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“Margot–”
“I saw you with that waitress. I watched you laugh and then hand her your phone.” Well, she was the one flirting with him, but he didn’t seem to mind the attention. It’s a problem, though, when I so much as talk to my prep cook. The hypocrisy of this man. “How often does that happen? I wonder how many of them you’ve made believe that you cared.”
I shove a hand into my hair and squeeze when fresh tears threaten to fall.
“I never lied to you about anything, Margot. You’re the only woman I want.” He takes both of my arms, tightening his grip when I fight his hold. “Gina was flirting, and what you saw was me turning her down. I told her that I’m involved with someone else. With you.”
“You really expect me to believe that? After you lied about the other things?”
“What other things?”
“The drugs.” My voice cracks as the elevator finally stops. “You told me that Cathedral was clean, but you lied about that too.”
“Margot—”
“You walked into my kitchen with a plain brown box under your arm on the same morning I found a plain brown box on the floor of my walk-in, full of little baggies of powder, and you asked me to put yours in the cooler.” The words come out of me like something tearing. “Do you know what I did? I opened it. I stood there with my hands shaking and opened your box in front of you because I had to know, and it was food, and I have spent three weeks trying to make that mean something.”
“You think—”
“I check the shelf every night, Bishop. Every single night before I go up to your bed.” The tears come, and this betrayal is bigger than the last. “Twice it’s been there. Twice. And you’re the only person in this building nobody says no to.”
The tears come; this betrayal is bigger than the last.
His brows furrow in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sure, go ahead and feign ignorance,” I choke out, yanking my arms out of his hold. “I’m done with this, with you. Stay the hell away from me.”
He reaches out, but I evade him and step out of the elevator, striding for the restaurant. I’m already taking off my coat as I walk in, sorting through my mental catalog for the most complicated dish I know that’s going to take my mind off him. Hell, maybe I’ll convince Jasper to let me help him with his little project. Yeah, I could use the company of someone willing to learn. The distraction.
I toss the coat over a chair and push into the kitchen, expecting to be greeted by the smell of food.
Nothing.
The counters are bare. The cooking tools are as clean as I left them. I stop dead, and there’s Jasper, leaning against a counter, scrolling through his phone with the ease of someone who has all the time in the world.
“What are you doing?”
He jumps at my voice, guilt crossing his face before horror sets in. “Oh, Chef…um, hi.”
“I thought you said you were cooking,” I say, stepping into the kitchen and looking around. Nothing’s been touched. “What’s going on here?”
“I–I was about to get started.” He’s lying; of course, he is. Of course, I’d get two men I care about lying to me in the same hour. “I… Have you been crying?”
There’s real concern on that young face, but I’m still stuck on the deceit.
“You told me you were working on a dish twenty minutes ago, but I see nothing.”
“I was just looking up a few things. I’ll…” He looks around, chewing nervously on his lip. “Maybe you could give me the hour you promised me. I swear I’ll be done by then.”
“I’m staying,” I say firmly. “I want to see what you’re working on.”
A pained look crosses his face. “Please, can’t you just let me use the kitchen for a few more minutes? It won’t be long.”
That makes me want to leave less. “What are you not telling me?”
“Chef, I just need—” He stops, and his eyes go wide as the door behind me opens, and I feel someone’s in the room before I turn. I expect to see Bishop and start amping myself up for another round with him, but I’m greeted by a stranger.
He’s huge. There’s a scar running down one side of his face and small, beaded eyes that fix on me. Everything in my body says run.
