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Perfectly Paired
Masters and Mercenaries~Topped, Book 3
Lexi Blake
Chapter One
Sebastian Lowe watched as his boss, Sean Taggart, settled into the chair behind his desk. Unlike other offices where Sebastian was forced to stuff his big body into some miniscule but suitably expensive chair designed more for fashion than comfort, Taggart offered up a large, masculine seat across from his perch. Too often Sebastian felt like a massive bear attempting to fit on some delicate work of art and fearing he was about to break it. He would end up on the floor and it would take a couple of the line chefs to drag him back up to his artificial feet.
He hated being vulnerable.
“Thanks for coming in on your off day,” Taggart said.
Yes, despite the comfortable seating, he was definitely still vulnerable. He should have taken Chef up on his offer to go with him to New York to meet with the producers of the new show Taggart was hosting. Instead, he’d put it off claiming he had to stay behind to oversee the installation of the new refrigerator in the wine cellar. He’d been unhappy with the reliability of the old one. He should have taken that plane ticket and pretended like he was comfortable with the prospect of being on television. He should have known that a place like Top would grow and likely need a sommelier who would look good on camera.
A sommelier who didn’t spend half his life merely trying to stay on his feet.
“Not a problem.” He’d been packing and readying himself for the temporary move to Fort Worth. The exercise had been a bit depressing since it forced him to acknowledge he hadn’t spent much time turning his apartment into a home. It was furnished and bland, with no spark of his own personality and very few comforts. He’d made the decision that when he returned, he would find a better place. He’d been planning on becoming a settled adult and trying to find a condo or a small house to invest in. He’d been ready to give up the vagabond existence he’d found himself in since that terrible day when he’d realized Alicia wanted nothing more from him.
It looked like he might be moving on from Dallas in a permanent fashion, but one thing was for certain. He wouldn’t be returning to Georgia. There was nothing left now. No restaurant. No family. Not even redemption.
“I called you in because I need to talk about something that will affect your work situation,” Chef said.
Fuck. He hadn’t realized until this moment how much he wanted to settle down. He’d worked in some amazing places, but he loved this small restaurant in Dallas. In the restaurant world, Dallas wasn’t much of a blip on the map. It wasn’t even a Michelin-rated town, but Top had something he’d never found before. It had a magic most places didn’t. Family. God, it felt a little like he’d had a family again.
Even if he was the weird uncle who wore a three-piece suit everywhere and rarely went to parties.
“Of course,” he began, pleased his voice was so even. He wasn’t going to beg. He didn’t beg for anything. Well, not since the day he’d begged and pleaded with God to take his life instead of Gary’s. He knew it wasn’t really God’s fault. It had been the damn SAM that had taken down the helo they’d been riding in. Fate had taken Gary’s life and left Sebastian with no legs. Modern technology had sort of given them back.
Chef leaned toward him. “You know how much I appreciate what you’re doing to help with the opening of the new restaurant. I can imagine that being forced to move to Fort Worth for eight weeks is a pain in the ass.”
“I don’t mind.” Not if it meant he got to keep his job. Not if it meant he wasn’t getting kicked aside for some snotty-ass som who’d never done anything in his damn life but study for his master’s level and get his hair done so he could squawk about the finest Cab on cable TV. “I’ve looked at the apartment. It’s more than suitable.”
The Fort Worth apartment Taggart was offering to let him stay at was nicer than his place, but then he was only now getting to the point that he had some extra cash to spend on things like an apartment with more than one room. It was time to make a home. It was time to give up on everything he’d left behind.
How many years had he pursued Alicia Layle? She’d been his perfect female for so very long. Ever since the day he’d met her. He’d been eight years old, but his fascination with her had lasted. Feminine and soft, with gentle manners and a warm persona. She was gracious and kind. Everyone in their small town adored her.
And she’d been the one to turn them all against him. Her sweet light had been an illusion.
Perhaps that’s why his dreams of Alicia had been replaced in the last few months with a mouthy, boozy, slightly insane brat of a blonde with gorgeous tits and a perfectly round ass. Tiffany Hayes worked as a server and was always slightly, fascinatingly unkempt. Oh, she would try for perfection, but there would always be one thing off about her. He’d made it a habit to study her each and every time they worked together so he could find it. Sometimes it was nothing more than a spot on her shirt she’d forgotten to iron. And then there were the times she would show up and still have flecks of paint on her hands and he would wonder what she’d spent her day painting.
“Grace made me buy the apartment because she didn’t want me driving home late at night,” Chef was saying. “I tried to explain to her that we should find a place in the suburbs between Dallas and Fort Worth to cut down on the commute between restaurants, but she put her foot down. We moved last year when we found out she was pregnant again and she swears we’ll be buried in that house.”
“How is she doing?” He’d heard the pregnancy and birth had been hard on Grace Taggart.
Chef took a deep breath and nodded, as though relieved at the answer he was going to give. “She’s good. Much better than I had hoped for, but I still don’t want to leave her or the kids for any real amount of time. It’s why I’m going to ask you to sacrifice for the good of the team.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Chef, and I’m going to tell you why.” What was he doing? His mouth was working without the aid of his inner self. That inner self was crying out for him to have a little fucking dignity, but the words kept coming out. “No one knows your menus like I do. No one knows Eric’s cooking like I do. I understand the network is likely going to want to bring in a sommelier with more flair, but they aren’t going to be as good a fit as I am.”
Chef sat back, his eyes widening as though he was as surprised as Sebastian. “Really? And why is that?”
He should stand up and accept his layoff with grace. He should shake the chef’s hand and hope for a good referral. He did stand, meaning to do just that. He was careful because the last thing he wanted was to end up on the floor. He went to put his hand out and he really meant to do all those dignified things he’d settled on.
“You know why, Chef? Because I am Top. I am everything you want in this place. I’m Southern. Born and raised on the kinds of food you serve. They’re not a theory to me. They’re not something quaint and rustic to serve on an off night. This food is my soul as much as the wine I pair with it. I speak your language in a way no other som is going to. I’ll be honest. I don’t like the idea of going on the television show. I’m a private person. I do, however, understand what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. You don’t need a more experienced som. You need one with the right experience.”
“There are only four master sommeliers in the state,” Chef pointed out. “My list of applicants would be very limited.”
“And I’m the only one of them who speaks your language. I know I’m the youngest in that group, but I’m also the best. How many of them served? Not a one. You hire vets. I speak that language, too. I might not shout it the way some do, but I understand what men like Eric and Macon and Linc did for this country and how they need to be treated now.” He set his hands on the desk, unwilling to even risk the possibility that he could lose his balance. This was too important. He didn’t realize how much he wanted to stay. A vision of Tiffany floated across his brain. He couldn’t forget that night when he’d taken her home and she’d pressed her body to his, her mouth roaming across his. And she’d been drunk so he’d tucked her into bed despite her protests. “You know those sommeliers likely won’t want to work the bar when Linc has an episode. They take their skills seriously.”
