AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Okay, well, the chef is an asshole, but that’s not a first for us. The question is are you able to work with him, or are we walking out right now?” She stands up. Mila has always recovered quickly from stressful situations. It’s another superpower of hers.
Before I open my mouth to respond, I consider my parents’ account balance, the time it would take to find another client while I’m on the East Coast and all my clients back home who I can’t bill my usual retainer because I’m not there. And that I’ll go crazy if my only focus here is my mom. Or that this job could be my ticket to freedom. Or a semblance of it.
“Of course I can handle him.” Shit. “I mean it. It. I can handle the job.”
Mila raises her eyebrows. “At some point you’ll have to tell me what the history is there, or why you want this job so badly, and if the two are related.”
Fucking Mila. I love her. My carefully maintained composure crumbles under her words and tears threaten. “You’re a good friend, Mila.” But for the first time since I’ve known her, I’m not sure if her presence is a good idea. There are just too many secrets.
“Yes, but the woman I used to work with back in LA didn’t havemightorwe believein her vocabulary. She’d say what she was going to do and name facts, not beliefs. So can you get your shit back to your A game while Prince Charming breathes down our necks?”
I nod, not sure if anything I could say would sound believable. Before Mila can press further, the kitchen door swooshes open again and we turn.
“I’m sorry we didn’t start on the right foot.” Phillip reappears and I’m equally relieved and disappointed he is alone. Disappointed? What the hell?
“Phillip.” Mila steps in front of me and I’m grateful for her sensitivity. No bloody way I want them to see me with tears in my eyes. “If you think you can manage your Highness Mr. Cassinetti, we’ll be happy to help you out with the awareness and reputation building campaign. We can also review the operation overall, focusing on the service, and suggest improvements, but that part of our services makes sense only if Mr. Cassinetti gets off his high horse.”
Phillip clears his throat. “Why don’t you prepare the reputation building plan and I’ll see what I can do about Massi dismounting.”
I can sense two pairs of eyes on me, but I’m unable to look away from the kitchen door. The two round nautical windows are in shadow, but somehow I know he’s there, watching me. Part of me wants to march over and smash the doors into his face. Breaking his nose would be satisfying.
To my utter dismay, a part of me is strangely aroused by the idea of Massimo Cassinetti watching me through that small window. Heat rises to my cheeks and I finally will my eyes to refocus on Phillip and Mila.
“Phillip, I’ll have to think about it all. If Massimo isn’t on board with our involvement, it would be a waste of our time and your money.” I sound like an automatic response on a voice mail. If the morning had a steamroller driving over me, I’m positively flat now. Deflated by everything.
My entire mind screams to abort, to go back home and back to Sebastien, because that’s where I belong. But my stupid body, and if I’m honest, my heart, are both still peeking toward the small round windows. Hoping? Hope is a luxury I haven’t allowed myself in a long time.
“I understand your concerns, Gina. Let me reassure you that Massi comes across like an ass, but he’s the best chef in New York, and he’s fair.”
Why this makes me laugh, I don’t know. Perhaps because I know it’s true. Or because I know that once upon a time I stomped all over that sense of honor.
* * *
“What the hell? So you say you want to do it and then you decide to think about it the next minute?” At least Mila waited half a block before voicing her concern.
The whole time I’ve been marching one step ahead of her, mostly trying to rearrange my face into a normal countenance and blink away the tears. Tears of frustration. And of disappointment. Why I feel disappointed I don’t know. What was I expecting would happen today?
Massimo stayed at my father’s wake for all of five minutes. That’s how badly he didn’t want to be in my vicinity. So what did I think? I didn’t. That’s the problem.
I’ve been so bogged down by recent events that my perception of reality has been skewed. Yes, he’s very attractive. The years have been kind to him. Massimo’s presence has intensified with passing time.
The boy I used to know is all man now. And what a fine specimen of a man. Minus the bullfighting personality, which might be a side of him only I bring out. Who knows anymore?
I spot a coffee shop and barge in with Mila on my heels. “What do you want?”
“The truth.” She cocks her head, studying me.
“Cappuccino then?” I quip.
She shakes her head and without a word leaves me by the counter and goes to find us seats. Shit. I should tell her the story, but I can’t. I don’t know how. I’m embarrassed. As if by never saying the words out loud they can be less true. Less painful. Less disturbing.
Also, I like Mila very much and I don’t want her to think less of me. I’ve been holding it together for years thanks to therapy. Sebastien has been my only motivation.
Not even the expensive therapist could help me fix things. I’ve been too deep in betrayal to find my way out of it. So, I solidified myself by escaping. By pretending my life was under control.
The problem with running away is that things usually catch up with you. But they come back to bite you stronger, uglier, messier. I should have never come back or considered the job at Casa Cassi. It was so much easier to loathe myself for my choices when I wasn’t confronted with the rubble I’d left in my wake.
I didn’t have a choice back then. Well, that’s what I truly believed. But making a terrible choice is one thing. Pretending it never happened doesn’t fix the mistake.
