Page 40 of Needing You

An unintelligible grumble reached my ears before I even arrived at his office.

Oh, super, he’s already in a good mood.Speaking of people who needed to get laid…

“Hey, bossman, how’s it going?” I knocked on the door as I entered and took a seat across from him.

He didn’t look away from his screen. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Wow, Little Miss Sunshine, huh?”

He shot me a glare, then typed something so rapidly his fingers blurred. “I would say the woman on the other end of this goddamn email chain is, yes. And she’s purposefully being obtuse and just—” His jaw clenched, and he sneered at the screen before tapping out a few more words, then presumably clicked send. He leaned back and inhaled slowly, pulling on whatever reserves of patience he stored up.

When he looked at me again, he seemed almost completely calm. Except for the fact that I knew an irritable Eric was not so easily transformed into the friendly neighborhood manager Eric, but still. He hid it well enough, and I bet most of the employees here were fooled.Impressive.

I might’ve had the explosive temper, but Eric had something even darker. He had this ability to be furious—like blackout-rage level for me—and stay quiet and controlled. The mandid notlet loose.

“Who is this person?” I asked, wondering who’d pissed him off enough to get him this visibly riled.

He scowled. “April Carrigan. Not worth discussing.”

“Okay. I’m guessing you haven’t seen the stuff I just sent over?”

Not one to waste a minute, he started clicking away at his computer the second I started speaking. He nodded toward the screen as though in answer, and then flicked a finger toward the screen while tilting it to the side so I could partially see it.

“This looks good… I’m not sure what that is, but I assume you ran it by the staff?” he pointed to a new salad I’d added.

“Yes. They tried it Wednesday and everyone loved it.” I’d been making dishes from this menu—one that I’d been developing for the months since I’d arrived home—each day this week. So far, everyone loved what I’d made and agreed the patrons of Walker’s would too.

“Let me check your— No.”

I tilted my head to see what he referred to. The cost estimate sheet. “What do you mean? How is that a no?”

Without moving his head, his eyes shifted to me. “Are you kidding? You think this is a reasonable cost estimate for Walker’s Brewery?”

I blinked at him, suddenly feeling like sixteen-year-old Will in the principal’s office. “Uh, yes. That’s why I submitted it.”

“Walker’s Brewery in Granite Springs, Colorado?”

A pit opened in my stomach and slowly started swallowing me up from the inside out. Obviously, I’d fucked up. And thanks to whatever had caused his piss-poor mood before I’d even walked in here, he was in the mood to make me feel it.

“Because I’m not sure in what universe we’d be putting fresh Atlantic salmon and cod on this menu at this price point. We can’t charge what we need to per head to make that up. We can’t—”

“I’ll find another distributor. These guys were sustainable, and I thought we’d—”

“Start thinking like a head chef and someone who has an interest in the bottom line. I know you worked in New York kitchens with resources ten times the Walker’s operating budget, but that’s not this. Your life isherenow, so you need to start acting like it.”

He picked up his office phone and punched in numbers before I could say a damn thing, but clearly, I’d been dismissed. And right then, my choice was to unleash on him or leave.

And for once, I didn’t have a long string of expletive-laden defenses. Because it’d finally gotten through my thick fucking skull what his problem with me was. Yes, I’d pushed the budget with the fish—I’d known I was bordering on reckless there, but that was just me sometimes. And my recklessness at thirty as a professional chef was one that’d been honed. It wasn’t the one that had me running across the country.

It wasn’t the one that’d had me leaving him. My twin.

He was right about the fish. I didn’t know what other thoughts swam around in his head, but I needed to confront him. Not today when he was already in a shit mood, and not when I was distracted by Kate and still finding my way with Jackson. But soon.

For now, I’d try not to let that whole interaction cast a pall over the rest of my day. I returned to my office and slumped into my chair, promising myself I’d adjust the budget with the alternate supplier I’d already had on deck. After that? I’d go to my happy place. If cooking tonight’s dinner service didn’t cure my bad mood, then at least I’d know I was feeding people.

My phone buzzed and I pulled it out, half-expecting a new reprimand from Eric. But it wasn’t.

Jackson: You still coming to my scrimmage tomorrow night?

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