Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
"Fine, I want you to back away."
"I'm not anywhere near him. He's all yours. In fact, why don't you tell him to leave me the hell alone?" I mean, this has gotten ridiculous. All I want is for both of them to go away, but here we are.
"We're not talking anymore."
"Good, because he's a leech." I'm beginning to believe Sara shares this attribute. They should be together.
"He is not." Her hands slam down on the table, making me jump back in my chair. "He's sophisticated and smart." Oh boy, someone’s been drinking the Felipe punch.
Are we talking about the same person? Sure, he tries to come off that way, but over time you can see a lot of it is fake. She should be able to see that more than me.
"Why am I here, then?"
"I need you to talk to Felipe for me."
Holy hell. This is why she called me here? For me to somehow get her back in Felipe's good graces?
“What do you even want me to say to him?”
“You’ll do it?” Her smile returns. The screen of her phone lights up. If I can get them together, maybe they'll leave me alone. “Oh, he’s live now.” Sara quickly snatches her phone off the table. I start to get up, thinking I can slip out of here and block her. It was pointless to come here. Not sure what I thought I would get out of this.
Can’t a girl just have badass best girlfriends?
When I hear Felipe's voice play out over the speaker of her phone, I start to get up. That is until I hear Brooks's voice. What the hell?
“Why is Brooks with—” I snatch the phone from her hand. Sure enough, he is there.
What the hell is going on now?
Chapter Sixteen
BROOKS
For the first time since I opened The Plate, there are empty tables. I dismiss all the staff except Jess, who served as a maître d’ at a small Paris eatery to help pay for culinary school before she became a chef. She mans the front of the house for the few customers while I prepare everything from the prepped ingredients.
Slater sits in the kitchen alternating between watching me and checking the internet. I don’t need for her to tell me what they’re saying online. I can read it in the thin line her mouth forms and the tightness around her eyes. I can feel it in the chill of the kitchen and the quiet of the front of the house.
Savvier than I gave him credit for, Felipe Wilson was able to capture—and broadcast—my threats of harm to him. After I left, Wilson had continued his lies saying that he wasn’t able to catch it on camera, but I’d talked about how Slater was mine and that I wasn’t going to allow anyone else in her life. Rather than coming off as a protective boyfriend, Wilson made me out to be an unhinged misogynist who wanted to control Slater. People were in her comments telling her to leave me.
Those comments bothered me, but I didn’t say anything to Slater because she was upset enough.
When the last customer is served and the kitchen is spotless, I turn all the lights off and lead my girl upstairs.
“I guess threatening to kill someone is not the best form of advertising,” I joke as the lights to the kitchen come on when we enter.
A high-pitched giggle escapes and then abruptly turns to a sob. She stuffs a fist in her face. “God, I’m so sorry. What did I drag you into?”
“I didn’t realize you dragged me over to Wilson’s.”
“You know what I mean. You just wanted to get laid, and now your restaurant is ruined.”
“Ruined is a strong word.” I push in the dial to the gas stove and listen to the click click click as the gas ignites the burner. It’s a comforting sound. As the water and cinnamon stick heats in the sauce pan, I grab the maple syrup and herbal tea leaves from the cupboard. “And I’m happy to have gotten laid, as you put it, because you and I were meant to be together.”
“Are we? Because so far both our reputations have been ruined.”
“We’re in a downturn. I think Graham would say this is a buying opportunity.” I pour the cinnamon infused water over the loose tea to steep. Once it’s ready, I add the syrup ad top it with a squeeze of lemon.
“Is there a reputation stock market where we can buy good reviews and customers?”
“Probably.” I push the drink toward Slater. “Drink. It will make you feel better.”
“What about you?” she asks as she picks up the booze free hot toddy.
“Having my own comfort drink.” I pour myself a whiskey and tap my glass to hers. “To better times.”
Slater looks marginally better after a few sips. The hot drink has put color in her cheeks. She still looks defeated, slumped on the kitchen stool, her elbows on the counter and her hands cupping the mug. I lean back against the counter and cross my ankles.