Finally, she smiles. “I love that.”
The tension eases as I offer a smile of my own.
Then, head down, she types a few notes into her phone before moving on to questions about the success of my TV show and the guest appearances I’ve made on other shows.
After easily another ten minutes, I’m anxious to wrap things up, and as a keen observer, she catches on. “Final question, what’s next? Another restaurant?”
“Maybe.” For now, I’m tight-lipped, not willing to hint at anything. “Or maybe a nap.”
She laughs, jotting it down like it’s profound.
When she leaves the meeting, I shut down the laptop and saunter downstairs into the kitchen.
Anton’s plating a trial dish. He calls me over. “Maple glaze or strawberry?”
“Strawberry.” I grab my water bottle on the way to his station. “It’s July. Québec berries are at their best. You can’t not use strawberry.”
He grins. “You and your seasons, Chef.”
“Of course. It’s what keeps food honest.”
4
OLIVIA
The sharp blare of a horn outside pulls me from my work, and I snap my laptop shut. My girls are here. Bag in hand, I dart outside, so eager to start the weekend that I almost forget to set the house alarm.
Turning back, I catch Erin and Sin chatting in the front seat of the idling car. With the house locked up, I skip down the front steps, waving to Mrs. Foster—my sweet, nosy neighbor—who’s standing on her lawn across the street. She’ll be sure to report my departure to the neighborhood by dinner.
“Off gallivanting, are we?” she calls out in that motherly tone like I owe her an explanation.
I nod and slip into the back seat, not in the mood for small talk. The street doesn’t need to know my business.
“Hey, girlies.” I shut the door with a satisfying thud.
“Let’s get this party started.” Erin grins at me through the rearview mirror and shifts the car into gear.
“Hey, love.” Sin turns to face me. “How are you?”
“Ready to recharge. I’m going to need it with how busy I’ll be once I’m back.”
Erin arches one perfectly sculpted brow. “Recharge? What are you talking about? You’re single, carefree, and have Pete’s money. Why would you need to recharge?”
Sin’s eyes widen before shooting Erin a hard look. Erin’s a litigator for one of Canada’s top mining companies, single and career-driven, splitting her time between courtrooms, travel, and fleeting romances. Her bluntness can sting, but I’m used to it.
After knowing her more than half my life, I’ve learned her barbs often come from her own battles. Though that excuse doesn’t always lessen the bite.
Her obsidian eyes narrow on me. “I meant nothing by it. I just think I’d love to be a divorcée living off my ex’s money and dabbling in paint chips and fabric swatches.”
Ouch.
She flicks her long black hair over her shoulder with a defensive snap, red nails like claws poised to strike. Typical Erin—sharp and uncompromising.
I could argue with her for making my career sound like something out of kindergarten, but I won’t sink to her level. And even with her sharp edges, she can be vulnerable and sweet.
As an only child raised in a cold, strict household, Erin lost her mother to cancer in high school and was left with a distant, stoic father who only rewarded academic achievement. Consequently, she has an “I don’t give a shit” attitude and an insatiable drive to win at all costs.
“Whatever.” I stare out the window, latching on to the sunny scenery.
