“So why the hell didn’t you?” He shakes his head, eyes simmering with intensity. “You could at least pretend to care about the food.”
My mouth falls open. “What about anything I’ve been doing makes it seem like I don’t care?”
“Not everything is content! It doesn’t all need to be recorded for your precious followers.”
“I’m not going to apologize for doing what I’m good at. Whatyouasked me to do.” I meet his charged gaze. “And it’s not like you’re giving me anything else to work on. I could take on more responsibility. Even help you with the menu.”
He presses me against the alleyway wall, using his considerable size to his advantage. He ditched the chef’s jacket inside, leaving on a tight white T-shirt that looks about ready to rip open at the seams. I studiously ignore the thick, corded muscles of his arms.
“Why the hell would I?” His hand presses flat against the wall next to my head. “You haven’t earned a privilege like that. And besides, I can’t trust a stubborn brat in the kitchen.”
The insult—brat—clangs through me. I’m sure he doesn’t realize how much it stings, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he hit his mark. Everyone in my life has called me a brat, one time or another, even Julia. He’s nothing special.
The air between us crackles with energy. We’re both breathing hard, like racehorses on the way to the finish line.
“Fine.” I step around him, heart sinking. “I’m not going to beg you to take me seriously. Have fun failing alone.”
He grabs me by the wrist. “Wait.”
“What?”
“Go home.”
For half a second, I consider it. Maybe there’s an evening flight I can jump on. I laugh bitterly at the thought. “Wow. Okay.”
“For today,” he continues, something flickering in his expression.“Take the rest of the day off. I’ll clean this up. But I want you here tomorrow around seven. Bring a bathing suit.”
Whyis on the tip of my tongue, but I manage to hold it in. As tempting as it sounds right now to leave him, I know I’m not going to. I’m in too deep; I have to see this through.
“Heard,” I grind out before heading back inside.
Chapter 20
À la Minute
Jack
“You sure you still know how to drive this thing?” Chester asks as we haul the last cooler onto his motorboat. “It’s been ages, you know. I could tag along.”
“What, so you can stare at Poppy all day?”
He lifts his baseball cap, swiping at his forehead. “I still don’t know why you won’t.”
I squint up at the early morning sun. It’s plenty warm already, and clear for miles. Unless Florida decides to grace us with an unexpected thunderstorm, there shouldn’t be a cloud in the sky for our trip to Horseshoe Island.
“She can’t stand me, for one thing.” A statement that I’d bet is painfully true after yesterday. I acted like a fucking asshole. She deserved a dressing down after not listening to me around a hot pan, but I went too far. Way too far. The crumpled look on her face when I called her a brat hit me like a gut punch.
Chester shrugs. “Doesn’t mean she’s not into you.”
“Dude.”
“What? One little hate fuck never hurt anyone.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How are things going with Kiara? Ask her out yet?”
“Low blow, man.”
“Then stay out of my business.”
