He took a step back, shoulders up byhis chin. “At least make sure he actually leaves. I’m afraid he’s going to burnLilouto the ground in a fit of bad review drivenlunacy.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Then Iremembered Killian the night of my chicken and waffles nightmare.I really hate bad reviews.
He’d been nice enough to pull me outof my depression spiral, and that had only been a few dissatisfied customercomplaints. Only two negative reviews had made it online from that night andneither of them were from a big magazine with household-name appeal.
I said goodbye to Wyatt and hurriedback inside the truck. I spent the next thirty minutes keeping an eye onLilouto make sure Killian didn’t leave, cleaning myequipment and surfaces and packing up the remaining food. I had predictedtonight would be a slow night so I hadn’t brought much with me. It all fit intotwo crates.
“Do you love me?” I asked Vann withthe puppy dog look he couldn’t resist.
“I’m not sure. What do you want?”
“Take the food to the commissarytonight? I need to check on Killian.”
My brother’s eyebrows shot up to hishairline. “Check on him how?”
“He thinks he has crabs,” Ideadpanned. “I’m going to go inspect the situation.”
His nose wrinkled and his facepaled. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
I shrugged. “I could go into moredetail if that would help you decide.”
He chuckled, then took the crates offood and the key to the commissary. “Just don’t catch them yourself,” hewarned. “I would have to call the health inspector on you. They’d probably tentyou. I’d hate to see my sister bug bombed.”
Now I was confused ifhewas joking or not. For the first, andhopefully only, time in my life I worried about my brother’s sexual education.“I feel like you should go to a doctor to learn more about sexual health. The clinicswill give you free pamphlets. It might be beneficial if you had some moreinformation. I’m starting to worry about these nice girls you date.”
He showed me his middle finger—becausehe was a mature, responsible, small business owner. “Oh, don’t you worry aboutme. Or them for that matter.”
I shuddered. “Go away, pervert.”
Shooting me one last mischievousgrin, he said, “Text me if you need anything. I mean that.”
I waved him off, thankful that hedid mean that. That I could rely on him. Trust him. It turned out I didn’t hateall men. There were a few that still had my respect and affection.
Locking up Foodie, I headed acrossthe street to the one man that had my respect and affection and wasn’t relatedto me. The rain had started, and it wasn’t being shy. I crossed the street in averitable torrential downpour. By the time I made it to the alley next to Lilou,my hair and chef coat were soaked.
I expected the side door to belocked, but when I tugged on the handle it swung open easily. I stepped insideto a dark kitchen. The dining room lights were still on, filling the in and outdoors with golden light.
Shedding my wet coat, I threw it onthe nearest counter and listened for the sound of anyone still here. A glassclinked not too far away.
I tugged my hair out of the wetponytail holder and scrunched it while I followed the sound. Suddenly nervousthat it wasn’t Killian out there, but Ezra or someone else instead, I movedwith caution. Nerves made the pulse in my throat jump with anticipation.
But my feet kept moving, and myurgency kept increasing. I had been irritated with Killian for making me careabout him. But now all I could do was care for him.
This wasn’t the end of his career.At most it was a blip, one of those jarring, thin speed bumps that madeeveryone bounce around wildly even if you were driving super slowly, but overquickly enough. He would move on. His reputation would be barely tarnished.
His ego on the other hand…
I found him not far from thekitchen. He sat sprawled in a chair with a bottle of Glenmorangie in one handand a crumpledpiece of printer paper inthe other. His entire body was reclined, his legs spread apart and casual, evenwhile he radiated tension. He’d unbuttoned his chef’s coat and revealed hissinewy, chiseled chest beneath a thin black t-shirt.
A jolt of something hot and fizzyslid through my belly. He was a fallen angel; a Greek god brought low by thereality of life. He was Killian Quinn, and he wasn’t perfect.
And I wanted to lick him from head totoe.
He’d made some serious progress onthe bottle of whiskey in his hand. His glossy eyes took me in without surprise.I doubted that he’d been expecting me, so it had to be the alcohol.
The realization that he was drunkdid nothing to slow my thumping heart or buzzing nerves.
At the same time, my gut clenchedwith sympathy. The review had clearly gotten to him. He looked miserable,completely upended by the harsh words of someone who had judged him based onone visit.
