Page 115 of The Arrogant One
I let a few seconds of silence pass. “She reviewed Musik—Dear Foodie, I mean. The article came out this morning. It was an excellent review. It’s going to help business a lot.” I noddedtoward my phone but kept my eyes on her. “I was just reading the article when you woke up. Checking out the photos. Apparently, she liked the same spot you and Bryn were in—you know, the banister in the VIP area—since that’s where most of the pictures were shot. And she was drinking our signature cocktail, just like you did.” I paused. “Looks like you and Dear Foodie have similar taste.”
Her stare eventually rose to mine, and in that second, I fucking knew.
I felt it in her pulse.
I heard it in her silence.
It was confirmed in my gut.
“It’s the best spot in the club,” she whispered, her voice so soft. “It lets you put eyes on everything.”
I sighed. The realization ricocheting through me. “Except, there, you can’t see what’s behind you. Who’s watching, who’s picking up on things.” I paused. “Like I watched you that night.”
Me
Good evening. I’m going to send you a photo. Is there any way you can take a look at it and tell me what you think that white blob in the corner is that’s been blurred out?
Alexa, Sous Chef—Charred LA
That’s the photo that was posted on Seen, right? And in Dear Foodie’s review?
Me
Yes.
Alexa, Sous Chef—Charred LA
I have a few theories, but I want to look at it again in the morning when I have fresh eyes and a clear head. You’ll hear from me before lunch.
Me
I appreciate it.
THIRTY
Sadie
Icouldn’t do this anymore; I couldn’t continue lying to Lockhart and keep Dear Foodie a secret. Every part of my body felt ill from it. I was having a hard time even looking him in the face.
This wasn’t what I’d wanted.
And I couldn’t stand another second of it.
That was why I reached out to my boss as soon as I got home from Lockhart’s house and told him we needed a meeting. Immediately. This wasn’t a conversation I could have over the phone. I needed to do it face-to-face so my boss understood how heavily this was weighing on me.
And what he would do with that information, what he would decide, I couldn’t predict.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been at the office. I kept my distance for a multitude of reasons—the biggest was that I didn’t want any of the employees to ever figure out who I was.
When I had first been hired, my boss and I had made sure my true identity stayed buried fromSeen. The direct deposit went into my business account. They had my tax ID, not my Social Security number. No one in finance or HR could trace Dear Foodie to Sadie Spencer.
And because I went into the office about once a year, I wasn’t really worried about walking through its doors today or taking the elevator to the top floor and giving the receptionist my name. I didn’t wear credentials around my neck, like all the other employees, nor did I mention to her that I was one.
She made a phone call—I assumed it was to my boss—and as she hung up, she asked me to follow her. She led me past a large section of cubicles, the magazine’s accolades hanging on the walls that framed the area—maybe some of those due to my influence. Toward the back of the room, she halted outside the door of his corner office. She knocked twice, and when my boss called out, she opened the door and told me to go in.
I thanked her and made sure the door was shut tightly behind me, slowly turning to him and smiling. “Good morning.”
“It’s a bit early for you, isn’t it?”
