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)
It was going to be a long-ass seven weeks.
ROW
The drive to Descartes was spent mostly in silence, which was usually my favorite soundtrack. Not so much right now, though, because the person sitting next to me was full of funny tidbits, fascinating opinions, and quirky ideas my adolescent self itched to hear.
Cal tried to strike up conversations, but I cranked up the radio each time she did. Worked well, as there was some kind of Backstreet Boys special, so she was dancing in her seat, pointing at me every time she belted out the lyrics. She was a little ball of sunshine, and I was a big, gray cloud that wanted to piss acid rain on her parade.
At some point, I lit up a cigarette and rolled the window down. Her giant pair of blues immediately glued to the side of my face. She stared at me like I had just informed her I was kidnapping her to sell to the highest bidder.
“Could you not?” She cleared her throat.
“Could I not what?” She had better not tell me what to do in my own fucking car.
“Give me cancer not even a week after I said goodbye to my father who lost the battle to the illness.”
Shit.
With a groan, I tossed the still-lit cigarette out the window.
“You should probably quit,” she said.
“You should definitely shut up.”
“Hey. I’m just looking out for you.” She sounded genuine. But if that were the case, she wouldn’t have broken my fucking heart all those years ago.
It annoyed the crap out of me that she was now contaminating my new Silverado. I’d had to get rid of the Mustang a couple years back because her white-musk-and-apples stench had been engraved into the seats. Now, here I was, surrounded by her scent again.
I was determined to keep Descartes afloat until we closed down. Showing Rhyland that I didn’t feel jack shit for the woman was a side bonus. I never backed out of a challenge.
As soon as we arrived at Descartes, I disposed of Cal with the maître d’ and told the latter to make sure she didn’t set anything on fire.
“Especially the customers.” I raised my index finger in the menace’s direction.
Cal’s sapphires flared. “That happened once. Who told you, anyway? I thought Rhyland was the one who talked to my references.”
Jesus Christ.
Apparently, Cal had been trained in a day since my idiot best friend had hired her. Rhyland claimed she wasn’t a complete disaster. But seeing as the klutz had walked into every glass door in town over the years and had once burned Mr. Wallace’s toupee while trying to light his birthday cake candles, I had my doubts.
“Anyway, I’d like to begrudgingly admit this place is breathtaking.” Cal tugged at her Dutch braids to loosen them. Everything she did was annoyingly sexy. The way she fixed her hair, sipped from her Stanley cup. Breathed.
“Shit, I thought you noticed,” I said.
“Noticed what?”
“I have eyes and don’t need you to state the fucking obvious.”
Descartes was a work of art, every damn inch of it. Live ivy crawled up the arched ceiling. Makeshift trees spurted out of the center of each rustic table. The sleek iron bar and hand-painted china made the place a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and that was before they tasted my orgasmic food and heavily curated imported wine.
“You chose callas for flowers.” Her eyes smiled right along with her lips. She picked purple and white flowers from one of the vases on a table, bringing the petals to her nose. “Aren’t they the most beautiful thing in the world?”
No. Not even close. I swallowed.
“They’re devastatingly toxic,” I drawled. “Reminds me of someone, actually.”
“It’s probably going to be sad, saying goodbye to this place.” She ignored my snark, looking around.
“Nothing will trump the happiness of not seeing you again,” I maintained.
She put the flowers back in the vase carefully, her eyes ticking. “Can you at least pretend not to hate me?”
“Probably.” I threw a batch of keys into her hands. “But it’s not worth the effort. Go to the back office and get changed into your uniform.”
Cal glared at the dozens of keys resting in her palm. “Which one is it?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Row, there are, like, thirty keys here!” Her cheeks stained red. I hated being an asshole to her, but it had to be done. I couldn’t let her worm her way back into my heart. Not even my dick. She was danger, and anyway, I was best alone.
“Forty-four. Better get goin’.”
The maître d’, Katie, winced at her. “Chef is an acquired taste.”
“Uh-huh,” Cal muttered, scorching my face with a blazing scowl. “Tastes like ass to me.”
Katie gasped.
A muscle jumped in my jaw. “Do you want this job or not?”
Her tic returned in full force. Blink, blink, blink. She tried to control it by averting her gaze to the ceiling. “I’m starting to rethink it.”