Duke—or not Duke?—narrows his eyes at me. “Stop talking.”
“You’re…not…Duke’s twin.”
“Not unless he’s twins with a—” Zen starts, but cuts themself off when Mr. Cartwright sends a blistering glare their way.
“Fine, fine, I’ll go make your breakfast,” they say, and they slip into the kitchen.
“What are youdoinghere?” I blurt, even knowing that if I were Zen, I’d be absolutely listening in to all of this from just out of sight in the kitchen. I should watch what I say.
“I’m investigating my new café.” Duke—Greyson—or Grey?—hunches forward, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them, while Jitter attempts to roll up his legs.
I should tell my dog to go back to the kitchen, but my tongue isn’t working right.
And then the full impact of what’s going on here hits me.
My hot Hawaiian one-night stand is my new boss.
Whom I ghosted.
Hardcore.
I am so fucked.
“Am I fired?” I whisper as a giant black hole opens in my chest and sucks at my hammering heart and my topsy-turvy stomach.
His eyes flick toward me, still flat, still unamused.
“And how would that look?” he says sardonically.
Oh, god.
It would look like he fired a woman he slept with for his first official action as the new boss.
I should quit.
But those three little words make me want to throw up. Cold sweat trickles between my shoulder blades. My heart cramps. And heat gathers behind my eyeballs.
I don’t cry.
I know the theory that it’s okay to cry, butI don’t do it. It’s not in my nature to let people see me upset.
I’ve seen too many people put their guard down and get hurt worse by letting someone in when they’re vulnerable. Overall, I think people are good. We’re all doing our best.
But that doesn’t mean it’s safe to just cry in front of anyone.
“I wouldn’t hold it against you,” I force out. “But you should know I was born here. My mom’s water broke and she delivered me in the kitchen because I came so fast, there wasn’t time to get us to the hospital. I’ve basically lived in this café my entire life, and it means the absolute world to me. I’m a good employee. I swear.”
“I’m sure you get ice very well.”
I wince. The world is spinning with thewrongnessof all of this. Why was he in Hawaii? How is he here now? How did Chandler know him? How was he so kind and funny andsexyin Hawaii while he’s so—so—socrankyhere?
Yep.
There’s spinning.
Spinning in the room, spinning in my head, and no amount of gripping the armrests and pressing my feet into the floor can stop it.
Jitter flops his head while he stays splayed on his back, looking between me and Mr. Cartwright—Duke—like this is a casual tennis match instead of something making my head pound and my stomach sink and my pulse skitter erratically.
