Page 92 of Holding On To Good

Pure dread with a bit of dismay thrown in for good measure.

She was seriously underappreciated by these people.

“There’s nothing to fix,” he said quickly, sending Miles and Toby a help me glance, as if he hadn’t just wanted to kill them both dead two seconds ago.

Miles grinned and kept his mouth shut. Hadn’t she said just the other morning he held a grudge? But Toby, with his big heart and short memory, took pity on Urban.

“As you love to remind us, you only have a few months left at home before you go off to live an independent, grown-up life,” he told her. “Are you sure you want to waste that precious time playing matchmaker when you could be spending it with your friends?”

“I’m a woman. We’re awesome multi-taskers. It’s how we win at that whole life-work-family balance thing.”

Toby gave Urban an I tried shrug. Urban groaned and dropped his head into his hands in despair.

She wasn’t surprised he was fighting the inevitable this way. The man wasn’t exactly filled with whimsy and hope and optimism. It wasn’t that he was a dark and gloomy pessimist—although he played one convincingly when the need arose. But he was a diehard realist.

Toby tapped the table. “Break’s over,” he told her. “You’re covering for Fiona while she’s on hers.”

Verity rolled her eyes. “I’m aware.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What’s our deal about keeping our working and personal relationships separate?”

She almost rolled her eyes again, but as that was number three on his list of no nos, she refrained.

No, really, he had an actual list of rules he’d typed up and laminated that were meant to help them navigate the tricky world of him being both her boss and her older brother—though in her life, with all her brothers, those two were one and the same. He insisted he didn’t want to risk anything putting a strain on their personal relationship or deal with his other employees accusing him of favoritism when it came to her.

“When I’m on the clock and therefore on Binge’s payroll,” she said in an I’m so bored I’m close to being dead tone, “I will not roll my eyes or speak sarcastically and I will refer to you as Chef or sir.” She waited a beat. “But the moment I clock out, I’m going back to calling you the tyrant king.”

His smile was fast and pleased. “It’s good to be king.”

And he walked off, a man confident in his place in life and the power he held in this restaurant.

That whole thing about chefs and their overly large egos and control issues?

Totally true.

Verity stood and began stacking their empty plates. “Here’s the deal, and I only have, like, thirty seconds to explain this, so listen carefully and try not to screw it up. You” —she pointed a dirty fork in Urban’s direction— “need to apologize to Willow. And not soon or in the morning or the dreaded when you get around to it. But immediately.”

He slouched in his seat, his expression mulish. “I don’t even know what the hell I’m apologizing for.”

“Okay, first of all, you sound just like Ian when he’s having one of his snits.” Which, thank God, were extremely rare and short-lived when they did happen. “It’s not cute on him and it’s seriously not attractive in a grown man.”

“Agreed,” Miles said. “On both points.”

“Secondly,” she continued, “you’re apologizing for not kicking this Miranda chick to the curb when she showed up. You need to make it clear—like, super, crystal, can-see-through-it clear—that you did not want Miranda to show up, that you did not invite her to our home and that you’re so beyond over her you’re literally on the other side of your history together.” She paused. “Do you want to write this down?”

“Maybe you could type up some bullet points for me,” he said. “Give me the basics.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, even if he was being a smart ass about it. “After you apologize, you need to admit your feelings for Willow to her so you two can get on with that whole being-a-couple thing that you’ve always been meant to be.” She lifted the stacked dishes and silverware. “But don’t even think about setting your wedding date during my spring break as I already have plans that include a beach in Mexico, gallons of margaritas and not one single person I’m related to.”

“Willow and I aren’t getting married,” Urban said, but really, at this point, it was like a knee-jerk reaction, the old Jennings stubbornness trying to assert its control.

The man could fight the inevitable all he wanted but Fate always won in the end.

“Well, in that case, forget everything I’ve just said and go on with your life the way it’s always been. Ooh, let’s imagine that, shall we? I can picture it now. You and Willow remain Just Friends—and please note that my hands are full and therefore I cannot give those two words the sarcastic air quotes they deserve—until that fateful day not long in the future when she finally realizes she’s wasting her time waiting for you to come to your senses and starts seeing someone else. A super-handsome, super-successful, super-rich someone else.”

“Conrad Anderson is single,” Miles put in helpfully.

“Oh, my god,” Verity breathed. “Conrad would be perfect for her.”

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