Page 42 of Until August
It was obviously the cue for all the other kids to follow them into the pool.
And my cue to go home and get ready for work and figure out where to find a new sous chef.
* * *
My footsteps faltered as I approached the service entrance. I wasn’t ready to see him yet.
But I should have known he wouldn’t give up so easily. After I left the party, I Googled August. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I got more than I’d bargained for. His arrest and subsequent conviction were a mere footnote compared to all his accolades.
In the culinary world, August Harper had been a big deal. I couldn’t believe his name hadn’t rung a bell. I’d heard of his restaurant before and hadn’t even thought to connect the dots. Which went to show that I wasn’t as sharp as I used to be.
Eight by August had garnered nearly every acclaim a restaurant could want. The coveted Michelin star. A top spot on theLA Today100 Best Restaurants List. And seven years ago, August was named Food and Wine’s Best New Chef.
“One of the Hottest Chefs Under Thirty,” an article had said. There’d been a photo of him in his chef whites standing in what I guess was his restaurant kitchen, tattooed arms crossed over his broad chest, his chin tipped up, and a haughty look on his face. Like he was looking down his nose, making it clear that he was better than everyone around him.
To add insult to injury, the same critic who had slammed my restaurant praised him, calling August’s tasting menu ‘sublime… exquisite… absolute perfection.”
After falling down the rabbit hole and reading every article I could find, I’d closed my internet browser and stewed over it for the entire drive.
Now here he was. The culinary genius. The wunderkind. Theassholewho had thrown it all away for quick cash. How could he throw it all away so carelessly?
I’d lost all respect for him.
He’d reached a pinnacle of success that very few chefs ever did, and it was like a slap in the face to anyone who had ever sung his praises.
I stopped in front of him, my chest heaving. I was irrationally angry, and the words poured out of me. “Do you have a self-destructive streak? Are you one of those people who takes something good and shits all over it?” He winced, but I kept going, venting all my anger and frustration on the source of it. “I Googled you, August. No idea why I didn’t do it sooner. But then again, I’m the idiot who let a random stranger into my kitchen without running a fucking security check.” I stopped to take a breath.
“You’re not an idiot. I’m the one who—”
“Why?” I glared at him. “Why would you do something so stupid?” My hands curled into fists, and I was tempted to punch him. I was so fucking angry. At him. At the world. At myself for being gullible enough to trust him.
“Hit me. If it makes you feel better, hit me.”
I took a step back and inhaled sharply. “I’m not going to hit you.”
He stuck out his chin. “Go on. I can take a punch,” he goaded.
Punching August wouldn’t make anything better, so I took another step back as Miguel and Zach greeted us on their way inside. When the door closed behind them, I focused on August again. I should never let him set foot in my kitchen again.
“You had to know the risk you were taking. I refuse to believe you’re that stupid.”
“I knew,” he said, not even a hint of an apology in his tone.
God, so arrogant. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? I must have been blinded by his talent… among other things. “But you did it anyway. You were just hoping you never got caught,” I guessed.
He pushed his hand through his hair. “Pretty much,” he admitted. “It was supposed to be a one-time thing.”
“It doesn’t matter if it was one time or a hundred!” I threw my hands in the air. “What you did was wrong.”
He clenched his jaw. “I know that. Do you think I don’t fucking know that? I spent the past five years going over it in my head, and trust me, I would love nothing more than to go back and do it differently.”
“Then why did you do it? Explain this to me.”
“What do you want to know, exactly?”
“All of it.”
He blew out a breath and looked up at the sky as if this was the last thing he wanted to discuss. But I wasn’t letting him off that easy, so I waited with my arms crossed over my chest and my foot tapping on the gravel.
