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“Sure. My account name is on the bottom.”
I opened the app and sent the money. “Done. Still happy with the car?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s bigger, and that’s an adjustment. Parking and all.”
“I’m sorry about Sheila. Have you named the new one? You could go with Sheila Jr. or Sheila Two.”
She stopped unpacking and frowned. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“You’re happy that you took the deal still?”
Her eyes actually sparkled. Wow. “Ok. You were right. It’s the nicest car I’ve ever had. And I need something reliable with a working heater since I go to work at dawn’s crack in the mornings. Don’t expect me to say you’re right very often, so enjoy this one.” She rolled out the leather pouch with her knives.
I couldn’t stop my grin. “I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s a dream. Okay, first lesson is knife skills. Grab your chef’s knife, and I’ll sharpen it.”
I wanted to confess my role in euthanizing Sheila and put it all behind us. She liked the SUV, and I wasn’t terrible to be around. She’d understand.
I handed her my knife, and she unboxed her whetstone.
“I’m glad I could help. A little confession here.” I hesitated. “That day at the farm, I may have loosened a couple of spark plugs so the car wouldn’t start.”
She stopped sharpening and squinted at me; her brows furrowed. “What?” Maybe I should’ve done this when she didn’t have a big knife in her hand. “Are you serious?”
“You needed a safer car. This isn’t the city with lots of people around to help. You were a few drives away from being broken down on the side of some deserted snowy highway in the mountains, or worse, on a ferry. You don’t want that kind of heat. All I did was help you out of your own way. That’s what I do. I help people find the win-win.”
“I’d bet thatwin-winis more yours than theirs. I can’t believe you. How would you know what a win was for me?” She gritted her teeth, and I swear her hair stood out around her face.
“I just knew. I usually do. It’s my superpower. And I was right. You said so.”
Her eyes flashed. Was that anger or hurt? “Who do you think you are?” She set the knife on the counter and turned to me. “You went way over the line of entitled and cocky jackass. You think you know what’s best for me because you have a dick, and I don’t?”
Whoa. “Of course not. I’m not a misogynistic asshole. I’ve known misogynistic assholes. That’s not me.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” She picked up the knife and went back to sharpening it, breathing hard, her tits rising and falling. A picture flashed in my mind of her panting for a different reason. Shit. I was a misogynistic asshole. Nottech-brolevel, but at least stage one or two. I had to settle this down.
“Jo. I wanted to help.”
She worked the knife on the whetstone with sharp, angry strokes. “No, you wanted me, and you didn’t want to takenofor an answer. Now I’m stuck. You made sure of that.”
I paused, letting her words roll around in my head. It was true. I saw a chance to have it my way, and I told myself it was best for her, too, so I did it. A lot of tech deals happened the same way, but it wasn’t atechmove; it was abromove. I was at least a stage two misogynistic asshole. Fuck.
“You’re right,” I said, my voice lower now. “I didn’t want any chef. I wanted you. Your food at Hill & Ocean was fantastic. I celebrated some of the best times in my career there. My career is not great these days, and having that food again would’ve been one less thing I’d lost.”
She swallowed and looked at me. The fire in her eyes had died back, and her voice softened. “That’s no excuse. Everyone has bad times, Lucas. You can’t claim temporary asshole.”
I ran my hand through my hair. I blew it. One of the last connections to my real life before the IP investigation cluster, and I screwed it up. Why was everything going to shit these days? Jo stared out the back windows as the light faded from a gray day to black.
“I overstepped. I’ll pay you for the rest of the month. You keep the car. You don’t owe me anything.” I pulled out my phone to start a money transfer.
“Wait.”
I froze. I would take any deal she offered. She had me in the worst possible bargaining position, a place I’d never actually been before.
“Part-time at The Elliot barely pays the rent, even at my crappy apartment. I have a cookbook coming out with that asshat from Hill & Ocean, but it doesn’t drop until next month, and I doubt my portion of the profit on a hardcover book will be much. I need these side hustles to build a business here. That’s why I moved to this wealthy tourist town, to be a personal chef.” She pointed her knife at me. “I’m not going home to Nashville to bake guitar-shaped cakes for skinny little bachelorettes in denim miniskirts and cowboy boots. I won’t do it.”
I kept my voice low and tentative. “Okay. I heard thatno. How do I fix this?”
