Page 43 of Single Mom's Secret Diary
“Wow. You even know the kind of bay leaf from that small taste?”
“Mmm-hmm.” I could tell her more, like the kind of olive oil they use, which type of tomato, their use of elephant garlicrather than the usual kind found in the stores, and how they used both green and red peppers instead of just green. But I keep my mouth shut about those things. I really don’t need them to show off.
Frankly, only my dad would ask me about those things because heknowsI can tell him.
“I bet you can pick out where they sourced each ingredient, too, can’t you?”
I shrug noncommittally.
“That’s an impressive skill. Are they paying you enough at your current job?” Bobbi spoons in her own beans and rice as I nibble on a plantain.
“Enough that I don’t need any more.”
The corner of Bobbi’s mouth quirks. “Everyone could always use more, especially for the kind of project you’re working on. It’s the kind of thing you could live off for the rest of your life if you figure it out.”
I shrug. “Is it?”
“Does your current company plan to compensate you for the breakthrough once you’ve reached it? Any incentives to stay and finish it for them? Some kind of bonus?” That gleam I’ve seen before nearly twinkles with dollar signs.
“I don’t feel comfortable discussing my income with a stranger.”
Bobbi nods, not at all put off by my dismissive and chiding tone. The mom in me can’t help it. I close up my box and take a spoon to the rice pudding, which is mildly sweet and the perfect amount of creamy. It’s almost as good as when my dad makes it.
This woman stares as I taste, and I’m pretty over the inquiries. Standing, I brush my hair back and hug the box against my stomach. “Thanks for lunch, but I should really get back to my son.”
Bobbi stands, too, holding out her hand, and I shake it.
“One last thing before you go. I’ve been given permission to offer you a job at Lindt to work on a similar project for a six-figure salary, plus a seven-figure bonus once you’ve completed it.”
Shock tears through me, my heart beating wildly to get out of my chest and run around in a panic. I blink at her, unmoving and unresponsive. The job offer itself doesn’t come as a surprise, but the money does.
It’s too bad for Bobbi and Lindt that money isn’t my biggest motivator. I laugh softly and shake my head. “I don’t think?—”
Bobbi presses her hand to my arm. She looks more sympathetic and understanding than what I imagined a poacher in her position would. Maybe she thinks she’s got her hooks in me. “Just think about it. You have my card if you change your mind.”
I nod and head back to the rink without her following me. So, she was there for me. How did she know not only what I was working on—granted, in vague terms—but also where I would be and when?
Shaking the adrenaline out, I find my spot in the bleachers to follow Charlie’s movements around the rink and finish my lunch in peace. The rest of practice goes smoothly, and Charlie is hyped when we make it to my car.
He chatters excitedly to Dad during our family dinner, and I find myself finally relaxing after the long, strange day.
Sunday is more of the same. Charlie talks me into bringing him back to the rink to practice his skating moves without the rest of the team there, so we go for the morning and walk around for some window shopping afterward.
By the time Monday comes, I’m ready to get back into my usual routine, but Pam’s waiting for me at my office.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask as I slide off my bag and set it in my chair.
“We need you in the conference room immediately.” Her usually jovial face is serious, and I feel like I did back in school being escorted to the principal’s office for something I didn’t do.
“Is something wrong?” The possibilities swarm around my brain. Someone else has been poisoned. My taste buds have failed me again because of my own brush with the deadly stuff. But Pam just shakes her head and walks on, showing me the way even though I know it.
Opening the door for me, she offers me a sad smile and closes the door once I’ve stepped inside.
Eleven men and two women sit around the table, packing it tight. Ezra sits at the head, Ryder and Wyatt flanking him on either side. My nerves rattle me down to my bones, so I pull on my armor, clasp my hands in front of me, and straighten my spine.
I wait for someone to address me. Sure, it’s a power play, but it’s the only one I have. They’re the ones who’ve bombarded me with their attention.
“Thank you for joining us, Miss Caruso,” Ezra says, and the change in decorum rankles me even more.
