Page 73 of Sizzle

“You mean it’ll be easier for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You think I didn’t hear the nonsense that fool Bertie was spouting? All that crap about him getting passed over because you were sleeping with the boss. Like he’s ever gonna get himself promoted when he whines like he does.”

Bertie is actually pretty damn good at his job, but he complains a lot about being stuck in the kitchen when he really wants to—and I quote—“move up in the company.” I’m all for ambition but considering Elliot’s restaurant isn’t exactly a big operation, I’m not so sure Bertie’s thought it through.

And worse, I’m afraid he’s right. I mean, I wasn’t sleeping with Elliot when he hired me and I have no interest in a management position. But what if Elliot only hired me because he wanted me?

Only that doesn’t make any sense either. It took weeks for him to touch me and even then, Alex had to orchestrate the whole thing.

There it is again—that fear. What happens when Elliot and Alex realize they only need each other? That I’m just the tool that brought them together?

It’s going to tear me apart.

Hell, it’s already happening. Alex wanted to ask me to stay with him today but his loyalty to Elliot was written all over his face. It spilled out in every second of Alex’s hesitation.

I couldn’t stand it. I want them to have each other, but I’m going to end up hating them for not wanting me to share in it, too. And hating them would be worse.

Better to cut and run now, before things get any messier. I laugh, choking back the tears this time, because Connie’s already gone above and beyond the call of duty for tonight. She changes the subject to work gossip and not long after, I’m dozing off before we finish the second bottle. It barely registers when she tucks the quilt around me and switches off the light.

The next morning, I take it slow sitting up, not wanting to push my luck. I’m not much of a drinker, last night excepted. Miraculously, I seem to have escaped with only a slight headache.

Of course, crying always has that effect on me the next day too, so who knows?

Either way, I send my gratitude out into the universe for my reprieve and head to the bathroom to clean up.

I don’t have much in the way of armor for today, but I’m not going back home. Not yet. Dealing with Dad will have to wait.

Hell, if anything, he’ll probably be happy to hear I’m unemployed again.

The thought all but doubles me over in pain. How fucked up is it that he’d most likely celebrate me quitting this job, the job that was my ticket into culinary school? I’ve been talking about being a chef since I was a kid.

Who the hell does he think he is? I mean, I know he’s my dad, obviously. But goddamn it… this is my life. I want him to be a part of it, but is it so selfish to want the rest of my life to be mine?

I wouldn’t know what the hell am I going to do otherwise. No culinary school means no way of getting into a big name kitchen, let alone achieving the long-shot dream of working among the best chefs in the business.

It’s childish of me and I know it, but I let the anger build. It bolsters me, standing me upright again, pulling my chin up and getting me ready for what I have to do next.

I’m not without resources. I’ve got two solid months of good experience working for Elliot James. Even if he won’t recommend me to another restaurant, Connie would. I think some of the other staff might, too. That has to count for something.

All is not lost. At least, not career-wise. As Connie drives us into work, I focus all my energy on remembering that because if I stop to think about what else I’m about to lose, I’ll break in two.

22

Elliot

The music coming from the kitchen is too loud but I don’t say a damn word to the staff. They know I’m pissed, and the volume makes conversation impossible.

Smart kids. Most of them.

I overheard more than one whisper over the last couple of days, though nobody said Joelle’s name in my presence. Good thing. I might have lost my shit if I’d heard them talking about her.

She’s due in for work this morning and I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out how the hell things went so sideways in that storeroom. All I wanted was to comfort her, to hold her. And yeah, maybe for a minute I forgot where we were, which is one helluva feat considering it’s my own damn restaurant.

There’s a good chance that, whatever happened, it’s my fault.

It killed me that she didn’t stay with us last night. Us. Me and Alex. And Jesus, why does ‘me and Alex’ sound so damn different than it used to?

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