Page 72 of The Chef

I just hope it stays like this. I hope my heart remains unbroken. I hope I’m not left on my knees again. Alone and shattered.

I hope Rockpool survives and thrives. I hope it doesn’t collapse.

But there’s something I haven’t told Bay. I haven’t told her that I am prepared to sell it if it all goes bad, that I’m ready to walk away from it all. I would much prefer selling the restaurant than seeing it crumble. Bay would never understand if I let her in on this, she doesn’t know what it’s like to be pressured by a rich family.

I will sell Rockpool before it falls apart. I can’t fail. Not with it. Not again like that Paris hotel room. I can’t afford to fail again in front of my family. They’ve seen me fail with Cleo Dash, they can’t see me fail with Rockpool as well.

I feel Bay slowly drift off to sleep on my arm. Her soft purring as she falls unconscious.

I don’t want to lose Rockpool.

And, most of all, I don’t want to lose Bay.

24

BAY

It’s night.

I slip out of Cliff’s tight embrace of his muscular arm and slide down the bed, careful not to wake him. Getting off the bed, I step onto his hoodie. The fabric is soft on my toes.

Ah, so that’s where it is.

Bingo.

I lean down to pick up the hoodie, fitting it over my head. I’m as silent as I can be to not stir Cliff. I turn my head to check back on him. He lies so peacefully in bed, his defined chest slowly rising and falling with his breath.

I can’t believe I’ve been sleeping next to him.

Sex with him is out-of-this-world insane. I still feel it in my body hours after we’ve climaxed. The man knows what to do to please me, and I love him for it.

With Cliff’s hoodie on, way too over-sized for me, I sneak out of his room, trying hard not to make a sound. I cautiously make my way into the kitchen and living space, wrapping my arms around me in an effort for my body temperature to stay above freezing.

I head straight for his fridge. Of course. The light from it illuminates the kitchen in a warm glow. I scan the shelves until I find the cheese platter.

Bingo again.

I take the platter out and start nibbling at the expensive cheese, content that I’ve found what I’ve been craving for. What a great midnight snack.

I bring the cheese out onto the backyard, sitting on one of the chairs outside. I stare out across the ocean and eat the food like the rat I am, watching the waves as they curl and fall onto the sandy shores.

New Water’s a beautiful place.

I’m happy I’ve moved here. I’m happy I’ve found the job at Rockpool.

I’m happy I’ve met Cliff.

I think I like him.

Like, really like him.

But, going from past experience, I know that isn’t going to help things. Not for me. There’s a reason why guys I’ve liked have never properly asked me out, and that’s simply because I’m not as pretty as other girls. Especially the kind of girls I know Cliff’s been with. Girls like that Cleo Dash. Supermodels. Actresses.

It’s not some fake modesty, I just know I’m a bit of a plain jane, and I’m okay with that. It’s just that I always fall for a guy like Cliff. The unobtainable one. The one who just, in the words of my friend-slash-serial-dater back in Melbourne, likes to fuck and dump girls like me. We’re easy because we fall in love too quickly with a gorgeous face and a winning smile. We’re not the relationship girls, we’re the ones to have some fun with, to have a brief fling with, and then discard.

And maybe Cliff is just like that. Judging by his reputation he is that guy. The one with the gorgeous face and winning smile who’s charmed his way through half of Europe, and I’m just another one in a long list of conquests. Just another girl.

I wrap my arms around me again, feeling the soft cotton of his hoodie against my chin. It even smells of him. Expensive shower gel and that nice European aftershave he wears. I breathe him in and sigh.