Page 109 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

38

CLEMENTINE

This was it, the final pop-up event before Thanksgiving, and everything felt different. The stakes were higher, the crowd was more exclusive, and the weight of what had happened between Rhett and me hung over everything like a storm cloud.

I didn’t read the stories published this morning, but I knew they were out there. My father was trying to be normal, but I felt his disappointment at the breakfast table this morning. Mom said nothing. Henry was doing his best to keep things light.

I knew a scholarship wouldn’t make or break his career. My parents had money. It was the football thing. Recruiters weren’t going to be interested in bringing in a kid that would lead to headlines that had nothing to do with their football program.

Staying away from Rhett was the only way to make this whole thing die. Everyone was going to be watching us to see if we would sneak away for another hot kiss or if Rhett would try and cop a feel.

VIP guests in designer gowns and perfectly tailored suits mingled in the ballroom. They sipped cocktails and talked about their plans for the holidays. Some were headed to Aspen and others for the south of France. It was an elite crowd with money to burn.

Dad’s project needed their financial support. I couldn’t do anything that would steal the attention from what we were all doing here.

I spotted at least three food bloggers I recognized and two camera crews setting up in strategic corners. My stomach churned as I realized they’d all be watching, waiting for any sign of drama between me and Rhett.

I wasn’t going to give it to them.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed through the kitchen doors and immediately got to work, keeping my head down and my hands busy. The familiar rhythm of prep work was comforting, even if everything else felt wrong.

I probably should have worn the standard black uniform, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was sure it was completely made up in my head, but when I wore all black, I felt constrained. I couldn’t cook well. My flair for spice was muted. I needed my vibrant colors. Which was why I went with the black pants and pretty yellow top that felt like wearing sunshine.

Everyone avoided me. I felt like I was the plague instead of the bundle of sunshine I was trying to project.

Ten minutes into prep, Conroy appeared at my station with a gentle smile that somehow made everything feel a little less overwhelming.

“Hey there, little one,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically, not looking up from the vegetables I was dicing. “Really glad you’re back. How’s your arm?”

“Good,” he said, lifting it and showing off the range of motion. “Listen, Clem⁠—”

“I said I’m fine, Conroy.” I kept my knife moving in steady, precise cuts. “Just focused on getting through tonight.”

“I know you are. But I also know you well enough to see when you’re having a rough go of it. I’ve been watching you the last few weeks. Up and down and always soldiering on. You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

“I’m just tired,” I said. “Looking forward to Thanksgiving.”

“You should ignore the tabloids, you know. They’re just vultures looking for their next meal.”

I snorted, finally looking up at him. “That’s a lot easier said than done when your face is plastered all over them. Me in what I thought was a private moment. They’re making me look like I climb every chef I’ve ever worked with. My father’s life’s work is being threatened because of my poor judgment.”

“Your poor judgment?” Conroy’s eyebrows shot up. “Clem, you’re a grown woman who developed feelings for someone. That’s not poor judgment, that’s being human.”

I went back to my vegetables, cutting them smaller than they needed to be just to have something to do with my hands. “Tell that to the sponsors who pulled out of the soup kitchen project.”

“Look,” Conroy said, moving closer and lowering his voice. “I know Rhett can be intense. Hell, I’ve worked with the guy for three years, and sometimes he makes me want to throw a pan at his head. But he’s not the monster those articles are making him out to be.”

“I never said he was a monster.”

“No, but you’re treating him like one. Like he’s some kind of disease you need to avoid.” Conroy crossed his arms. “The man showed up at your house last night in a tuxedo with a dress and jewelry, Clem. That’s not the behavior of someone who was just looking for a hookup.”

My knife stilled. “He told you about that?”

“He didn’t have to tell me. I was with him when he was buying the dress. Spent two hours at Bloomingdale’s asking every saleswoman in the place for advice.” Conroy shook his head. “I’ve never seen him like that. He was nervous, excited, talking about how he wanted to do right by you.”

The image of Rhett nervously consulting department store employees made my chest ache. I’d been so caught up in my own panic that I hadn’t really processed what that gesture must have meant to him.