Page 62 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

With a restaurant, I have to be on every single meal every single day for the indefinite future. Even one mistake could be enough to crush this place and my reputation.

I swallow the lump in my throat and rub a hand over the stubble forming on my chin because I didn't bother to shave. Mostly because the act of raising my arm hurts too much. “Look, Grant, I'm just as worried, if not more so than you are, about getting this place up and running as soon as possible and properly. Please have some faith in me.”

He snorts. “I do. You think I would've gone into business with you in the first place if I didn't?”

“I know you put your neck on the line to back me on this and a whole lot of your money. But just because you own fifty-one percent of this place doesn't mean I'm not putting in one hundred percent effort. My blood, sweat, and tears are literally the only thing keeping me going right now.”

I bite back the rest of what I'm about to say—that I'm both emotionally and physically spent at this point.

Having Bash and Rachel here was both incredible and tiring in a way I hadn't expected. The more they’re around, the more certain memories work their way from the back of my mind, where I push them to rear their ugly truths. And the fact that I couldn't just tell them what I've been doing, talk to them about it, and maybe try to rationalize it, makes me feel even more like shit. Like I'm some sort of criminal, hiding something from my own siblings.

I fucking hate this feeling, and I refuse to live like this forever. One of these days, I will have to come clean with the family. But today is not that day. Nor do I feel like opening a can of worms with Grant about my feelings for Isabella when they’re irrelevant to how we’re moving forward.

The opening is imminent. There’s nothing that can stop it now.

Grant sighs again. “I do trust you, Jameson, and if I didn't have faith in you, I would never have agreed to go into business with you. We’re a great team, and we’re going to do great things with this restaurant. But I'm a businessman, first and foremost, and I need to ensure that we’ve dotted every I and crossed every T so there won't be any surprises.”

“There won't be. I promise.”

He grunts. “Don’t make promises you can't keep, Jameson. Let's get this place opened. You think we’ll be ready by two weeks from Saturday?”

“Yep. Two weeks from Saturday.”

The first day of my future.

* * *

IZZY

“You really think I'm ready?”

Sylvie wanders around the restaurant for what feels like the hundredth time, examining every nook and cranny with the kind of scrutiny that makes my stomach churn and my skin feel tight. “I really do. You've done a fabulous job, and people are going to love it.”

“You think?”

For some reason, validation from this woman I barely know is suddenly so damn important to me. Maybe because Grams isn’t here to see it and I don’t fully trust myself or the choices I’ve made in here, knowing what’s happening next door.

She leans back against the counter near the door and releases a heavy sigh. “I really do. But I feel like you don't.”

“It's not that exactly.”

She inclines her head backward toward Jameson’s place. “Does it have anything to do with a certain someone next door?”

It would be stupid to lie to her. After the conversation we had the last time she was here, she already knows there is tension between Jameson and me. But she doesn't know that tension boiled over in the kitchen she was just standing in.

Should I tell her? Give her all the dirty details about what Jameson did with his tongue, hands, and damn cock?

It could potentially get Jameson in a lot of hot water with Grant if he found out. But the fact that she actually knows him makes me want her insight despite my reservations. Because dinner the other night only confused things more, and I need some clarity on that situation before I can move on and focus on getting this place opened.

“We slept together.”

Her eyebrows fly up, and she pushes off the counter. “What? When did that happen? How?”

I sigh and run a hand back through my hair that fell out of the messy bun I had it in at some point during the day. “A week ago. And…it happened like how all sex happens. He…you know…”

Does she really want me to give her the nitty-gritty?

“And?”

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