Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Her lips quirked into a tired smile, and she pressed her cheek into my palm. “Hello, McMonster. Nice to have you back.”
“You never lost me.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re hopelessly in love with me.”
“Don’t make me kill you.”
“Why not?” The corner of her lip moved along my rough palm. “It would make for a perfect excuse to procrastinate. ‘Sorry, can’t come tomorrow. I’ll be dead.’”
“Nice try, but you are showing up to the shift tomorrow, even if it’s in a coffin.”
“I actually want to be cremated.”
“Not gonna work. You’re already too hot.”
“Is that a pickup line?” Her eyes flared.
“That depends on whether it’s working or not.”
“Well, it’s cheesier than a deep-dish pizza.” She tried hard not to laugh. “I think I finally found something you’re bad at. You’re terrible at flirting.”
“That’s because I’ve never had to work very hard to get women to fall into my bed,” I said, not an ounce of cockiness in my voice. “You’re ruining my stats.”
“Don’t be so touchy. I like cheese. I would do heinous things for fried halloumi. This is a no-judgment zone.” She laced her fingers through mine on her cheek.
For the first time in years, I experienced a moment of true happiness. It revolted and alarmed me. I pulled away, resting her head over the armrest. “You’re bleeding again.”
“Oh shit.” She raised her hand to touch her wound before thinking the better of it. Her eyes widened in horror. “That couple never got the wine menu. I need to…” She tried standing up, but I shoved her back down to the couch.
“Who cares about their wine?”
“Hmm, you, Mr. Stickler.” She poked my chest. “Ugh, I’m getting lightheaded again.”
I stood up and walked over to my desk, opening the left-hand drawer. I ambled back toward her, unwrapping an Oh Henry! and thrusting it into her hand. “Sit up,” I ordered.
She did, leaning against the headrest and snatching the candy, staring at me intently as she tore a bite off the chewy bar. The corners of her mouth lifted. “Hmm. Tastes like heaven. Wonder why you kept one in your drawer.”
“You’re not the only one who likes Oh Henry!” I seethed.
“We both know I am,” she said around a huge chunk of chocolate, her smile widening. “Which is why I can’t find these puppies anywhere. Where are you getting them? The black market? A time machine that’s taking you to the nineties? Come on, share the wealth.”
A thin river of blood snaked from her forehead down her cheek. Where was that damn doctor?
There was a knock on the door. Rhyland walked in. “Kitchen needs you.”
“Kitchen can go fu—” I stopped, realizing Rhy’s lips were a breath away from forming a shit-eating grin. “I’m busy right now,” I corrected myself.
“Busy doing what?” He propped an elbow against the doorframe.
“Are you blind?”
“Are you? Cal’s forehead seems under control.” Rhy took one look at her, and even that was enough to jack up my blood temperature. “And Taylor’s having a moment. Someone sent their steak tartare back. They want it cooked.”
“Tartare means raw. Fixing stupid is above my pay grade.”
“Respectfully, your pay grade is too generous for anything short of curing cancer.” Rhy sauntered in, grabbing a stress ball from my desk and giving it a squeeze. “Anyway, he wants to know what to do.”
“If Taylor wants a shot at wiping tables at La Vie en Rogue, not to mention joining me in the kitchen, he needs to pull himself together and rise to the occasion. We don’t serve well-done steak. They can go to Applebee’s for that.”
“You need to go to the kitchen,” Rhy reiterated, setting the ball back down.
“Row…” Cal said tentatively.
“No,” I barked, still staring at Rhyland. “Final answer. Now leave.”
Cal glanced between us sheepishly, slowly rising to her feet.
“Not you.” I whipped my head in her direction. “Him.”
“I don’t wanna cause any trouble.” Cal shook her head. “I can wait here by myself. I mean, I’m stuck on this Best Fiends level, anyway.”
A knock sounded from the door.
“What now?” I stood up, ready to murder someone. Kieran, ideally.
“I’m sorry he is a sociopath,” Rhy told Cal.
“It’s okay.” She gave him two thumbs up. “Totally not your fault.”
A man in an old-school leather jacket and a checked accountant button-down shirt walked in, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Hello, I’m Dr. O’Hara.”
“Thank goodness you’re here!” Cal slapped a hand to her chest dramatically. “Chef over here needs you to remove the stick from his ass. Oh, and while you’re here, mind stitching my forehead?”
CAL
oBITCHuary: Favorite movie?
McMonster: The Wrestler.
oBITCHuary: RUDE. Ask me what’s mine.
McMonster: I already know.
oBITCHuary: Well?
McMonster: Little Miss Sunshine.
oBITCHuary: WRONG.
McMonster: RIGHT. Stop lying.
oBITCHuary: FINE. It’s a masterpiece and I stand behind my decision. Steve Carell’s best work to date.
McMonster: Gotta have a good memory when you lie all the time. You need to keep track.