Page 89 of The Chef

“Yes.”

I snort in derision. “I don’t believe you, Cliff.”

“You can have as much faith and hope as you like, but there’s a high chance Rockpool’s going to fail,” he replies. “It is going to fail without the investment we need from someone like Cleo. She’s going to buy it out.”

“And I’ll be the first to go. Either I get fired, or I’ll quit. I can’t work for your ex, Cliff, don’t you get it?”

“You’re definitely going to get fired.” This time it isn’t Cliff that speaks, but a female voice.

Cleo’s voice.

She appears from behind Cliff, having followed us both down to the beach. She glides on the sand towards us.

“You’ll be the first to get fired,” she repeats, giving me her patronizing Hollywood smile. Behind it is hatred.

Hatred of me.

She wants me gone, and she’s unafraid to say so.

Who am I dealing with here?

Cliff doesn’t react to her comments. It’s like he’s been brainwashed by her. Corrupted by her cosmetic beauty and media-trained grace.

“Can’t you see, Cliff?” I ask, my voice straining over the sound of crashing waves behind me. “Can’t you see she’s only back because she needs a good PR image? She’s just going for you because of your family name and how nice a ring on her finger will look to her million followers on Instagram, can’t you see that?”

Cliff opens his mouth to speak, but Cleo quickly interrupts.

“This is so stupid having this… confrontation out here in public,” she turns to Cliff, reaching out with her perfect hand to stroke his shoulder. “It’s embarrassing. How about you, Cliff, come back to the restaurant and we can sort out the details of my offer? You must hear them. You must hear me out on what I have to offer you.”

Her eyes turn back to me, shooting daggers in my direction.

“Say no,” I cry out to Cliff. “Just say no. We can make Rockpool work. Trust me.”

Cliff shakes his head. His eyes drop to the ground. “I have to consider every option,” he says. “I have to do what’s best for the business.”

And that’s when I know he doesn’t love me.

31

BAY

Pearl and Davy know something’s up the minute I walk through the front door. Of course, they do. They know me better than anyone. My niece, nephew, and Fisher are sitting in the living room, watching TV together when I pull up and enter the house.

On my way up to the door I tried to dry my eyes with the backs of my hands, but once I’m inside Pearl immediately runs up to me. “What’s wrong?” she asks, her sweet voice rising. She sees the tears. She sees my red cheeks. It’s like she can sense the sadness and anger emanating from me.

Davy follows his sister. He looks at me quizzically.

“What’s up?” he asks.

I can’t hide this from them.

Pearl tugs at my pants, her cute little face staring up at me.

“What’s wrong,” she repeats.

How can I really explain this to them? How can I tell them why I’m upset?

“Boy troubles,” I say to them softly. I manage a smile to temper their looks at me, but it doesn’t seem to affect the worried expressions on my niece and nephew.