Regardless, none of that mattered, because without her or Kelsey, I would’ve been screwed.
Jen and I had been a couple for so long that almost everything we had owned, we’d purchased together. When I’d made the decision to leave earlier than planned, the thought of dividing every single possession into two piles had made me sick to my stomach, so I’d left most of it behind. In the end, I’d taken the queen-sized bed and matching dresser that had been in our guest room, enough kitchen utensils to get me by, a small box of linens and towels, and a TV—in addition to my own personal effects.
But now, thanks to Kelsey, no one would be able to tell that I’d basically moved in with a pillowcase slung over my shoulder. This was the perk of having a professional home stager in the family. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t questioned her career choice a time or two, but I guess she ended up having the last laugh. I’d had no idea this was a real job before Kelsey. And by the time she left Tuesday night, I could see why she was so popular—aside from probably being the only one in town who did this sort of thing.
Earlier in the week, I’d received an email from the biggest engineering firm in the area. After a few calls, a dinner meeting had been scheduled for tonight. Wiseman Engineering Group had been my top pick when I’d made the decision to move closer to my family. So, my hopes and dreams pretty much came down to this.
I found the restaurant with ease and pulled into the first available parking space I saw. The second I had my car door open, my mouth watered at the aroma filling the air. There was something about the smell of a steak that could make anyone hungry.
And just like that, the mention of food brought my mind back to Tatum.
After spending most of the day with her yesterday, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Every spare minute had been spent recalling the taste of her lips and the soft hitches in her breathing when I’d gotten close to her. I’d slept soundly to the memory of Tatum’s raven eyes glimmering as I’d touched her. Today had been a different story, though. Preparing for this dinner had taken up far too much energy, effectively pushing Tatum to the side.
I was too lost in my thoughts to notice the woman standing on the curb. She smiled as I approached, but I didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t until I stepped to the side to get around her that she laid her hand on my arm, finally catching my undivided attention. I studied her face for a moment, hoping recognition would hit soon, yet it didn’t. Nothing about her bright, aqua-colored eyes or pale-pink lips rang any bells. If I’d gone to school with her in Samson, we must not have been very close, because I didn’t know who she was. And while I admittedly sucked at remembering names, I could at least recognize faces.
“Jason Watson?” Her voice was soft and light, so there was hope I hadn’t done her wrong in my youth. “I’m Elizabeth Wiseman, with Wiseman Engineering Group, but you can call me Beth. I hope you found the place okay.”
I tried to mask my surprise and folded her soft hand in mine. “Yes, I did; thank you. I’m sorry, but you weren’t what I expected.”
Smiling, she hiked the straps of a very large purse higher onto her shoulder. “Let me guess . . . you thought you were meeting someone older?”
There was no good way to answer this, so I went with the truth. “Uh, yeah, something like that.” Okay, partial truth. Yes, having dinner with someone around my age wasn’t what I’d anticipated, but for some reason, I’d assumed she’d be . . . unattractive. Which she wasn’t.
“Don’t worry. I get it all the time.”
“Is David Wiseman your husband?” I stepped closer to the door and pulled it open for her.
Beth clutched her bag to her side and strode past me, the smile never falling from her lips. “Oh, no. He’s my father.”
As reassuring as that was to hear—considering David’s age—part of me had hoped she would say yes. It wasn’t that I had an issue having dinner with an attractive woman or anything, but since I was under the impression this meeting might lead to a job offer, it would’ve made me feel better to know she was married.
“I use my maiden name in business—makes things easier.” She winked. “Unfortunately, it confuses people when they find out I’m married.”
Thank God she chose that moment to turn her attention to the hostess; otherwise, she might’ve seen the relief on my face.
Leaning into the podium, she said, “Hi, we have a reservation for two. Wiseman.”
The hostess glanced from Beth to me, then down to her clipboard briefly before finding my eyes again. She regarded me as if she knew me and seeing me here was a shock. I frantically scoured my memory for some clue that could help me place her face, and when she returned to the clipboard, I peeked at the black tag pinned to her shirt—Amanda.
That was of no help. Even if we did know each other, I’d more than likely called her something different—I was better at remembering famous names than those of the women I met. Not to mention, I’d probably met dozens of Amandas in my life. And not surprisingly, I couldn’t recall a single one.
“Right this way, please.” The hostess grabbed two menus, marked something off on the chart taped to the podium, and then led us into the dining room. Stopping at a small two-person table toward the front, she eyed me suspiciously. “Your server is Carrie, and she’ll be right with you.”
Beth set her bag on the floor next to her chair and picked up her menu. Apparently, she had been here many times. When I asked for suggestions, she read me the entire list of entrées. Which would’ve been helpful if I’d been a starving man looking to eat ten tons of food.
I was in the midst of glancing around the room, admiring the atmosphere, when a young blonde heading in our direction caught my attention. One look at her and I could tell she wasn’t a waitress—she wasn’t in the same uniform as the staff who served various tables with food or drinks, and hers had white dusty patches and what looked like pancake batter. However, instead of stopping, she slowed her gait, glared at me like I was beneath her, and then circled back around before trotting away.
“That was weird,” I mumbled.
Beth lifted her chin, taking her focus off the menu, and asked, “What was?”
“You didn’t see that?” I gestured to the far corner of the room, where the blonde had escaped, and then shook my head. “Never mind. It was probably nothing.”
I went back to the list of dinner options, ready to close my eyes and point to one, when the waitress came to greet us. “Welcome to Fathom 216. My name’s Carrie, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Have either of you been here before?”
“I haven’t, but she—”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” The smile plastered to this lady’s face was as fake as a hundred-dollar bill with George Washington on the front. “Would you like to hear the specials, or are you the kind of guy who likes to look around? You look like someone who samples.”
“You offer samples?” I was surprised for all of two seconds before Carrie shook her head. “Oh, my apologies. I thought you mentioned it.”
“I’m sure you did, dear.” Carrie took the napkins off the table and carefully set one over Beth’s thighs. When she turned to me, she didn’t even bother to unfold the napkin before dropping it into my lap. “Would you like to order? The sooner you do, the faster you’re out of here. I’m sure that’s the endgame, right?”
I wasn’t certain, but I didn’t think that was an actual question. “Um, I haven’t had a chance to decide yet. I think I’ll keep looking.”
“I bet you will.” How this woman could offend me with a smile and without saying anything particularly offensive was beyond me. “I’ll give you two another minute. In the meantime, what can I get you to drink?”
There was absolutely no point in her asking what I wanted, because she didn’t deliver. The water with no ice and extra lemon came with extra ice and no lemon. And after my third time requesting a small plate of the citrus slices, I gave up.
6
Tatum
�
�So . . . Tatum.” Amanda approached my station and tapped as if knocking on the rack above that held the excess pans.
“Amanda? I’m a little busy right now.” I had four burners going at the same time, as well as a piece of meat in the oven below. Ironically, this was the only place I could successfully multitask. Take me out of the kitchen and I became a bumbling idiot.
That was a lie. I was an idiot with or without a saucepan.
I just hid it better in front of a stove.
“Yeah, but you see . . . this is kind of important.” Her tone certainly didn’t convey urgency.
“On a scale from one to my apartment burning down, how important is it?”
She hummed and tipped her head side to side. “More like the IRS found discrepancies in your return.” She tapped her nail on the rack again. “And now you owe them a hundred thousand dollars in penalties and late charges . . . due immediately.”
“A hundred thousand dollars?” I screeched. Then I blinked a few times, and reality settled over me like a bucket of cold water in my face. “Shut it. Just tell me what you came in here to say.”
“I would, except . . . you see . . . I’m not really sure this is something you want to discuss here.” She dramatically scanned the room with her eyes, never moving her head.
Leaning closer, I whispered—more for the effect than to keep others from overhearing—“What’s it about?”
“Umm, Jay?”
“Are you asking? Or telling me? Because your tone has me a little confused.”
“No. It’s definitely about Jay. And you. And your . . . relationship.”
I went back to the sauce on the front burner before I ruined it and had to start over. “As much as I would love to entertain you right now, Amanda, I’m sort of in the middle of something. It’s called work. You know . . . that thing people do in exchange for money?”
She pursed her lips and lifted one brow. “My bad . . . I thought those were called blow jobs.”
“Hmm . . . not the same kind of job I’m talking about.”
“Fine. Have it your way. But I’m sure you’ll be sorry later.” Her huff of resignation didn’t sit well with me, nor did I feel confident when she stopped at Rebecca’s station. Regardless, I had too much on my plate—no pun intended—to think twice about it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught them both looking my way. Which ended up pissing me off, because rather than concentrating on the sauce meant for the steak in the oven, I was busy running through a million scenarios in my head. There was a good chance I added cinnamon instead of cayenne pepper. Hopefully, whoever had ordered it wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
I rolled my eyes at myself for that thought.
Time flew by during peak hours. That was the best part about this place—its business. An entire seven- to eight-hour shift could seem like half that. Granted, it did get slower toward the end of the night, yet even then, not one second dragged. So when Rebecca strolled over, it felt like Amanda had literally just walked away—even if it’d been close to twenty minutes.
“What’s Jay doing tonight?”
Not taking my eyes off the ticket in front of me, I said, “Not sure.”
“Did he have any plans?”
“Uh . . . not that I know of. He just moved into his new place, so I’m assuming he’s unpacking.” I should’ve given Rebecca a little more attention than I did—or at least given more thought to her questions—because I might’ve picked up on her heightened interest in my faux beau’s plans.
“You doing anything with him tomorrow?”
“More than likely.” I quickly glanced at her. “Why?”
“Just curious.” She started to pivot on her heel, as if to head back to her station along the wall, but suddenly stopped. “Does he have any female friends that you know of?”
Had I not been in the middle of switching burners to trade tasks with Lynn, my station assistant, I would’ve been able to spare her inquisition a little more thought. Instead, I went into autopilot and answered her with confidence as if I had knowledge of who Jason hung out with. “Aside from family, not really.”
“And when you say family . . . you mean like his mom?”
I tossed garlic into the pan that Lynn had prepared for me. “Uh, I guess. Also his cousins.”
“Female cousins?”
I eyed her, still too distracted to sort through her interrogation. “Yes, he has two.”
She nodded, apparently pleased with my response, and trotted away.
I shook it off and went back to the tickets that never stopped coming in.
I’d managed to complete one order before Carrie snuck in. She peeked around the corner and tried to discreetly catch my attention. By the fourth or fifth psst, I could no longer pretend I didn’t hear her. Half the kitchen probably heard her.
“What, Carrie?”
“Does Jay by chance have a twin?”
I slowly rotated my head to face her, my stomach knotting with nerves. “Uh, no. Why?”
“What about a doppelgänger?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
She dismissed me with a wave. “How serious are you two? Like still feeling each other out? Coming up with names for your firstborn?” She gasped and added, “Or are you already knocked up?”
My mouth opened in an effort to answer her, but then I thought better of it. She clearly had a reason to ask, and until I had more information about what she knew or had heard, stepping into that trap would only leave me tripping over myself. So instead, I returned my attention to the pasta in front of me. “Either spit it out, or come back when I’m not busy.”
Carrie was quiet for a moment, yet she remained by my side. Her hesitancy radiated off her in waves of nervous energy, which did nothing to slow my racing heart. Carrie was never silent. She more than likely talked in her sleep, and there was a good chance what she said would offend someone. So the fact that she had nothing to say worried me.
“Get off the line!” Victor, the executive chef, yelled at Carrie from behind me. I’d seen the vein on his temple pulsate on more than one occasion, so I could only assume it was tapping out a beat to the song of her imminent death. “If you want to be in my kitchen, then go clean some dishes.”
“Why does it have to be the dishes? Is it because I’m a woman?” Carrie either had balls of steel or a death wish . . . or both.
“Considering you can’t cook without burning everything, including a plastic spatula, your options are limited.” It could’ve been a reach, but Victor’s knowledge of her abilities in a kitchen felt personal—especially since we didn’t have plastic spatulas here. And under his breath, yet loud enough to hear, he mumbled, “Not that you’re much better at scrubbing a pan.”
To my surprise, she sucked her teeth and left. I stood there, my mind spinning a million miles an hour. Thank God I had someone at the burners with me. I couldn’t focus to save my life. Carrie had come in here to tell me something—much like Amanda had—and now, I no longer believed it could wait until rush was over.
“Handle the station for a moment? I have to . . . uh, use the restroom.” I patted my assistant on the arm and snuck toward the swinging door that led to the dining room.
Right outside was an alcove where the servers usually gathered around the computer. And just as I suspected, Carrie was there. She leaned against the half wall and stared at something toward the front of the room. I slid beside her and tried to follow her line of sight, yet I didn’t see anything too interesting.
Fake candles in small red holders occupied the centers of tables where people sat in various stages of dining. Some had menus. Others enjoyed glasses of wine or stuffed their faces with some of the best food they’d probably ever tasted—at least the dishes I’d made. There was more than likely someone out there with a steak that wasn’t quite right, but that was neither here nor there. Old people, younger couples, some with children. Tables for two, four, even some with six or eight gathered around
. Blondes, brunettes, men, women. Kelsey’s cousin. A few with napkins tucked into their—oh shit.
My gaze snapped back to a table near the windows where Jason sat opposite a gorgeous blonde in front of empty plates. They appeared to be in the middle of an intimate conversation. She smiled a few times, to which he did the same, yet they never took their eyes off one another.
I had no reason to be jealous; he was a single guy with the freedom to date anyone he wanted. We’d shared one kiss—if it could even be called that, considering I’d shoved him away as soon as his lips had met mine. But that hadn’t stopped me from obsessing over it every second since it’d happened. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have been as affected by it as I was.
“I take it that’s not his cousin?” Carrie asked without facing me.
“Nope.” I was about to be publicly shamed.
“Ever seen her before?”
“Never.” When I finally blinked, I realized what I’d done. If there had ever been a time to be deceptive, this would’ve been it. Yet I’d been too blindsided by the sight of Jason on a date with a woman to even think of my own name, let alone formulate a believable lie.
People really needed to stop putting me on the spot.
“Doesn’t he know you work here?”
Technically, I’d never told him, though he had been at Taste of the Town, where he’d seen me at the Fathom 216 tent. Then again, that would’ve required him to remember, and since I’d literally seen the man three times—the first of which I’d spent most of the day avoiding him, while the other two had been brief—it wasn’t likely he’d paid that much attention.
I shrugged, hoping something would come to me quickly. “Yeah, he knows.”
Crap. That was the wrong answer. I mean, I literally had two options—yes or no. How I’d failed with fifty-fifty odds was beyond me. Even though it might’ve been a stretch that my boyfriend didn’t know where I worked, there’d been a chance I could’ve used the extra time to come up with a plausible excuse she’d believe. But saying he knew, yet came here on a date anyway, just looked bad.
The (Half) Truth Page 8