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“Maybe you’ll find you like each other,” Savannah said, ever the optimist.
“Maybe I’ll also find myself on a billionaire’s yacht in the Mediterranean. It’s not going to happen.”
Nope. Wasn’t going to wind up liking Sean. But I was just a little bit concerned I might kiss the jerk again at some point.
Just to remind myself what it was like.
Maybe I’d made it seem better in my head than it really was.
Maybe it had just been so tantalizing and sexy because he’d caught me off guard and because tensions were running high between us.
Maybe I could kiss him again and it would be awkward or boring.
And maybe I was a complete and total idiot.
Martin arrived to meet me on time, but Isla was late. That didn’t surprise me. She probably was not in any hurry to see me. Though Martin being on time didn’t mean he was friendly. He’d given me a grunt and sat on the barstool next to me. Then he waved down the bartender and ordered a whiskey.
I was just sipping a beer. I wasn’t there to drink. I wanted to clear the air, let them both know I would have never suggested Nico and Sid spring my hiring on them like that. “It’s good to see you again,” I said. “It’s been, what, six years since we worked together?”
Martin gave me a long stare. “About that. I taught you everything I know. That was clearly a stupid move on my part.”
We were getting straight to it. Fine. I didn’t need to fuck around at this point in my life. “I didn’t know you weren’t informed of my being hired. Just so you know. I would have never let Nico and Sid throw that little lunch meeting the way they did. I may be aggressive and confident, but I’m not a complete douchebag asshole.”
Martin just grunted. “You still like to roll in to work hungover reeking like liquor and sex?” He threw back his whiskey in one shot.
Damn. He had some serious anger going on.
“No. I’m thirty-five now. But for the record, it never kept me from doing my job. I was a hard worker, you can’t deny that.”
He still didn’t respond.
“I still like liquor and women in case you’re wondering. But my personal life is none of your damn business.”
Isla stepped into the bar and I gave her a wave.
“Oh, no? You’re the one who brought your personal life into it by constantly having women into the restaurant and talking about your wild nights.”
“Women into the restaurant?” He was so full of shit. “Once, Martin. Once, a woman I was seeing came in and threw a scene. How was that my fault? I didn’t know she was going to lose her crap on me in public.”
Isla came up to us, gaze darting between us.
“Okay, Chef Eight Dates. Whatever you say.”
“Let it go, man. Seriously,” I told him. “This doesn’t have to be an issue. Let’s just move forward.” It wasn’t my fault I had advanced further in my career than he had. I wasn’t going to apologize for being successful. I was trying to be cool and professional but he obviously wasn’t interested in the same.
“You know what? Fuck you.” Martin stood up and threw down some cash for his drink. “I’m too old for this shit. I don’t need to put up with this. I’m not working for some punk-ass manwhore who has more swagger than skill.”
That was taking it too far. “Fuck me? No, fuck you. I have a ton of skill. I’ve earned this job and screw you if you can’t accept the reality of it. I deserve this position.”
“I quit,” Martin said. “I’m not doing this.”
“Martin!” Isla said, voice high in pitch. “You don’t want to do that. Think about your family.”
But he shook his head. “I’m done. I’ve given my whole adult life to working for other people and I’m done. Good luck, Isla. You’re going to need it.”
I didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to stop him. Let him quit. It wasn’t my problem. Look, I could totally understand his disappointment, but it wasn’t my fault and sometimes you just had to suck it up. But I guess he was done sucking it up. I could understand that too.
“Martin,” Isla said. “Stop.”
