My feelings of gratitude shriveled into bitter raisins. “Do you mean, this amazing?”
He leaned toward me as if telling me a secret. “This pretentious.”
I scowled at him, hoping he felt the force of my fury. “I don’t know why you think you know me,” I snapped at him. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Sitting up and away from me, he shrugged that one shoulder again. “Money. You have a lot of money.”
“So that makes me… snobby?” He didn’t know pretentious. I could introduce him to a world of truly pretentious assholes that would sneer him under the carpet. But I wouldn’t do that to him. Because no matter what he thought of me, I didn’t think I was better than him. Nicer, sure. Kinder, obviously. More gracious and full of class and poise? Duh. But not better.
He released an impatient puff of air. “Forget I said anything, okay? I’m happy to help. Really.” He shifted the car into reverse.
Hopping off the sideboard, I stepped back, deciding whether to let him have it or let him go. “You know, you keep assuming these things about me. You’re the most judgmental person I’ve ever met, Vann Delane.”
He smiled patiently, like my insults were adorable but meaningless, and I had never wanted to punch something more than I did in that minute.
“I would let the engine run for a while,” he offered, as if he hadn’t just insulted me completely. “Drive around for a bit or something.”
He started to back up but not before I shot back, “And I would try sleeping again if I were you. You might wake up a nicer person.”
If he heard me, he didn’t acknowledge anything I said. I watched him drive across the street again and park at Cycle Life. His door opened and I all but threw myself into my Porsche, desperate to get out of the parking lot before he saw me standing there like a total serial killer, maniacally planning his demise.
“He did help you,” I told myself as I drove home, ignoring his advice to keep the engine running for as long as possible. I could get help in the morning if I needed to. It was more important to defy Vann Delane than anything else at this moment in my life. “So he can’t be all bad.”
Pretentious.
Nope.
Nuh-uh.
He was all bad.
Poor Vera, she didn’t even know her brother was the devil.
Five
Sunday morning,I pulled into Bianca’s tiny backlot with butterflies waging civil war in my stomach. My last night at Lilou had filled me with a kind of hopeful anticipation for what life at Bianca could be. But reality reminded me that it was going to be a long time before I got there.
There being a confident head chef at a successful five-star restaurant.
Tonight, I was starting here. Here being an insecure, flailing, green wannabe chef at a struggling, mediocre restaurant.
Jesus, take the wheel.
Ezra met me on the other side of the door wearing a smile and an obvious look of relief. “You’re here.”
“Did you think I’d mutiny?”
He let out a nervous laugh, betraying the truth. “I’m just glad to see you.”
“I wouldn’t have run away without giving you enough notice to fill in for me,” I told him. “I owe you that at least.”
His happy expression turned sour. “Thanks, I think.”
I looked around the kitchen, worrying about the state of it. It was nothing like Lilou. So there went my shaky hopes of turning this place around by tomorrow. Okay, I didn’t think I could do that. But there was this small part of me that had held out hope that revival wouldn’t take that long or be that hard. Seeing the kitchen from the head chef position sent disappointment crashing through me.
The cooktops were greasy. The shelves under the stainless steel counters were messy and cluttered. I was afraid of what I’d find in the coolers.
“Check your phone early tomorrow,” I told him. “Just in case.”
