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"You mean your caretaker?"
I smile. "She's not my caretaker."
The smile disappears completely. "Then who is she?"
"I don't see how that's any of your business," I respond, finally tired of her questioning. "Contrary to what you told her, you're not actually my girlfriend."
Hurt flashes across her face, followed immediately by rage.
"You can be an asshole sometimes, you know that?" she spits at me.
"I've been told," I respond easily. It’s been a year already, doesn’t she get the hint?
"Why are you doing this to me?" Her voice is louder now, almost a screech. "What did I ever do to you for you to treat me like this?"
"You did nothing." I'm getting tired of the conversations and too aware of the attention we're drawing. "I just don't love you. That's it. We broke up because I couldn't give you what you wanted."
"But you love her?"
"No." I roll my eyes. "I don't fucking love anyone. Not you, not her, not anyone."
"Liar."
“Not lying. It’s not my fault you’re delusional.”
She gasps and then pain radiates in my cheek but it still takes me a second to register that I've just been slapped.
I almost smile. It's not my first time getting slapped, but it hasn't happened in a while.
"You're going to pay for this, Oliver Carter," she spits out. "I swear to god."
And then she storms away.
Good riddance, I say.
Chapter Thirteen
Delilah
Istillcan’tshakemy nerves even as I step into the restaurant.
It’s a little rustic, with wooden motifs and wall ornaments that simultaneously look like they came from someone's backyard, but also cost like a million dollars.
There are about three or four staff members opening up, unstacking the chairs from the tables, and arranging the condiments on each table. One of them is behind the counter, talking to a man in a chef's hat. I’m soon spotted by a petite brunette with a ponytail, who drops the chair she’s holding and approaches me with a friendly smile.
“Hey,” she chirps. “Can I help you?”
“Um, yeah,” I return the smile. “I was told that I have a job interview today. My name is Delilah Morgan.”
“Oh.” Her eyes brighten up and she smiles even more. “Of course. You’re the new chef.” She says it loudly enough that everyone kind of pauses what they’re doing and stares at us. I note that the man in the chef's hat, in particular, frowns deeply at me.
I say nervously. “Well, at least, I hope so. I was just called for the interview."
“Of course. Follow me.” She waves her hand and is immediately in motion, moving quickly toward a door beside the coffee bar. I hesitate for a second before following her, but since I’m quite a bit taller than her, I catch up quickly. She moves through a winding hallway, stopping at the door at the end.
She raps the door and says, “Boss! You decent?”
I blink at her as she presses her ears to the door to wait for a response and then nods at me. “Yeah, I think he’s fine.”
