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He chuckled. "Usually I don't, but I suspect that today, it's actually important. Where can I put this?"
"Wherever you want. Just leave it here by the entrance. Would you like something to drink, a coffee or tea?"
"Scarlett," Julian said after putting down the package, "you still have shampoo in your hair. You just got a gift from my brother. I think the only thing I'm supposed to do is take a hike and let you enjoy the day. By the way, I've also been instructed to tell you that you should open that as soon as you get it."
"Okay." I laughed nervously. I couldn't wait to be alone with my gift. "Thank you, a lot, for bringing it over."
"Sure. Whatever the family needs, I'm there. Especially if I happen to be in the neighborhood and they involuntarily make me their transportation mule." He winked at me. "But still, my pleasure."
On that mysterious note, he left, closing the door behind him.
I immediately darted to the kitchen to get a pair of scissors. What could it be that was so large? I carefully cut the brown wrapping paper so I wouldn't damage whatever was inside. And then my heart leaped in my chest.
Oh goodness.It wasmypainting. The one I'd fallen in love with all those weeks ago.Jackson Square. I beamed from ear to ear as I took in all the colors, especially the delicate shades ofthe sky. I loved it. I'd loved it at first sight anyway, but this was different. I felt like this painting was meant for me.
Belatedly, I noticed there was an envelope too. It had fallen to the floor. I picked it up, seeing there was nothing written on either side and that it wasn’t sealed. Opening it, I took out a piece of paper. It simply said,Meet me in Jackson Square at our beignet bench at eleven o'clock.
It was Chad's handwriting. I was overjoyed.
I grinned, shaking my hips, and then realized that was only an hour away. And as Julian had well pointed out, I was a mess.
Even though all I wanted to do was call Chad and look at my painting some more, I darted back to the bathroom and finished washing my hair. Then I blow-dried it as fast as I could. It usually took me thirty minutes to get it completely dry, but there was no chance of that right now.
Oh, who cares, Scarlett? The humidity will do its thing anyway.
I put on a cute summer dress because New Orleans was starting to heat up pretty early on in the day. I kept glancing at the clock as I went through the motions, slowly starting to panic. I only had twenty minutes to get there. No way in hell could I rely on my streetcar. Instead, I ordered an Uber. The nearest car was five minutes away, but I was too anxious to wait inside, so I headed out of the building.
After I got outside, I looked at my phone, intending to check the Uber app. But my screen lit up with a call.
It was from an unknown number, but I had a hunch about who it was. Simon had called from an unknown number when Chad had answered. I’d wanted to call back to give him a piece of my mind once I got better, but I couldn’t. This time, though, I wasn't going to back down.
"Hello, this is Scarlett,” I answered.
“You bitch.” His voice was enough to make my skin crawl. "You thought I wouldn't know that he offered you my job?"
"It's not really your job anymore, is it? Word on the street is, he threw you out even though he hasn't gotten a yes from me."
"Turn it down. He'll come crawling back to me. You’ll be no good. You don’t have what it takes to be a chef.”
I bristled. “You listen to me, Simon. You put me down for years, trying to make me feel small. I'm ashamed to say that you even succeeded on occasion, but no more. I'm strong. I'm very good at what I do. I am a chef, and a damn good one. You losing your job has absolutely nothing to do with me. You lost it because you are a piece of shit."
God, it felt so good to say that, so I kept going. "You've got rage issues, and you’re simply not a good person. No one wants to be around someone like that."
"Tell Mark you're not taking the job."
"I shall do no such thing."
I had zero plans to take it, but he didn't need to know that. For now, I was simply basking in the satisfaction that he was tearing his hair out, thinking I’d gotten his job.
"Have a nice life, Simon,” I said before hanging up on him. I felt victorious and utterly free. I should’ve had this conversation with him a long time ago. But I was proud that I’d finally done it anyway.
My Uber arrived right on time. I was a complete basket case during the drive, going through everything that had happened in the past hour and trying to process it all.
What’s this about? It has to be something good, right?
I couldn't believe he'd actually tracked down my painting. I loved him even more for that.
“Is this okay?” the driver asked when we reached Jackson Square. “The drop-off pin is farther away, but I can stop here. It’s gonna be trickier farther down the street.”
