I’ve had four weeks to reflect on my choices—and they really don’t look good. I shouldn’t have said yes to the job. Even as a lowly intern I could barely keep my shit together in Chef Davis’s kitchen, so how in the hell am I going to run, let alone launch, my own restaurant?
Knowing this, I should call James and fess up.
Buuuuut . . .
There’s a reason no one has ever accused me of being themoralWalker sibling. How could I decline when he dangled my dream job in front of my face?! A farm-to-table concept in my hometown where I wouldn’t have to work under an explosively angry chef? Incredible produce right outside the kitchen door and completely at my disposal?
Opportunities like that almostnevercome along fresh off the graduation block. It’s the perfect solution to my problems. Theperfect excuse to bring me home with no one ever having to know it’s because I actually failed in New York.
I have no choice but to make this job work, and so I am committed to putting every ounce of fake-it-till-I-make-it into my work from here on out. Because now, it’s not just my pride on the line, it’s Huxley Farm’s reputation too.
“Madison!” a male voice calls from somewhere in the airport pickup lane, but there must be another Madison around because I don’t spot James’s F-250 pickup truck anywhere.
“Madison! Over here!” I spot the guy in a little BMW a few cars down the line. He’s frantically waving at me from the open passenger’s window and it takes me a few seconds to realize the guy with Gucci sunglasses pushed up into his floppy blond hair is Tommy, James’s attractive, successful, metropolitan younger brother.
I guess James isn’t picking me up after all. Sort of like how he hasn’t emailed or called me since that night either.
We hung up, I got an email from Tommy two days later with an official job offer, and that was that. James never contacted me again. It was like our chat that night never happened.
I wish I knew why that bothers me so much.
Tommy, however, has emailed a few times about various odds and ends pertaining to the job. And now here he is, picking me up from the airport. Strange to think how long it’s been since he and I have been face-to-face, as he rarely ever comes around Rome, Kentucky. He doesn’t like our hometown, and our hometown doesn’t like him.
Tommy is what most people would call . . . well . . . a douchebag. He’s great at schmoozing, only wears designer clothes, sleeps around endlessly, and has the cutest dimple in his right cheek. Personally, I’ve never had a problem with him. In fact, I’ve had a crush on him from age thirteen until last year when my DNA rearranged itself.
Say what you will about Tommy, but the man is as successful as it gets. He was cocky enough to skip college altogether and go right into hospitality concept development in L.A. He started working with a friend of a friend’s small upstart boutique hotel and then worked his ass off for years, climbing the ladder rung by rung. Now he has one of the most successful and well-known firms in L.A. Every project SaltHaus facilitates turns to gold. That he’s developing James’s restaurant is another reason I couldn’t say no.
As I approach the car, Tommy does a double take of me through the window before jumping out to help hoist my luggage into the trunk. My entire life of the last two years fits inside two suitcases and a backpack.
“Madison Walker!” Tommy says in an enthusiastic tone after slamming the trunk shut and openly surveying me and my white T-shirt and cutoff Levis. His Rolex glints in the light, piercing my eyes and forcing me to squint.
He tilts his head. “There’s no way to say this without sounding creepy, but I have definitely been picturing the wrong version of you while emailing back and forth.”
“Hmm,” I say, scrunching my nose and lightly tapping his forehead. “Then maybe that thought should have remained aninsidethought.”
He clicks the side of his mouth. “Yeah, I’m not very good at those. Bottom line, you’ve gotten superhot. How long has it been since we’ve seen each other?” His grin is crooked and adorably innocent even though I know this man is the furthest thing from innocent you can get.
“Somewhere right around eight years—since you came into town and I hit on you and you shot me down.” Seeing the appreciative twinkle in his eye vindicates my younger self, who wanted nothing more than a chance to sleep with Tommy Huxley.
Thirty-year-old Madison, however, who has been out in the world and experienced guys like him more than once, is thankful that nothing ever happened between us. Not to mention this situation would have been a lot more complicated.
Tommy’s nicely manicured eyebrows shoot up. “You came on to me? Not a chance. I would have remembered.”
“I literally said, ‘You know where to find me if you’re lonely while you’re back in town,’ and you laughed and replied, ‘Yeah, right.’ ”
He squints. “Not ringing a bell. But if the offer still stands . . . ?”
“Not a chance.”
“Tommy, you’re a damn fool,” he says to himself with a shake of his head and a charming, self-deprecating smile. It’s almost cute enough to have me going back on my word. But I don’t, because like I said—too much at stake now and too many lessons learned.
“But in my defense . . .” Tommy says when we’re both settled in the car. “The ‘yeah, right’ comment probably wasn’t directed at you as much as it was thinking about Noah finding out I’d fooled around with one of his younger sisters. Or even worse, James finding out.” He buckles his seatbelt and gives me one last Tommy Smirk before putting the car in drive and whipping out onto the road.
“First of all,” I say, angling toward him as much as this tiny car will allow, “Noah is only loosely protective. He might express mild displeasure, but he mostly trusts my sisters’ and my judgment. And second, you’re giving James’s protectiveness too much credit.”
Tommy glances at me briefly. “I don’t think you give itenoughcredit.”
I groan. “I need to make him stand down on his surrogate brother role.”
