Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
My eyes fly up when I feel eyes on me, and I see her standing there looking at me. "Sorry, I came in from the back." I point to the back of the kitchen. My heart goes crazy in my chest at her appearance. If I thought she was sexy before, fuck, she upped her game since I've been gone. Her hair is a touch shorter than it was the last time. The front is moved to the side and tucked behind her ear.
"What are you doing here?" She doesn't move from her spot, and to be honest, I'm afraid to move from my spot. Thinking that one move and she'll just be gone.
"I came by so we can talk." I put my hands in my back pockets so she doesn't see them shake.
"Nothing to talk about," she says. "You can let yourself out the same way you came in." She turns to walk out of the room.
"Clarabella." I say her name, and she stops. I can tell she's pissed just by the way her shoulders go square. She turns, and the ice-blue eyes that I once loved looking into, well, if looks could kill, I would be dead. "I really think we need to talk."
"There is not one thing in this world that I want to talk to you about, Luke," she deadpans.
"You are still using my restaurants as your primary vendor." I never move my eyes from her.
"Okay, and?" she says.
"Why?" I ask the question I've been asking myself since Mikaela told me about how much she works with her. "After everything that went down."
"Nothing went down," she retorts, making me pissed. "It was a mistake." The words cut me to the core, and it serves me right since those were the words I told her. Nothing was a mistake, my head screams.
"I'm back now.” I wait to see if her face changes, but it doesn't. It just stays the same with the big shield up, and I fucking hate it. But then again, I put it there. It's there because of me.
"I don't see what that matters." She folds her arms over her chest. "Working with Mikaela is easy, and the two of us mesh well."
"With me back, she'll be taking a step back and focusing just on the restaurant." I watch her to see if it sinks in. "You won't be working with her anymore. You'll be working with me again."
"Again, I don't see why that would matter to me." She unfolds her arms. "My clients deserve the best, and the best is what your restaurant gives me. So until it changes, that is what I'm going to work with."
"I'm sorry that I left like that." The words come out before I can stop them, and I see right away they get to her, but she masks it.
"I don't care." She shrugs. "I don't care that you left. I don't care that you’re back. What I care about is the service that you provide for my clients." Her words gut me. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with a client."
She turns to walk out, and I see the tattoo at the bottom of her neck. The tattoo that I traced with my tongue right before I slipped into her. "It's a beautiful table," I compliment, and she looks over her shoulder. "Very elegant."
"Thank you," she says. "I hope my wedding guests will love it." My mouth hangs open as I look at her and then back at the table. The sound of her heels clicking gets farther and farther away from me.
"She's getting married," I say the words out loud, hoping it will finally register in my brain that she is off the market and is in the “do not go there” category. "Motherfucker," I curse with all the pent-up anger I kept at bay in front of her. Having her stand there in front of me and totally brush me off killed me inside, but I don't know what I expected. I thought for sure she would rip me a new one and ask me why I did it. But I did not plan for her to brush me off. For her to stand in front of me and act like it didn't even bother her. At least that is what it looked like. Except for that one second when her guard slipped, and I saw the hurt in her eyes.
My eyes roam over the table again as I look at everything so neatly done. I want to rip everything off the table and throw it to the floor.
But I don't. Instead, I turn and walk back out the door I walked into, not once looking back.
I slam the door of my truck a lot harder than I have to. Starting it and backing up, I put my glasses back on my eyes as I do what I told myself not to do. I take one look back, knowing where her office window is. I stare into it, hoping that she comes to the window, but nothing happens. Nothing happens except the roar that rips out of me and the fist that punches the steering wheel.