I should have texted him to let him know I was stopping by. Argh. Why didn’t I text him?
And why hadn’t I reached out to Kaya first? Or Vera? Or Killian?
Oh, I knew that answer. I didn’t want them to give me false hope. They were my actual friends—which meant they wanted to see me succeed. And that made them awesome.
But right now, I needed truth. And Wyatt was the most honest person I had ever met.
Granted, his honesty was of the brutal variety. But I had girded my loins and readied my abused heart for this conversation.
Also, after a full week of emotional, verbal and that one-time physical abuse when I’d gotten in the way of a service tray on its way out of the kitchen, I was pretty sure I could handle anything at this point.
Wyatt’s open criticism might even feel wonderful right now. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.
My attempts at taking complete control of Bianca had crashed and burned every single night. And not for lack of trying.
I’d been firm. I’d been tough. I’d been a downright asshole. I’d been kind and sweet and gentle. I’d been professional. I’d been a raving lunatic. I’d even thrown in a night of being a complete basket case, hoping the rapidly switching back and forth between manic and sane would confuse them long enough to get them to listen.
Nothing had worked.
Just when I had started to make progress in some areas—for instance, I’d finally convinced the servers to let me inspect the dishes before they left the kitchen—another problem would come up. The dishwashers would take ridiculously long breaks and our dishes piled up until I had to serve dessert on dinner plates and appetizers on dessert plates to keep food moving out of the kitchen. Or when I’d finally convinced the cook in charge of risotto to let me show him my technique, the cook in charge of protein had decided to overcook every single thing.
Ezra had forgotten to mention that I needed to order desserts every few days from our pastry chef. And not one member of the staff had offered the information when we’d started to run low. Consequently, we’d gone one entire night of service with only vanilla bean ice cream available.
God, I was fucking this up so badly.
I needed advice. Or a mentor. Or goddamn Mr. Miyagi.
And the worst part, the very worst part, was how proud Ezra was of me. He texted me often to say it. He would stop in the kitchen during dinner service just to give me a smile and a thumbs up. He thought because I hadn’t burned the place to the ground yet, I was doing a phenomenal job.
The truth was I was going prematurely gray and currently growing a boat-sized ulcer.
Jogging to the front of the building, I tried those doors. They didn’t open. I jogged back to the side door and tried it again. Then I kicked it when it didn’t budge.
Momentarily losing my mind, I grabbed the handle and violently tugged on it. It wouldn’t move, but that didn’t stop me from trying.
“Just freaking open!” I shouted at it as I lost my grip completely and flew backwards, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to catch myself from landing on my ass.
Bracing myself for impact, I lost my breath in surprise as strong hands managed to catch me around the waist before I bit it on the concrete.
“Whoa,” a rumbly, masculine voice breathed into my ear, sounding as though he were settling a frightened horse. “Careful.”
Vann.
Vann Delane.
Only upon hearing his whispered voice as it ran across my bare skin did it occur to me how completely crazy I had been acting. I managed to get my feet underneath me and stand up straight, pulling away from his saving grasp.
I tugged my fitted white tee down at my waist where it had ridden up when he caught me. Putting on my most sophisticated air of professionalism, I turned around to face him. “Thank you,” I told him evenly.
“Are you okay?” He was amused, like he couldn’t believe I was trying to pull this off without admitting my looney behavior.
I glanced at the side door to Lilou again. God, what I wouldn’t give to get in there right now. I realized it wasn’t even about Wyatt anymore. I just wanted to be inside Lilou’s safe, familiar doors. I wanted to smell that kitchen again, stand inside her, run my fingers over the smooth stainless steel and be home again.
Tears brimmed against my bottom lashes. I kept my attention on the door so Vann couldn’t see. “Not really,” I admitted, knowing it was futile to try to play this off. “I, uh, I need to talk to Wyatt.”
“Is it an emergency?” Vann asked rationally. “I could call him for you.”
“I have his number,” I snapped, brushing away a stray tear with the back of my hand. “I just… argh.” I cleared my throat. “To be honest, I’m kind of desperate to get inside Lilou. I’ve been working at Bianca all week and it’s been… difficult. I just wanted to be somewhere familiar.”
