Congrats, mate."



"I might have something for you."



I laugh. "They need a dishwasher?"



He grins, "I was thinking a bit above that, something more in the kitchen."



I frown. "Grill?"



Danny shakes his head, "Higher."



I stare at him. "Well, fuck me, Danny," I look at him, almost not  wanting to even ask it; "Sous chef?" I can feel the blood start to roar  in my ears. "Holy fuck, Danny! I don't know if-"



"No, not-" Danny rolls his eyes, "Jesus, I want you to be our head chef, you stupid twat."



The whole world goes quite still, at least for me, as my whole fucking  focus just freezes on the last thing he's just said. I stare at him,  "What?"



"Chef, Ollie; you know, the bloke that does all the yelling and cooking and all that jazz."



I open my mouth, but then realize I don't actually have the capacity to make words yet and bring the pint to my mouth instead.



Danny snorts a laugh, "I'm on as consultant and investor, but it'll be your kitchen."



I stare at him, "You're serious."



"As a fuckin' heart attack, Ollie."



"Danny, you've got three fuckin' Michelin-"



"Oy, look," he says, grabbing me by the shoulders and giving me a shake.  "I'm good, yeah? Very good, actually. But you're fucking great, Ollie.  And if you'd just take your head out of your own arse, you might just  realize that. You've got the kind of greatness the rest of us fuckin'  mortals just chase after, and I've been around long enough to know  that." He narrows his eyes at me, "Don't be good, Ollie, be fucking  great."



I'm staring at him, slowly shaking my head and feeling like my heart is out to jump out of my fucking throat.



"Well Jesus, boy-o, don't make me feel like an asshole by saying no."



I snap out of it right then. Right then, I'm pushing everything else  away. I'm burying all the bullshit of the last few weeks deep inside,  and shutting the door on it.



I'm shutting the door on Chloe, because if I don't, I'm not sure I'm gonna make it.



"Fuck," I look up at Danny, grinning. "Yeah, mate," I'm nodding, "Fuck yeah!"



Danny hoots and brings me in for a bear hug, slapping me on the back before he pulls back and hollers for scotch from bartender.



"So what's the place called?"



Danny turns back, handing me a scotch as he grins at me, "Ella."



I smile slowly, nodding at him.



He clinks his glass against mine, "Hang onto the good ones, you little prick."





Six Months Later:



It's a Saturday night, and Ella is an absolute madhouse. We've got an  entirely full book, a waiting list four fucking hours long, and people  are still walking in and willing to wait five hours for a damn table.



A Michelin star within four months of opening up has a way of doing that.



But, yeah, success does mean work, and we're fucking working like a crazy back in the kitchen to get orders out.



"Oy, special request, chef."



I glance up from the pile of tickets in front of me as Ian walks into the kitchen.



Yes, Ian. Of course I brought Ian, he's the best Maître d' in the damn city.



I also brought Marco. I allowed him all of one night to give me shit  about Chloe, and then be done with it. Actually, I had to force him to  make some jokes, he was honestly just too apologetic about hitting on  her all those times.



"Mate, you didn't know."



"Yeah, but I should have."



"What, should've know I was banging my stepsister?"



"Oy, you're a bit crude, bruv. You ought to work on that you know."



I glare at Ian, "So what's this special request?"



He pulls a neutral face.



"What?"



Ian coughs uncomfortably, "They, uh, they want you to come out to the table."



I stare at him, "You're serious?"



He nods, "Yes."



"What is this, Beni-fucking-hana?!" I roar. "Are we in Epcot fucking  center, Ian?" He just shrugs at me as I go on my little tirade. "No I'm  not fucking going out to the fucking table-"



"It's a VIP table, Ollie."



"I don't care if it's the fucking Queen Mum, Ian; fuck ‘em."



"Oliver-" His voice is tense, and suddenly I'm frowning and listening, "It's a real VIP."



There's something about the tightness in his voice that suddenly gives me pause, and my brow shoots up, "Oh?"



"Yes," he says, shooting me a stern look. "Best behavior, Ollie."



I turn and exchange look with Marco, who shrugs, "I got the line, mate."



I look back and point a finger at Ian, "This better actually be the Queen Mum at this point."