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“So he’s an asshole,” I say with a hard edge to my tone.
“Luke.”
I sigh and ease up. “Why didn’t it work out then? Aside from the fact that he shouldn’t have been with you in the first place.”
She slices me in two with a pointed stare. “What did I say about judging? Anyway…oh yeah, why didn’t it work out? It’s simple: he was a terrible boyfriend, but before I could break it off with him, I caught him cheating on me, so that made the ending nice and quick.”
She says it all like it’s no big deal, just a simple resolution to a simple relationship when in fact it sounds pretty messed up.
“You caught him?”
“Yup. It was in the restaurant kitchen. Hot and heavy. Better sex than he and I ever had from the looks of it.”
We’re so past the point of propriety I can’t even make out how long ago we crossed the line. Talking about her sex life? Asking about her ex-boyfriend? This is just as inappropriate as the relationship I’m chiding her about.
Enough.
I slide the onion ring container off the counter and stow it in the fridge.
“I’m sorry that happened. He sounds like a real asshole. You’re better off.”
She laughs. “Thanks for that. Practicing for when Harper comes home with a broken heart?”
I could throw up just thinking about Harper dating a scumbag like Chloe’s ex.
She shakes her head. “Sorry, that was all probably…a lot. You didn’t have to listen to me drone on like that.”
The spaghetti strap on her dress slips off her shoulder as she grabs for her purse. It’s nothing. Chloe fixes it right away, but it’s just another reminder of how tightly wound I feel when she’s around. Every little gesture, innocent as it may be, sends me into a tailspin.
“Yeah. Hey, I’m going to head down to the beach tomorrow with Harper. We’ll spend the whole day there, I’m sure. There are a lot of places to grab food, so no need to worry about us. You can have the day off.”
She looks startled by this announcement.
Maybe it seems as last minute as it actually is. I just plucked the idea out of thin air, but it makes sense. It would probably be a good idea for everyone involved to get some distance, put these feelings on ice.
Chloe just got out of a dysfunctional relationship with her older boss. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.
ELEVEN
CHLOE
Apparently, I have the day off, so I start by sleeping in until I can no longer ignore the blazing sun creeping through the sides of my drapes and Ned’s odd hammering in the backyard. Still, I linger in bed, buried under my covers, reading until my grumbling stomach has had enough.
I fix myself buttered toast and a milky cup of coffee then take both to the kitchen’s breakfast nook so I can sit and eat in the warmth of the bay window.
Harper and Luke already left for the beach. I heard them getting ready to head out the door while I was still in bed. Luke was calling out orders.
“You better use the restroom before we leave.”
“I can just go in the ocean!”
“Harper!”
“It doesn’t even bother the fish!”
On the kitchen counter, there’s a pile of beach toys that apparently didn’t make the cut: a few cracked sand pails, a shovel that’s missing a handle, one of Harper’s mermaid Barbies that has somehow lost its head.
For some absurd reason, I feel left out that they’re enjoying the beach without me and I’m stuck here, forgotten like that headless doll.
This job is so weird, the lines so easily crossed. I have a hard time differentiating work time from personal time, professionally appropriate conversations from friendly banter. It doesn’t help that my small, easily ignored crush on Luke is quickly morphing into this hugely inconvenient elephant in the room. I can no longer get away with ignoring my attraction to him, so I don’t even try. He’s hot—there, that’s been established. He’s also oddly charming and more personable than I would expect a celebrity athlete to be. Okay, so who cares? He’s still my boss.
My boss!
Instead of slowly savoring my coffee, I toss it back like it’s a shot of hard liquor. Then I tear through my toast with quick aggressive bites before getting on with my day.
Dinner at Pierre’s was exactly as I told Luke last night: fine. The food was fantastic and fancy and the company was entertaining enough. Oliver’s friends were excited to hear about my background both at Fleur de Sel and Spiced Pear as much as Fig & Olive.
“I read a story about Miles Wilson in The New Yorker. It mentioned he can be a real asshole in the kitchen,” Oliver mentioned. “Is that true?”
Miles was a terror in the kitchen sometimes, but never with me.
