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)
Also, did I mention that I needed to pay my New York rent? And utilities? And general existence?
“Two of our waiters ran off to elope and do a coast-to-coast.” Rhyland perched against a wall, popping a thick eyebrow up skeptically. His main job seemed to be leaning against sturdy objects and looking sensual. Kind of like Jason Momoa. With better hair product.
“Ugh. So romantic.” I fanned my eyeballs, feeling teary-eyed. Then I saw the look Row gave me and quickly added, “And irresponsible. Totally irresponsible. Especially with the time it takes to learn every ingredient on the menu and correct timings. I would never.” I paused, then clarified, “Leave without at least a month’s notice, not…get married. Although, judging by my love life, ain’t nobody needs to save up for a wedding gift.” My inability to exist without saying or doing something stupid never ceased to amaze me. They said the spotlight can either make you shine or melt. I knew where I was standing. My eyes ticked like crazy.
Rhyland gave me a once-over. “Did you say timings?”
I nodded enthusiastically. Mom was right. Getting out of the house was a great way to find job leads. “Yeah. I looked at Descartes online. You do a prix fixe menu, right?”
Rhy took a step deeper into the room, in my direction, looking enchanted. “Table d’hôte.”
“Don’t even think about it, Rhy.” Row raised a finger to his best friend, and I swear that thing was thicker than an oak trunk. “Don’t even think about thinking about it.”
Too late. My mind was reeling. The money I would make could set me up not only with rent and utilities but also with maybe renting out a little studio to record my podcast. Or perhaps just the equipment to set up in my own apartment.
“Ever worked as a high-end server, Cal?” Rhyland asked. I’d read on the Descartes website that he had a management position there. Growing up, Rhy was to Row what I was to Dylan. But I couldn’t imagine him doing something so straitlaced. He was more the type to bull-ride and axe-throw. Run away from a burning castle with a princess tossed over his shoulder. He had always been too charming for his own good.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, ignoring Row’s death glare that was currently burning a hole through my temple. “I worked for Avant Garden for two years while I was in college and just finished a two-year contract at Tsukimishi.”
“Don’t care if she won the Georges Baptiste Cup for best server for seven consecutive years.” Row jabbed his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. “She isn’t hired.”
“I was also a chef de partie at Teddy’s one summer.” I perked up sunnily, flashing Row what I hoped was an adorable smile. “I have three references and a bevy of experience working under pressure. And under assholes too!”
Rhyland barked out a laugh, clapping at my little performance. “She’s the one, Row.”
“Glad you’re familiar with assholes.” Row checked his phone, tucking it back into his pocket. “Because the only job you’ll be getting in this town is scrubbing toilets, and not mine.”
“Honestly?” Dylan ignored her brother. “You sound perfect for the job. Doesn’t she, Rhy?”
“Chef’s kiss.” Rhyland touched his fingers to his lips. “And other party favors, if this guy has his way.” He wiggled his brows and looked at me just a moment longer than he should.
I stiffened. I didn’t like men’s eyes on me. Even if I knew Rhyland.
“You’re about to be six feet under if you don’t knock it off.” Row’s lips barely moved, and my muscles immediately uncurled and relaxed. One thing hadn’t changed—he was still protective of me because I was an extension of Dylan. Growing up, Row was always one phone call away if I needed a ride home, even if he spent the entire drive ignoring me.
“My interest in Cal is purely professional,” Rhyland drawled, and he wasn’t only good-looking—he was good everything. He had that aura that made him look famous somehow. People gravitated toward him, like planets circling the sun. “No offense, but I like ’em with a bit more meat and edge. You look like an infant saint in a medieval painting.”
“A cherub,” I burst happily. “That’s the best compliment.”
“It’s an insult he’ll pay for,” Row countered. “And it’s not happening.”
“Get your head outta your ass. She has experience.” Rhyland threw a hand in the air, losing patience. “We can’t afford to pass that up.”
“Besides, she is the only person who would agree to work for you.” Dylan laughed evilly. “You’re dead to everyone else in this town, and I’m too pregnant to pull doubles like yesteryear.”
Why was Dylan vouching for me? Did that mean our beef was officially squashed? Or was working for her brother her idea of a cruel punishment for me?