Page 21 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

“Oh…” His deep laugh rumbles through the phone. “A hot chick, huh? Sounds like that's more trouble than actually getting the restaurant up and running.”

“Nah. It's not like that.” I run a hand back through my hair and instinctively stare at the wall I share with Isabella’s place. “I'm not stupid enough to get involved with my competition. I'm having too much fun messing with her.”

“Oh, God.” Bash chuckles. “What did you do?”

“Just took a page from your playbook. Playing a little dirty.”

“I gave all that up.”

“Only because you pussied out.”

“Pussied out?” He barks a laugh. “You just wait. One day, some woman is going to blindside you. You’ll never even see her coming, and then you’re going to rethink that comment and apologize to me.”

“Apologize to you?” I snort. “That’ll be the fuckin’ day.”

“Ha ha.”

The door opens, and Danny walks in with his clipboard full of our work list.

I glance at my watch. “Hey, look, Bash, I gotta go. My contractor just showed up. Text me the information.”

“I will. And hey, Jamo? Let me leave you with this piece of advice.”

“What’s that?”

“Playing dirty can be fun, and yes, even sometimes necessary, but just remember it has consequences.”

“I already know I’m creating another enemy.”

That’s never been anything I’ve been concerned about.

“I’m talking about more than that, Jameson. I’m talking about the kind of consequences that are internal.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Nor does he need to. I know exactly what he’s talking about. I watched it happen to our own father. Saw it starting to happen with Bash, too, before he met Greer and got wise.

“Talk to you later.” I end the call and shove my phone into my back pocket as Danny approaches.

Bash is right about one thing—playing dirty is necessary sometimes. I have no intention of changing my tactics with the beauty next door. Not until I’ve won.

* * *

IZZY

“Are you sure you don't need me to come over?” Ashley doesn’t bother to hide the concern in her voice—nor is it unexpected coming from her.

Over the years, as Grams started to decline and I was taking care of her more than she was taking care of me, Ash seemed to naturally step into the role of “mothering” me despite my insisting it isn’t needed.

While Grams tried to monitor me and help if I needed it, my staunch independence tended to get in the way of that and cause arguments more often than not. She would say I was overdoing it and pushing myself toward a hospital stay, and I would tell her I was fine—even when I definitely wasn’t.

It’s the same with Ash. She would do anything for me, and I for her. But it doesn’t mean I want her to. I would probably need to be on the floor gasping for my final breath before I would actually ask for her help.

Which I honestly don’t need right now, despite her thinking otherwise.

I turn onto my side, which sends a slight stab of pain to my lower back. Fighting the urge to groan and alert Ash to how truly uncomfortable I am tonight, I sigh instead. “Yes. I'm sure.”

“Because you know I will be there in ten minutes if you need me to be.”

“I know, Ash. And I appreciate it. Really.” Even though I don’t say it out loud often enough, she knows I love the shit out of her and appreciate having her in my life more than I can voice. I glance at the clock. “But it's already midnight. You need sleep as badly as I do.”

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