Page 15 of Off the Grid
“Bye, Parker.”
They hung up.
In the following silence, the creak of the door was unmistakable.
Leo froze.
“If you wanted to know about my father, you should’ve just asked.”
The wince started before he even heard her voice and deepened as that sharp sound sliced through him. Of course it was McKenzie standing behind him, with the way his frigging luck was going today. Who else would it be?
Leo turned slowly, holding back a sigh as he met her frigid eyes. She leaned against the frame with one arm wrapped around her waist and the other holding a plate of desserts, staring at him as though willpower alone could put him in an early grave.
Well…shit.
- 6 -
McKenzie
Pure, unbridled loathing blossomed like a flower in her chest, sending a wave of furious heat down her limbs. To think she’d actually walked over here to apologize!
McKenzie’s fingers tightened around the plate of desserts in her right hand, the peace offering she’d so naively decided to prepare now that her presentation was over. Well, the momentary lapse in judgment had passed. Any inkling of pity left in her system was thoroughly flushed away by the words that had just come out of his mouth. Now, she was pissed. Which was really a shame, because not even five minutes ago she’d been feeling on top of the world, fully aware she’d hit her tasting menu out of the park.
“I’m not sure what you overheard—”
“Us ice queens aren’t known for our hearing,” she drawled, cutting him off. The Fed had the decency to wince.
“I’m sorry,” he continued, stepping closer. He held his hand aloft as though begging for a moment to explain. “I shouldn’t have called you that.”
“Why not? It fits.”And I’ve been called much worse. Sticks and stones, buddy. Sticks and stones.“My father, since you’re so interested, was convicted of embezzlement and fraud, and was sentenced to twenty-five years in federal prison.”
McKenzie had been thirteen when her father was arrested, and kids at that age were vicious. Hell, their parents had been vicious too. There was no crime so offensive to rich people as white-collar crime. Her family probably would’ve been pitied, maybe even forgiven, if her father had murdered someone—but steal their money? There was no coming back from that. McKenzie and her mother had been kicked out of their country club, excommunicated from the social scene, and black-listed from every town function. She eventually dropped out of her private school due to the bullying, not that the public-school kids were much better. Her mother sank into equal parts depression and denial, putting on a brave face and burying all the hurt deep inside, too deep for her daughter to penetrate. If they didn’t talk about it, maybe it wasn’t happening. If they didn’t share their pain, maybe it wasn’t real. If they pretended everything was fine, maybe it would be. With that avenue closed, McKenzie retreated to the kitchen. It became her safe space, the only place she could go to release all the emotions she kept pent up inside. After a childhood like that, words had lost their power to hurt her.
Agent Alvarez’s jaw dropped.
“He’s innocent,” McKenzie added as she gave him the good old Manhattan once-over, trying to make him feel smaller than flattened gum on the bottom of a shoe. “In case you were wondering, though I doubt it. Most of the Feds I know never really cared about the truth, only the win. It didn’t matter who they put away as long as someone got blamed.”
He licked his lips as his brows twitched and a hint of sympathy sparked to life in his eyes. She’d seen that look before—that pitying stare from a cop convinced he was right, and that she was just the grieving daughter steeped in denial. But her fatherwasinnocent. There was no witness or piece of evidence in the world that would convince her otherwise.
“That must have been difficult,” the agent said slowly, each word carefully selected and measured. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Don’t be,” McKenzie commented, voice clipped—she’d played this game before.I’d rather be an ice queen than a sucker, Agent Alvarez. Thanks ever so much for reminding me of that fact.She had half a mind to chuck this tray of desserts at his head. It took all her self-control to instead place it on the desk by his side—after all, it wasn’t her food’s fault he was an asshole. “I thought you might be hungry after yourstrenuousmorning.”
The agent’s jaw clenched at the dig, but he nodded graciously and kept his mouth shut.
“The rest of the staff is here to start preparations for dinner service, so there’s no room in the kitchen for extra bodies. If you insist on staying, I’m sure the owner would be more than happy to set up a table for you in the main dining room. My shift won’t end for another twelve hours, so don’t expect to see me before then.”
“Thank you, Miss Harper,” he murmured. “I’ll be waiting.”
McKenzie held his stare for a moment, hoping the fire in her eyes made him burn, and then she turned on her heels. Before the door clicked closed, she heard a heavy sigh fill the room behind her, but she paid it and him no mind.
Instead, she marched back to the kitchen, redirecting the ire churning deep in her chest. Fury was the best kind of fuel, and McKenzie poured every ounce of frustration into her food, her focus as acute as ever. She was acting as head pastry chef until a new one was officially hired, so even though her presentation was over, the job interview still continued. Could she handle it? Would she fail? Would she flourish? The hours flew as she pumped out dessert after dessert, determined to prove to the head chef exactly what she could do. The chaos of the kitchen was like a warm embrace. Banging pans and hectic shouts drowned out her thoughts. There was no time to think beyond bake times and custards, phyllo dough and caramel. There was only whisk this, and roll that, and stir now, and fry later. Her mind was so full of ingredients and numbers and orders coming down the line, there was no room for anything else.
“Hey, Mac,” the head chef called out, hours later, when the restaurant was blissfully empty and the only thing left to do was clean. He was the only person aside from her father who used that nickname, and she found she sort of liked it. “Go home.”
McKenzie froze, elbow-deep in suds, and looked over her shoulder. The head chef was a big man and Italian of all things, working in a French restaurant. There was an aura of grandness around him that everyone in the kitchen felt, as though he took up extra space no matter where he stood. Right now, he met her gaze with stark approval, the hint of a grin across his lips. Her heart did a flip inside her chest. “I just have a few more dishes to clean and then I’ll head out.”
He closed the distance between them and turned the water off. “The line chefs are going to finish up. Head chefs, even acting head chefs, don’t have to do their own dishes. And you did good today. You earned a break. So go home, celebrate, get some sleep, and come back ready. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
