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“I don’t do that much of it. Are you avoiding the food issue?” He wasn’t carrying any bags. Had he lied about the breakfast promise?
He extended his hand. “Put on your shoes. We’re going out to eat. Much as I love your red painted toes, I think you might tear up your feet if you went walking around like that. Plus, there is the whole no shoes no service issues.”
I grinned at him. Truth was I’d been in a pretty bad mood rather consistently since the gym. But he was funny, even if he wasn’t trying to be.
I wiggled my toes. “You like my toes?”
Max rolled his eyes. “Put on some shoes.”
It was like I could get a compliment once from him and not again. Guess I wouldn’t be digging for them because he only dished them out on his own terms. That was okay. He was there. None of my so-called friends had gotten in contact. My phone dinged. It was Layla texting me. I didn’t have to look to know she’d found out about Amanda Hill. Unlike my caring for an infant sister, my friends had seen the post for sure and hadn’t shown up at my party.
With friends like these, the question was, did I really need enemies? I focused on Max. “Okay, I’ll get my sneakers.”
I wore jeans and a T-shirt. I didn’t really see the point of getting dressed up. People who were done rarely had to make any kind of effort on themselves. But I had put on makeup because I guessed I was just that level of pathetic.
With my shoes on, I locked up my apartment—only once in that direction, since my issues seemed to come with locking up when I was staying in—and followed him out. My guards were both leaning on the car, but he waved his hand.
“We’re walking. It’s three blocks.”
Theo and Luke stared at each other. I’d been banned from doing too much walking. Max squeezed my hand. “You’ll be fine. It’s good for the soul to be able to walk on occasion. It’ll take them twice as long to get you there, because they’ll have to go up Park, turn around, and come back the other way. We’ll be seated and eating by then. They can follow in the car. Text them the address when we get there, and they can wait outside in case anyone wants to Tony Soprano you inside the diner.”
I laughed despite myself. He really did say the funniest things. “I don’t think they’ve ever confirmed he’s dead.”
“Oh come on. He’s dead.” Max grinned at me. “He was obviously dead.”
“We don’t really know what happened. It could be any number of things.” One thing about insomnia was that I watched a ton of television. Old. New. Interesting. Dull. I watched all of it. Cooking shows in particular. We crossed the street, heading for the diner where he must have meant for us to eat. I’d never been inside, although I’d always meant to give it a try. “How come you aren’t on television? I’m shocked you haven’t been on one of those cooking shows.”
“They ask all the time, but I’m not the right personality for it. I really don’t want to talk to the camera and say pithy things. I’ve had the same people working for me for years, and they can barely stand me in the kitchen. I don’t want a camera crew.”
I guessed he didn’t need the publicity. His restaurant was kicking ass, and if some crazy socialite didn’t screw it up for him, he was bound to continue to be successful. “Listen, about last night? Thanks for reaching out. I don’t want to talk about it if that is possible. I have a therapist. At least I used to have one. I suppose I could call her, make an appointment to talk about being called mean words by a mean person and how it screwed up my precarious career. If it’s all the same, talking to you about it seems somehow wrong.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about that woman. She bought film of you puking all those years ago. I mean…fuck. Who makes their living doing that? At least you’re doing something helpful with your fame. She’s a waste of space as far as I’m concerned.”
I sighed as the waitress sat us. “She gives people what they want. To talk. To know. To judge. To keep their eyes on people who are famous. I could see it, if I’d done something to earn the attention, but my mother was a famous artist. She married my father. Had four redheaded children. Three of us were triplets. That caused some stir. Then she…died.” Sometimes I could say ‘killed herself,’ and sometimes I absolutely could not say it. “Wewere left mostly alone. We moved around a lot because it turns out Dad is a crook. Once, we snuck out to a party when we were sixteen. Our brother helped us. We walked in—four redheads, all of us rich, with a dead mother. The whispers started. We were…newsworthy for living, somehow. Layla took the most heat. She was the prettiest, and that was our greatest value right off the bat.”
He lifted an eyebrow as he picked up the menu. “She’s not prettier than you. Ever eaten here?”
I shook my head. “No, but I’m craving pancakes, so I’m going to order some. Just carb it up every day.”
Max groaned. “Yes, you’ll do that until you feel terrible for having done that too much, and then you’ll hate yourself for the overindulgence, having given that Amanda woman more power than she already has. Eat the pancakes. I’m sure they’re fantastic. But don’t eat them because she’s making you feel small.”
The waitress poured coffee, and I took a long sip. “I’m done with letting her in my head. Sort of. I’ve been up since two in the morning. She’s had enough time today to bounce around in my subconscious.”
“Great.” He sipped his own coffee. “So the party went badly. I’m sorry about that.”
I sighed. “I guess after your party—or Muffy’s at your restaurant—I’ll find something else to do. I’m going to make sure yours is outstanding. One way or another, I’ll work it out.”
From about three to four in the morning, I’d strategized a plan. People owed me favors. They were going to show up at that party, or they’d live to regret it. Yep, that was how I was living now.
I was tired of talking about myself. I had plenty of me all the time. “So you were in the army, then you got out and went to culinary school?”
He cleared his throat. “There was a year in between where I did some other stuff. Worked for some people doing jobs no one wants to talk about in countries we shouldn’t have been in. I can’t tell you where or what, but after one year, I gave it all up. By then, Eric had gotten engaged to Anna. Then it seemed actually possible to be respectable, to do something worthwhile with myself. So I served, did some other things…”
Clearly, talking about it made him uncomfortable, because he abruptly became very preoccupied with getting the right amount of sugar into his coffee.
He continued. “And then culinary school. Once I graduated, I worked for some chefs until I bought my own place. And well, you know my story from there.”
We placed our orders. I got the pancakes.
