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I almost turn around to get back to my kitchen, but I feel Blue’s scent behind me. I step to the side, but then it hits me.
It’s just one night of business for me. For Blue, it’s her first project on this side of the country, and I know for a fact she’s been working her ass off to make it a success. I don’t fucking know what went wrong, but I want to support her.
I place my hand on the small of her back and she tenses. Our eyes meet and I nod slightly to encourage her, and I can feel her exhale.
“If they are not responding to your messages, start calling the guest list now,” Blue commands, and Mila hesitates for a brief moment before she dials the first number.
Blue looks at me, her eyes full of remorse. She bites her lip and keeps tapping her foot.
Sharon rushes to the kitchen to take care of Gio’s order, I suppose. Phillip removes the “closed for private event” sign from the door.
I weave my fingers through Gina’s and squeeze. Her eyes are now on Mila, trying to eavesdrop on her conversation, but she squeezes back. Fuck, she’s crushing my bones.
I hate seeing her this stressed out. And it’s because of my stupid need to get the fucking star. I want to pull her into a hug and tell her everything will be okay.
“Oh, well, of course, enjoy your evening and we’ll let you know about the new date. We look forward to having you dine with us soon,” Mila chirps into her phone. She hangs up, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she is pale and her face only a ghost of the usual sunshine. Her eyes find Blue’s with an expression that might be either shock or horror.
She swallows a few times and I want to snap at her. It feels like we’ve grown gray hair by the time she speaks again.
“All the guests were alerted earlier today that the event has been moved to another restaurant.” She swallows again, tears filling her eyes as she shakes her head as if she could shake off the information she’s just learned. “They are all dining at Modigliani’s.”
Frederick’s place?
I think the gasp I hear comes from Gina. I drop her hand and stumble backward, the information twisting in my gut. The floor moves slightly and I grab the edge of the bar, searching for balance. The man stole from me again. This isn’t even déjà vu—this is much worse.
“Massi.” I hear the voice of the woman I love. The one that this time found an even sharper knife to slice through my heart.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I roar.
ChapterTwenty-One
Gina
Irun.
The street blurs in front of my eyes.
I don’t even know where I’m running. It only occurs to me about five blocks from the restaurant. I try to hail a cab. I fail.
I keep going.
I destroyed him.
Yet again.
My feet hurt and my chest heaves with exertion and imprisoned sobs. I slow down to walking. And I walk and walk until exhaustion hits me and I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. New Yorkers swim around me in flowing lanes.
At first many bump into me, but slowly the stream diverts on both sides of me as if I was standing on an island in the middle of all the commotion.
Isolated. Outcast.
On this street. And in my life.
“Are you okay?” A voice penetrates my mind and I snap back to reality, disoriented by the stillness I suffered in the middle of the pulsing city. A young woman with a stroller searches my face.
“I couldn’t get a cab,” I sob, uttering the most outlandish reason for standing there.
“Oh, honey, you’re not from here, are you?” Neither is she, based on her southern accent and kindness. “You need to be persistent. Do you have Uber?”
