The room settled in tense silence. I opened my mouth to explain or excuse my answer or say something—anything—but nothing came out.
“We’re still eating the cake though, right?”
Everyone in the room moved at the same time, our bodies in complete sync as we turned toward the voice that had broken the frozen tension in the room. Vann Delane leaned against the wall next to the in and out doors to the kitchen, his arms folded over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles, his shoulders slouched casually.
“Are you serious?” Vera snapped at him.
He shrugged, his smooth chin jutting toward the metal cart with the white-frosted Costco cake on top of it. “I’m just saying, it’s a good cake. We shouldn’t let it go to waste.”
I worked my jaw back and forth feeling irrationally furious with this veritable stranger in the room. Sure, everyone else was well acquainted with Vera’s granola-loving brother. But I wasn’t. And this was my party, damn it.
Er, mypity party.
He could take the cake and shove it down his biker shorts.
(Not that he was dressed in biker shorts now. Unless they were hidden beneath his slim-fitting maroon pants.)
Vera spoke up before I could voice my opinion out loud. “Since when do you eat cake?”
“Why wouldn’t I eat cake?”
“It has sugar in it,” Vera reminded him. “And gluten. It’s jam-packed with gluten.”
He had the audacity to look offended. “I’m not gluten free.”
Vera raised her eyebrows.
He shrugged. “I avoid it when I can. But I’m not anti-gluten or anything. In fact, I rather appreciate it. In moderation of course.”
Was this guy serious?
“The cake looks good,” he continued. “I’m just saying, we shouldn’t let it go to waste.”
“Nobody’s going to waste it,” I snapped, unable to hold my tongue any longer. I needed this awkward string of moments to end. I needed these people gone. And for the cake to go. And me too.
Ezra and I probably needed a deeper conversation about why I had to turn down his excessively generous offer. I would need to curl into a ball and cry at some point. And there would be an existential crisis mixed in somewhere. I could do none of those things with all these people—especially the cake-obsessed moron in the corner—standing there taking up space.
Vann pushed off the wall and dropped his hands to his narrow hips. “I’ll get the plates,” he said, like it was the most brilliant idea in the world.
As soon as Vann disappeared back into the kitchen, my friends and brother snapped back to gape at me.
“Why don’t you want to run Bianca?” Kaya demanded, eyebrows bunched together beneath her vibrant purple hair—a recent change for her. She’d called the new, vibrant pixie cut Boss Bitch. The entire package, including the new hair, suited her and Sarita perfectly.
“I do want Bianca,” I answered patiently. “I’m just not ready for her yet.” At their immediate protests, I held up a hand and tried to explain. “You guys, I’ve only been in a real kitchen a little over a year. I’m not qualified for this place. I’m barely competent enough to work for Wyatt.”
“That’s not true,” Kaya insisted. She was my girl. My ride or die kitchen bitch. My sparkly vampire soulmate. And she was the most driven woman I had ever met. Of course, she wasn’t going to understand my reluctance. She walked out of the womb ready to take on the world and cook five-star meals. “You’re one of the finest chefs I know, D. Bianca would be lucky to have you.”
“I would be lucky to have you,” Ezra echoed. “Come on, Dillon. I’m so sick of high maintenance chefs that can’t run my restaurants because their gigantic egos are in control and not their reason. Or their raw creativity. I need someone fresh. Young. Terrified of failing.” He took a deep breath and let the full force of his puppy dog eyes work their magic. “I need you, sis.”
There was a weighted pause before Killian said, “I think I’m offended.”
“I think I am too,” Wyatt added.
“That makes three of us,” Kaya grumbled.
Vera leaned forward, tottering on the balls of her feet. “I’ve never worked for Ezra,” she told no one in particular. “I turned him down actually.”
“I’m not ready,” I stated firmly.
