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“The more chance Graham tells her. Igetthat.”
I’m about to reply when her cellphone rings. The conversation is short. There’s a bunch ofyeses, and then she hangs up.
“Graham needs me to cover a shift. I’ll be heading to work soon.”
“I’m driving that way, too. I can give you a ride.”
She nods but then shakes her head. It’s as if the inner battle is streaking across her beautiful exterior, touching every inch of her. “I think we should go separately. Not to stroke your ego, but it’s freaking hard to resist you.”
I smirk, stand, and walk right up to her. “Right back at you, my wife-to-be.”
She glows, and we hold intense eye contact, but she breaks it eventually and turns away.
Be good.
I’m not sure I can.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Layla
Nerves try to drag me down as I walk into the restaurant, rising like invisible snakes and coiling around me, tugging, insistent, cruel, and ugly. I’m here at work, knowing that Graham’s friends could’ve told him the truth.
It doesn’t help that I’m five minutes late. There was a car crash, and it took a while to steer around, but Graham won’t care. He’ll launch into one of his tirades for all the kitchen to hear as I repeatedly apologize, now with the added element of imagining him with my dad.
“Layla,” he says when I push open the door to the staffroom.
He’s leaning against the wall in his chef’s whites but without his hat. I expect his expression to form into its regular cruel configuration, but there’s surprising softness as he smiles tightly, gesturing at the small seating area.
“Do you have time for a quick talk?”
This is unusual, too. He’saskingme, not ordering.
“Um, sure,” I mutter, wondering if this is it. He’s going to fire me or worse.
We sit opposite each other. Graham picks at the table with his thumb, then sighs.
“I haven’t been very kind to you,” he says. “In fact, it’s fair to say I’ve been a real monster. I’ve let certain past events dictate how I behave, but it’s no excuse. For what it’s worth, Layla, you’re excellent at your job. You’re going to run a fantastic kitchen one day. You’ve got the raw talent, the commitment, and theitfactor.”
“Wow, thanks,” I say. “That means a lot.”
Whatever else Graham is, he’s a well-respected and immensely talented chef.
“A friend called me late last night,” Graham says.
“I guess I know what this is about.”
“Has your mom told you?” he asks. “About me and…”
“Dad?”
He grimaces, a flicker of the old Graham, but then his shoulders slump. It’s like watching the pain he feels at Dad’s passing in real time.
“He was a special man. He had his problems. He never cared for me like I cared for him, and what we did was wrong and unfair to your mother.”
“Is that why you gave me this job?”
“Initially, yes,” he says. “It was guilt, but I wouldn’t have kept you if you weren’t good at it. I meant what I said. You’re excellent.”
