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Fourteen
“Thanks for meeting me,” I said to Martin, as I sat down across from him at a coffee shop. I’d been trying to stop myself from having this conversation for almost three weeks but we were only a week out from the cook-off and I wanted answers.
Sean thought I should leave it alone, but I couldn’t help it. I needed to look Martin in the eye and hear what his explanation was for betraying me.
“Sure,” he said, leaning casually back in his chair, a paper cup clutched in his hands, against his chest. “What can I do for you, Kowalski?”
He’d never called me by my last name before. That was weird. He also had always been a pale guy, but now he looked downright pasty. I wondered if he was sick or something.
“I want to know why you’re using my menu for the cook-off,” I said, because there was no point in beating around the bush.
“It was our menu,” he said. “Not yours exclusively.”
“Bullshit! Those were my ideas.” Man, this guy had balls.
“Prove it,” he said.
I just stared at Martin for a second. “Who the hell are you?” I asked him. “Because I thought you were a decent guy, not a subhuman prick.”
Martin sighed. But it wasn’t an indication he felt bad or was weary. It was more like he was annoyed with himself for wasting his time by agreeing to even see me. “You are really naive. No one is really
your friend in this business. Keep that in mind.”
That was an odd statement. “So you’re saying you pretended to like me for three years to steal one lousy menu from me? That’s a lot of pretending for a barbeque sauce.” None of it made any sense.
“You don’t know my reality,” he said.
Apparently not. “Your reality is fucked up,” I said. Because it was.
“You know what’s fucked up? You sleeping with every chef you’ve ever worked for.”
That made me laugh out loud in total disbelief. “What are you talking about? I worked with Chef Sucre for three years and I’ve never once seen him outside of the restaurant.”
“Then why was he always favoring you over me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m a better chef, not because I was sucking his dick.” I was tempted to throw my coffee in Martin’s face, but I didn’t want to be sued for burning him. “You’re such a sexist douchebag.”
“So you’re going to deny that Kincaid is nailing you?”
I went very still. How the hell could he know that? “I have no idea what you’re talking about or why you would care who I’m involved with.”
“I did respect you. But not anymore. Not that I know you’re just another notch on Kincaid’s belt.”
I responded with a very emphatic, “Go screw yourself.” I stood up and grabbed my coffee cup. “See you at the cook-off when I crush you.”
Having an exit like that felt amazing.
“Do you think anyone about Bone knows about us?” I asked Sean for about the billionth time as we walked through the gates and got our badges for the cook-off.
I hated keeping secrets. I absolutely suck at it. All of my friends growing up knew they could never share any juicy gossip with me that they didn’t want to get out because I just never saw the point in pretending or hiding anything. I never could check myself before I accidentally blurted out the truth.
This was worse.
Sean and I were together so much at work and I was so in love with him, it was like trying to hold the lid down on an exploding pressure cooker. I wanted to just be honest and not have to deny that I had fallen in love with my boss. I felt like it was written all over my face every time I glanced his way or we spoke to each other.
At least now I thought it had been obvious. We’d gone from sex, to sex with dating, to sex with love. Someone had to know, right? I felt like it was radiating out of me like the neon lights in Vegas.
Middle school had been less awkward than I felt at the restaurant since Sean and I had started dating. If I suddenly sprouted acne I was really going to get pissed.
