Page 22 of Filthy Chef

No, I don’t receive that, no matter how nice it feels.

“Are we done organizing?”

His eyes are full of something like regret. I can’t bear to look at him anymore. If he regrets last night, I need to go throw up.

“We are,” he says.

“Good, because I need to go back to my hotel.”

He nods. “Get some rest. You’ll need it. Be back here at four to learn the recipes.”

Before I leave, I shoot him a smile over my shoulder. “I read your menu. It’s pretty basic; I think I got it.”

And now I need to go to Plano and cry into my crappy motel pillow.

eleven

Jason

On the low down, I follow Journey back to her hotel.

From the back seat of my ride, I am reeling in horror that Journey’s driver is not headed to the Ritz-Carlton, where I put her up.

Instead, they are headed north on Central Expressway, toward the suburbs.

I check the app. To my dismay, the route that I paid for has been canceled.

Journey did that.

“I changed my mind. We’re headed to Plano.”

“No can do, sir. This ain’t a cab, and I have another pickup in 20 minutes.”

I peel off five twenties and lean over, dropping them on the front passenger seat. “That should cover it.”

“Yes, sir, it does.”

“Good. Can you follow other rides on your app?”

“We’re not supposed to tell people that, but yes.”

“Follow that Nissan to its destination, and I’ll double that tip when we get there.”

He guns the engine, and we’re on our way to Plano.

“Jason, what are you doing here?”

Journey is pissed when she sees me exit the car in front of the pay-by-the-hour cardboard box that passes for a motel. I should expect her pissed-off face, but it still hurts my chest.

I grab her under the arm and aim to pull her toward the car I paid to wait for me.

“Saving you from yourself.”

“But all my stuff is in there! I just want to take a nap.”

“Fine,” I grit out. “But I’m coming with you.”

Journey sighs like I’m the most irritating person on the planet. “I’m not going to bolt. Where would I go?”

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