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“Are you drunk?” Phillip’s concern seeps through the line after I dropped the phone and had to pick it back up.
“Does it matter?” I lose my balance and grip the counter to offset the swirling floor. My kitchen is a mess, which is a new low for me. The worst kind of low. “I’m at home, not a threat to anyone.” My tongue won’t work properly. Perhaps I had a bit too much.
I haven’t left the apartment for a week. Since the night that the woman of my dreams stomped all over me. Again. History does indeed repeat itself, and I’m the fucker who willingly stepped—jumped—into the same river that already tried to drown him once.
“Okay, asshole, you need to get your shit together. Just because one night exploded in our faces, I’m not folding my investment and calling it quits. I’ve never seen you drink like this and I’m worried, frankly. Also, I’m not postponing my wedding because you keep my fiancée too busy. Get your ass back here.”
I stay silent. The poor bastard thinks I caved out of my business because of one failure. And the restaurant wasn’t even empty at the end. It’s the personal betrayal that keeps me here hiding.
The last time this happened,Idestroyedmy business in the aftermath of betrayal, so Phillip should be fucking grateful for me taking pre-prec-caution. Precaution is a hard word to pronounce even in my mind. Hm.
I grab a bottle of Chateau Palmer and turn it around to pour. Because I’m the prick who drinks five-hundred-dollar wine to drown his sorrow. A drop dangles on the edge of the bottle’s neck and slowly slides into my glass, mocking me. Fuck.
And to think I was blaming myself for all that happened, and the whole time it was just a scheme my lovely ex-wife and her former husband plotted all along?
“Your ex-wife? What are you talking about?” Phillip’s irritation startles me.
Shit. I didn’t even realize I said the last part out loud.
“Gina. Gina used to be my wife.”
“Fuck me.”
“Oh, yeah, she did. Fuck me, I mean. Fuck me over.” I hold the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I open the wine fridge and pull a random bottle out.
“I should have fucking known there was a history between the two of you. Fuck.”
“Yeah, and you know who she married before the ink on our divorce papers dried? Frederick fucking Beaufort.” I fidget with a knife to get the wrapper off the cork. It slides right into my fingertip. “Fuck.” I drop the knife and the bottle onto the counter and turn to the sink. “I cut myself.”
Phillip sighs. “You said you’re not a threat to anyone. Do I need to come over?”
“No, it’s just a scratch.” I watch the blood mingle with the cold water, whirling down the drain, wishing the other wound was this superficial. Easy to flush down.
“Listen, man, clearly I don’t know what the fuck happened between the two of you this time—or the last time—but I don’t think this was intentional. I’m sending you an email with media coverage. Read it and call me back.”
“Why would I want to read news summaries?” I stop the water and return to my bottle.
“Because I’m asking you to, asshole. Read the email and call me right back.” He hangs up.
I open the bottle and top up my glass, sloshing some—well, enough—on the counter. I try and fail to climb on to the stool, so I move the party to the sofa. The phone chimes with an incoming email.
I close my eyes, and I might have dozed off because the phone rings and it’s Phillip again. Fuck. I disconnect the call and open the email.
Renowned restaurateur’s “success” built on shady tactics.
Frederick Beaufort, culinary villain.
Former cook comes forward claiming Beaufort poisoned him.
I scan through the links and scans of several articles, many of them exposing Frederick’s shady practices. I’d always sensed the bastard was scheming behind my back. Behind everybody’s back. There were rumors back then, but I didn’t pay attention, buried in my misery.
The articles are not helpful. They don’t make me feel better. He succeeded becauseshehelped him.
Phillip calls again and this time I answer.
“So what? Mila did a good job, I guess,” I start without a preamble.
“Yeah, we’re booked solid again for weeks to come. However, according to Mila, Gina spearheaded the campaign.”
