Page 78 of Mr. Hotshot CEO
“We’re going to Montreal this weekend,” Julian says, “and honestly, I was hoping everyone would forget about the scrapbooking. Why do you want to attend a scrapbooking lesson anyway?”
“Because I would take great joy in watching your reaction when someone asks you to stencil hearts and flowers. Not that I have any idea what scrapbooking involves. I’m just making shit up.”
“Clearly,” Julian mutters.
“You’re planning a romantic weekend in Montreal?” Cedric asks. “This is serious.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and Julian opens his mouth, probably to protest that it’s not serious. But even though that’s true, I don’t want to hear him say the words, so I quickly change the subject.
“I hear you’re a writer,” I say to Cedric.
Unfortunately, this seems to be the wrong thing to say.
“Iwasa writer,” he grunts. “I don’t what I am now.”
A brief silence settles over the table.
“Come on, man,” Vince says. “You’ll figure it out soon. Now, how about we order a bottle of wine. What do you like, Courtney?”
“I always let Julian pick. I don’t know much about wine, except that there’s white and red.”
Cedric turns to Julian. “It doesn’t bother you to hear her talk about wine like this? You’re usually rather serious about your wine.”
“I bet Courtney has other skills that make up for it,” Vince says.
“Vince,” Julian growls.
“I wasn’t talking aboutthoseskills. But her skill at picking out phallic houseplants is definitely impressive, and she’s succeeded in keeping you away from the office. Priya says you haven’t been in since that first day. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“He made me a nice three-course meal yesterday.” The words pop out of my mouth before I can think better of it. I don’t want to talk about last night’s dinner.
Vince and Cedric exchange a look.
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Shit. They know about my breakdown and my depression. Julian must have told them.
I cannot handle his family knowing about that. I feel too exposed as it is.
Before I can shoot Julian a dirty look, Cedric says, “It’s hard for me to imagine him doing anything in the kitchen beyond making an espresso. He’s certainly never cooked for a girlfriend in the past. Or maybe he did and we just didn’t hear about it.”
Okay, I was wrong about the reason for their reaction. I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“I’ll save you the speculation,” Julian says. “I’ve never cooked a fancy meal for anyone but Courtney.”
“He even baked last week,” Vince says. “He made lemon squares and cookies, and Po Po loved them.”
Cedric laughs. “If I bat my eyelashes real pretty, will you make me lemon squares?”
“I can make you lemon squares,” Julian says, “but, please, for the love of God, don’t bat your eyelashes.”
Cedric does it anyway, in an exaggerated fashion, and we all laugh.
“Make me a batch of lemon squares, too,” Vince says. “Preferably some special lemon squares with weed.”
“Are you going to eat them off your latest fling’s stomach?” Julian asks, then shakes his head. “Why did I put that image in my head?”
The waitress comes over. Julian orders a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, which I think is a red wine, but I’m not sure. She soon returns with the wine, which is indeed red.
After she pours us each a small glass, Julian raises his glass in a toast. He glances at Cedric, and I think he wants to say something about how it’s nice to have his brother back in Toronto, but in the end, he keeps it simple. “Cheers.”
