Page 7 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

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RHETT

Ihated wearing suits. The collar choked. The fabric itched. Nothing breathed. It was the kind of thing you’d wear to a board meeting. I didn’t do board meetings. Never had and I never would. Dressing up for me was putting on a new chef’s coat.

But I kept telling myself this was all for a good cause.

And I would get a chance to check out the competition. Not that it was truly competitive. There were plenty of restaurant patrons to go around. Desman Hartley was old school. I was new school. He was classic and I was cutting edge.

The back of the limo smelled like perfume, leather, and money. I sat stretched out, ankles crossed, arms spread along the back of the seat as the driver navigated the busy streets of downtown Manhattan.

Across from me, Simone had her iPad balanced on her crossed legs. Immaculate, of course. Hair slicked back. Eye makeup that looked like it had been done by a professional. She was born for this world of public appearances and polished answers. She made me look good.

And that was why I paid her so well. She had been my personal assistant for years, but she was more than that. She was like a mom, aunt, sister, and friend rolled into one. She kept me on time and on schedule. There was no way I could juggle all the balls I had in the air without her help.

Conroy sat beside her wearing a suit as well. He looked as miserable as I felt. Neither of us did the suit thing. And I had a feeling we both looked like boys playing dress-up. Our suits were tailored, but it was clear we didn’t know how to wear them. We didn’t know how to sit and feel normal.

“So, cocktail hour starts the moment we arrive,” Simone said. “Mingling, photo ops, introductions.”

“So ass kissing,” I muttered.

“Unprotected ass kissing,” Conroy added.

Simone didn’t look up. “Then we sit for the first course. Welcome speeches. Tour announcements. Livestreamed, by the way. So try not to look like you do right now. And for the love of all things holy, please stop messing with that damn tie.”

“I can’t breathe,” I complained.

“Me either,” Conroy added.

She ignored our complaining. “Then second course, main course, entertainment, dessert, and more entertainment,” she continued. “It goes until two. You stay until two.”

Conroy groaned. “I’m tired just hearing about it.”

Simone turned to him. “Put your big boy pants on and buckle up. This is Desman Hartley’s turf. We’re not running the kitchen tonight—we’re playing nice. He needs this. We need this.”

I rolled my eyes and stared out the tinted window. “I’m not sure how this helps anybody.”

“Feed America helps people,” Simone said. “This raises awareness. Awareness raises money.”

“I’d rather be in my uniform.”

“Black-on-black everything?” she asked. “We know.”

“At least that shit breathes.”

The limo slowed in front of Salt & Mercy, Desman’s crown jewel. I’d been here before. A few times, actually. The place wasn’t just a restaurant. It was a spectacle. Every inch had been designed to make you feel rich, even if you weren’t. Velvet booths. Gold cutlery. It was an experience but it catered to wealthy people. It was opulent in an obvious way.

My restaurant was opulent in a low-key way. People that came into my place knew they were paying top dollar but it was meant to be more understated. Not all the flashy gold and shiny shit.

People had changed. They liked mystery. They wanted to feel rich without looking like it.

I didn’t get it, but I didn’t have to. I tapped into the market and I was going to milk it until things changed again.

Desman used to be a beast behind the stove, but lately he’d traded foie gras for philanthropy. I wasn’t judging—not exactly. It just felt like he had hung up his knife a little too willingly. Fame softened some people. For me, it only sharpened the edge.

And if Desman wanted to go off and feed the hungry, whatever. And if I earned a little good PR because I helped out, even better. I had to do this shit to make people forget who I was. More like who my family was.

The moment the limo door cracked open, camera flashes ignited like lightning. Paparazzi. Local press. Probably a couple influencers all hoping to get that candid shot.