Page 60 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

Today is going to be long, feeling like this. I lock the car door and make my way toward the open restaurant door. But something makes me stop and direct my attention at a different door. Okay, not something…someone.

Is she there?

A brand new Mercedes sits parked just a few cars up from mine. It’s possible it has nothing to do with her. Still, the idea that it could be a guy—someone she’s romantically involved with and that’s why she said what she did the other night—circles around my head violently.

Knock it off. None of your business.

I force myself to enter FURY and find Danny and his crew are busy putting the finishing touches on the art installation along the back wall. We waited until anything that might kick up dust into the air was completed before hanging it because it will be a bitch to clean once it’s up on the wall.

Danny waves to me and approaches. “Hey, man. Great game last night, huh? The Scorpions are pretty much unstoppable.”

I run a hand through my hair and bite back a groan at the pain that slices through my ribs. “Yeah. It was fun to be there with Bash, Rachel, and Flynn to see them clinch a playoff spot. How are things coming?” I motion toward the giant metal sculpture leaning against the back wall. “That thing looks even bigger in here than it did at the art gallery.”

He glances that way. “We've got most of the anchors set and should be moving it into place soon.”

“Awesome.”

He turns back to me and runs a hand over his chin, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Grant stopped by earlier.”

“Shit. Was I supposed to meet him here?”

Danny shakes his head. “I don't think so. He was with his wife, and it seemed like they just wanted to pop in.”

Pop in?

“And check up on me and the place.”

The fact they didn't just call or arrange a time brings unease creeping up my spine. Grant knows I would meet him here anytime he asks, which means he did it intentionally to either catch me off-guard or when he thought I wouldn’t be here.

“He kept asking me about an opening date. He seems pretty anxious to get the ball rolling.”

I wander over to one of the tables and slowly lower myself down, biting back a grunt. “So am I, but everything has to be perfect first. And we need the final inspections.”

“I think we’re about ready to get those scheduled.”

That should bring a wave of relief through me—to finally be to this all-important point with the finish line in sight—but instead, a sense of dread settles on my shoulders. “Already?”

He nods slowly and scans the place even though he knows it better than the back of his own hand, just like I do. “Pretty much.”

This is it. Everything I've worked for, basically my whole life, is just on the horizon. Only now, all the ways it could go horribly wrong won't stop racing through my head.

The critics could hate my food.

The people could hate my food.

I could give someone food poisoning.

I could be overpriced and no one will come.

My food might suck and no one will come.

I rub my temples and squeeze my eyes closed against the growing headache. “How much more time do you need?”

He shrugs. “A day or two tops. I can call and schedule the inspections right now.”

“I’m sure Grant will be thrilled about that.”

Danny rushes off to make his calls while I pull out my phone to make the one I need to. As if today isn’t already painful enough, now I have to deal with a call to my partner, who apparently doesn’t trust me.

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