by Cassia Leo
My foot accidentally kicks the corner of the bed frame, and I let out a hushed curse. Ethan stirs on the bed. Through the blackness, I can’t see if he’s awake, so I hurriedly tiptoe the rest of the way to my side of the bed and slide beneath the covers.
I’m about to shut my eyes, when I hear a soft murmur, like the sound of someone savoring a delicious bite of food.
“Mmm… Definitely worth it.”
Somewhat reluctantly, I allow myself to smile. The inky darkness affords me the privacy to smile with confidence. I don’t normally feel positive when I think about my body.
Before I can stop myself, I turn over onto my right side to face him. I can barely see the silvery outline of his lips and the tip of his nose. But I can definitely see the whites of his eyes.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
He watches me for a while, long enough that I begin to wonder if he may have fallen asleep with his eyes open. Maybe he was talking in his sleep.
Finally, he replies, but his words are not what I expect. “I should sleep on the floor.”
“Why?” I blurt out without a second thought, and in a surprisingly whiny voice.
He chuckles. “I’m not sure I can trust myself right now.”
“But…what if I said I trust you?”
“You trust me?” he asks skeptically.
“Well, no. But I don’t want you to have to sleep on the floor.”
“Why do you want to sleep with someone you don’t trust?”
His question is like a sledgehammer shattering the cracks in my logic.
“Because,” I begin tentatively, “I do trust you tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll have to earn my trust again.”
He laughs then pauses to consider my statement. “Okay,” he says as he finally slides beneath the covers. “You’ve convinced me.”
It dawns on me Ethan just used reverse psychology to basically get me to beg him to sleep with me. I definitely have to keep my guard up with him. He’s playing on a whole different level than I am.
“Goodnight,” I whisper as I turn over to face away from him.
“Goodnight, love.”
I wait in silence for the charcuterie platter I ordered to arrive as Eric, Minka, and Minka’s mother, Ester, discuss the possibility of taking a summer vacation at their lakeside cabin upstate. I barely register anything they’re saying as my mind keeps flashing back to the mortification I felt when I woke up yesterday morning with my arms wrapped around Ethan’s arm like a damn security blanket.
He was a good sport about it. He seemed to accept my explanation about how I normally sleep with a body pillow, so I must have confused his arm for it in the middle of the night. But I could still see the seed of doubt in his eyes. In the end, I decided it best to pretend my insides weren’t writhing with embarrassment as he was taking the piss out of me, as he called it.
I was grateful he gave me the rest of the day off yesterday, so I didn’t have to see him after that awkward car ride. And I wasn’t scheduled to work today. I thought the time away would lessen the dread of going back to Forked, but somehow the dread mixed with the unmistakable pining has only made it worse.
The truth is, I loved waking up with him in my arms, even if it was just one of his limbs.
“Alice?” Eric’s voice breaks me out of my reverie.
“Yes?”
He smiles as he holds up a piece of bruschetta. “You should try this stuff. It’s really good.”
I take the bruschetta from him and pop the whole thing in my mouth, savoring the satisfying crunch and the slightly sweet topping. “Mmm,” I murmur as I nod my head.
His eyes light up. “What kind of stuff is that on top of the bread?”
Without hesitation, I reply, “It’s a romesco sauce. It’s not a traditional topping for bruschetta, but this is a tapas restaurant, so…”
“Romesco,” Eric repeats the word, trying it out in his mouth. “What’s in it?”
I can’t help but smile at his eagerness. “Roasted red peppers, almonds, stale bread, olive oil. Maybe a few other things, depending on who makes it.”
“Do you think I can make it with jalapeños instead of red peppers? You know, raise the heat a little?”
I pause, wondering if I should explain the difference in the sweetness and bitterness of red bell peppers and jalapeños, but I decide against it. “You can make it however you want, Eric. That’s the beauty of cooking; it’s an art. It’s subjective.”
His face splits into a broad grin. “Let me see if I have any jalapeños on me,” he says, digging into the front pocket of his jeans.
Minka screws up her face in disgust. “Sir, I know you did not bring a damn jalapeño in your pocket.”
I stifle a laugh. It always amuses me when Minka calls Eric sir. And his ability to turn any meal into a performance is a talent.
Eric sighs as he reaches into his other pocket. “I know it’s in here somewhere.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” Minka says, shaking her head. “You’ve gone too far now. Bringing jalapeños from home? Have you lost your damn mind?” She turns to her mother for support. “Mom, are you seeing this? You see what I have to deal with?”
Ester shakes her head. “Let the man have his jalapeños. He’s not hurting anyone.”
Eric’s eyes widen as he seems to find what he’s looking for. “Got it!”
Just as Minka pushes her chair out, as if she’s ready to bolt, Eric pulls something out of his pocket that is decidedly not a jalapeño.
Minka’s jaw drops as he falls to one knee in front of her.
My eyes lock on the small, light-blue box resting in the palm of his hand.
“Baby,” he says, looking into her eyes.
Minka stares at the box in complete shock. “What the…”
“Baby, you know I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you four years ago today,” he begins, and Minka’s eyes begin to tear up. “And you’ve made it very clear that you won’t agree to marry me until I know you well enough to guess how you want to be proposed to.”
I laugh at this piece of information my best friend has never shared with me. Minka appears embarrassed by Eric revealing this private pact they made. But as she looks back and forth a few times between her mother and me, then back to Eric, I have a feeling he may have got this right.
Her gaze settles on me. “Did he ask you how to do this?”
I shake my head adamantly. “I had no idea.”
She turns to her mother, who also proclaims her innocence.
The broad smile Eric wore earlier seems to be tempered by his anxiety now as he opens the box, takes the ring out, and sets the box on the table. “Minka Lorraine Johnson, will you do me the honor of accepting, in front of your best friend and your beautiful mother, this proposal of marriage? Or can you at least tell me if I came close?”
Ester and I laugh, but we quickly collect ourselves as we await Minka’s response.
Minka brushes the moisture from her cheeks, and the sight of it makes my nose sting with unspent tears.
Finally, she nods her head and chokes out her reply, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
The entire restaurant, which I hadn’t even realized was watching us, breaks out in applause. Ester and I hug each other as Eric and Minka seem lost in their own embrace, oblivious to the joy they’ve brought so many here today.
If Eric had asked me how he should propose to Minka, this is probably not what I would have suggested. Which goes to show that Eric knows her better than I do.
This sparks a painful longing inside me, partly because I know I’ve lost a piece of my best friend to her new fiancé. But mostly because I desperately wish someone knew me that well.
Chapter 10
ETHAN
Opening night for Forked comes much faster than I anticipated. When I found out, a few months ago, that the previous owner of Forked was in bankruptcy and looking to sell the business to cover his debts, I jumped at the opportunity with sheer bravado. The pr
evious owner had run out of funds halfway through the construction phase. My barrister negotiated with the court trustee who was handling his bankruptcy plan, and I was able to buy the restaurant at well below market value.
If I hadn’t been in New York helping with Edward’s restaurant opening, I wouldn’t have stumbled upon the acquisition opportunity. And it was definitely a fortuitous investment.
If we remain on target to reach the milestones set out in the business plan, we’re likely to make a lot of people very wealthy. And once the final funding phase is complete, I’ll be able to offer all my employees a collective stake in the company. This is what I’ve done with every restaurant I’ve opened in the UK, and, among other things, it’s one of my biggest secrets to success.
But the more I consider the serendipitous manner in which this project was dropped into my lap, the more I wonder if I truly stumbled upon it by accident.
With the proving cabinet situation sorted out and the construction punch-list being signed off on by Tino yesterday afternoon, the only thing that can go wrong tonight will come down to the human factor. Is the staff ready? Can I stop thinking about Alice long enough to focus on one of the most important nights of the year?
I have to arrive at the restaurant for opening night in less than an hour, but I have one other human factor that must be addressed before I can leave my apartment in Midtown.
Edward answers my phone call after three rings. “Hello.”
“I think you should skip tonight,” I say, cutting straight to the point.
“Mate, what are you talking about? I’m not leaving you hanging tonight.”
“Thank you, but we’ll be fine without you. Showing up on opening night, when everyone will already be stressed, won’t make anything easier.”
He chuckles. “Mate, you don’t have to say ‘everyone’ when you’re only referring to Alice.”
I take a deep breath to stifle the curse words on the tip of my tongue. “I don’t have the time to argue the point. I have to be at the restaurant in less than an hour. Do I have your word you won’t show up tonight? I can book you a reservation for a day she’s not on the schedule.”
“I’ve had this planned for months: dinner at my brother’s fantastic new restaurant, drinks with colleagues and the new girl, afterward. Sorry, mate. Rescheduling is not in the cards.”
I nod as I realize this is how he wants to play it. “Fine. But if you give any of my employees a difficult time—any of them—you will regret it, brother.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long while. “I don’t doubt you truly believe that. Want to know what I believe?”
“What do you believe?”
“I believe I called a few hotels near Henry’s Restaurant Supply the morning after we last spoke. And I believe the Poughkeepsie Grand Hotel regretfully informed me a Mr. Ethan Thorne and his lovely brunette companion had only just left.” He pauses for me to absorb this information before he continues. “Let’s not forget who brought the Forked acquisition to your attention. And if you want to talk about regret... Do you think Cristian would regret advocating for this deal if he knew you were going to use it to shag his daughter?”
“You’re really threatening me?” I say, incredulous at the lengths he’s willing to go to control me. “I thought you might be emotional last we spoke. You know, maybe a bit jealous of me for spending the night with Alice, but—”
“So, you admit you slept with her?”
“We shared a hotel room. I did not sleep with her,” I reply.
I’m fully cognizant of the semantics involved in this white lie. Alice and I technically slept in the same bed, but, unfortunately, we did not sleep together in the sense Edward is implying. But even if I had shagged Alice, I wouldn’t give a toss what Edward—or Cristian—have to say about it, because I’d be too bloody chuffed to care.
“I don’t think the specifics will matter to Cristian or Greenwood Capital,” Edward says, once again reminding me of the stakes.
I press my lips together, nodding as my mind scrambles for a graceful exit out of this conversation, but my mind is drawing a blank. And, quite frankly, I’m growing tired of Edward’s blackmail. I knew he wanted to turn our careers into a competition the moment he chose to attend a different culinary school than I did. But I never expected him to take our rivalry to this level.
“If you think you can control me by threatening to have my funding revoked, you’ve seriously overestimated how much I need Greenwood’s money.”
He cackles so loudly I have to hold my mobile a few inches away from my ear. “I know you didn’t need the funding when you invested. But now that you have it, it’s kind of set in stone.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Mate, you seem to be forgetting something very important: the funding clause in the bankruptcy plan.”
“What about it?”
“If you lose your funding, control of the restaurant reverts back to the court trustee. And the trustee may or may not allow you to invest your own capital, since that would reduce your debt-to-income ratio. American finance, mate. Might want to read up on how the system works before you decide to invest in it.”
What Edward is implying is, should Cristian decide to not sign off on the final funding phase, the restaurant will be confiscated by the court, so it can be sold off to pay the former owner’s debts. Even if I offer to fund the rest of the project with my own money, the court trustee may not agree to this.
I would have never used Greenwood Capital if it wasn’t for Edward’s recommendation.
I disconnect the call without saying goodbye and drop my mobile onto the coffee table as if it’s a hot pan. My vision blurs with rage as I contemplate whether this entire scenario—Edward bringing the Forked buyout to my attention, suggesting I use Cristian’s VC firm, then suggesting I hire Alice—was orchestrated from the beginning.
But why? Does my brother really resent my success that much? Is he really that gutted over Alice walking out on him?
The longer I consider these questions, the more I begin to see the blueprint of Edward’s plan unfolding before me. Until, finally, my mind lands on a memory that brings everything slightly more into focus.
When Edward came to London to spend Christmas with us last year, and to beg me to bail him out of the financial hole he’d dug with his restaurant project, he looked utterly defeated. We spent four days at my parents’ flat in Battersea. I didn’t agree to help him until day four, but Edward’s demeanor changed halfway through our stay. Something else raised my brother’s spirits last Christmas.
I have two options now.
I can proceed with Alice however I want and risk losing my funding and my restaurant.
Or I can simply play by Edward’s rules and leave Alice alone.
As winding and treacherous as the first road appears, I’ve never been one to play it safe.
Chapter 11
ALICE
When I enter the kitchen at Forked, looking for Ollie, I’m caught off my guard by the huge grin that spreads across Ethan’s face when he sees me. I flash him a soft, dreamy smile, realizing too late that this may come across as flirting.
Forcing a serious expression, I turn to Ollie. “I have a message for you.”
She glances at Ethan, then back to me. “For me? What is it?”
“A woman just called. She said her name was Elizabeth Hardley, and she was booked as the photographer for the opening, but she won’t be able to make it due to a family emergency.”
“What?” Ethan and Ollie both exclaim at the same time.
I flinch at their strong reaction. “I just—”
“Is she on the phone right now?” Ollie pleads.
“No. I asked if she wanted to speak to you, but she said she was at the hospital and didn’t have time to hold.”
Both Ethan and Ollie look ready to strangle someone, giving me the impression I should slink out of the kitchen for my own safety.
“I’m
on it,” Ollie says to Ethan and quickly exits the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” I say before I can stop myself.
Ethan’s eyes meet mine and something seems to shift inside him, as if he suddenly remembers where he is. The muscle in his jaw relaxes, and he becomes visibly more at ease.
“No need to apologize,” he reminds me. “I’m sure Ollie will find a replacement for the photographer. And if she doesn’t, this is New York. We can probably step outside and find a dozen amateur photographers within eyesight.”
I flash him another quick smile and a nod, then I turn on my heel to leave.
“Alice?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I realize Ethan’s following behind me.
“I need to speak to you in my office,” he says, then seems to notice my trepidation and clarifies, “about tonight’s reservations. Come.”
I follow him to his office and my heart-rate speeds up as he closes the door behind us. He doesn’t move toward his desk chair. Instead, he looks down at me as we stand just inside the door.
The intense look in his eyes is unreadable. Did I do something wrong? Am I being fired? Is he… Is he going to kiss me?
“Have you rung everyone to confirm reservations?” he asks.
I snap my gaze away from the bow of his lips and look him in the eyes, trying not to look too disappointed. “Yes. There was only one cancelation.”
“Who canceled?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he looks hopeful or shocked.
I purse my lips as I search my memory for the person’s name. “I think it was…Peter or Perry. Something like that.”
“Peter Badgely?”
“Yes! That’s it. His assistant said he’s out of town. But everyone else confirmed. And I checked the online reservations. A few of those were canceled, but I don’t remember the names. Do you want me to get those?”
He shakes his head. “No, that won’t be necessary.”