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It’s my only chance.
I take a deep breath, launching into speech while his mouth is full and he can’t interrupt.
“Angus, I really miss cooking. I’d love to get back to doing more of that. Or, you know, start my own restaurant like we talked about. Maybe I could open one on the new campus?”
My heart is racing. The silence in the kitchen is so loud.
The pause that passes seems endless as Angus chews, swallows, and finally says, “Sure! I mean, not right away, of course. That won’t be the first priority. But soon enough!”
He’s bright and cheery, but there’s something plastic in his smile.
Quietly, I say. “Like…when?”
“When it makes sense!” Angus glibly replies. “We’re doing incredible things right now, world-changing things! You don’t want to miss out on that. Anybody can cook, Theo. You’re withme,making history!You stick by my side, and you’ll have a whole chain of restaurants—on Mars!”
He laughs, expecting me to join in. But nothing has ever seemed less funny.
Angus is talking about restaurants on Mars. While we sit in his nine-figure mansion on the bluffs.
On the drive over here, my engine rattled like it was full of popcorn. I’m still wearing my paint-spattered shoes because I don’t own another pair. Cockroaches live in my stove.
In that moment, I almost hate him.
And then I realize, Angus doesn’t hateme.
He just sees me as weak.
I’m a weak player in a highly lucrative game. All around me are kings, bishops, knights…is it any wonder they use me like a pawn?
Angus said we’re friends, but if he fired me, he’d say,It’s just business.
Sullivan tried to tell me.
All of us are born into the game of power…
He has you right where he wants you…
I see it finally, clear as the daylight pouring in the windows: Angus is never going to help me open a restaurant.
It’s a lie, a fantasy. Angus is using me—selling me a dream so I’ll help him achieve his.
Sullivan told me the truth.
It’s ugly and it hurts, but it’s a favor all the same. He yanked me down to reality.
My reality fucking sucks.
Angus is prattling off a list of things he expects me to do this weekend when I should be sitting front row at Greta Gerwig’s newest masterpiece.
I can’t hear a word coming out of his mouth. I stare at his forehead while my heartbeat thuds in my ears.
You’re never getting a restaurant…
You’re never getting a restaurant…
You’re never getting a restaurant…
YES, I FUCKING WILL.
