“Oh, I am,” I say, as the inspector walks out into the parking lot, “One less restaurant on your six month waiting list.”
Then, once he’s gone, Riley huffs, stomping past me towards the same door the inspector walked out of.
“Don’t I get a thank you?” I ask, following her out into the parking lot, “I literally just saved your restaurant.”
“Whatever,” Riley says, “I could have done that myself.”
“Oh, yeah? Like you’re literally moving all of the furniture into the restaurant by yourself?”
“Exactly,” Riley says, suppressing a yawn as she hops up into the back of the truck and grabs another table.
“What time did you wake up this morning?” I ask, joining her in the truck.
“Five,” she says, no longer able to hold back the yawn.
I take the table out of her hands.
“Hey!” She says.
“You’ve done enough work for today,” I say, hoisting the table over my shoulder and grabbing a couple of chairs with my free hand. “Trust me, working fourteen hour days for no reason is not the path to opening a successful restaurant.”
I haul the table and chairs inside the restaurant and put them down on the slightly creaky wooden floor.
Riley follows me in. “Well, a month from now, when I get my own apartment a little closer to this part of town, I won’t have to get up so early.”
“So, wait, you’re planning on getting up at 5 AM for a month?”
She nods, trying to look excited about it. “How else am I going to get everything done in time? I need to start paying back that loan in two months, max, and that means I need to be out here every single day working on this place.”
“What about, you know, learning to cook?”
Riley bites her lip. “Oh…yeah, I’ll find time for that, too.”
I shake my head. “Okay, fuck that. No way. You’re staying with me, and I’m teaching you how to cook.”
“WHAT!?” Riley says, a look of disgust on her face, “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious,” I say, “Look, normally, I’d be happy to let you get yourself into whatever terrible situation you want to get into, but I happen to know firsthand how hard what you’re trying to do is. I almost lost every dollar to my name more times than I could count trying to get Crave off the ground, and it didn’t happen just because I worked sixteen hour days, though I did some of that, too. It happened because I had help…including from your mom. Without that help, there’s no Crave. So as much as I don’t want you here, I feel a little bit obligated to help this place reopen, and if you don’t have anyone helping you, it’s not going to. So come on, let’s go back to my place, and I’ll get you started on cooking boot camp. It’s literally five minutes away.”
Riley glares at me for what feels like a whole minute, taking a deep breath as she takes in my offer. “My mom helped you start Crave?” She asks, in a quiet voice.
“She did way, way, way more than just help.”
Riley looks down at the floor for a few more seconds, then back up at me with a sleepy attempt at an evil smirk. “Well, hey, if you want to dig your own grave by teaching me how to cook, I definitely won’t stop you. I mean, I’ll probably be better than you in a week or two, anyway.”
“Better than me? Never. Good enough to be delusional about being better than me? That, I can do.”
Feeling so insanely dirty about what I’m about to do, I reach my hand out towards Riley. “So it’s settled, then. Until this place is on its feet, we’re not enemies, we’re just a mentor and a student who hate each other. Truce?”
Riley looks like she wants to throw up as she shakes my hand. “Truce.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I say, raising my eyebrows, “But for now, I guess we should clear out the rest of that truck, lock this place up, and get back to my apartment.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Riley says, “I can’t wait to see what kind of horrible bro pad you’re calling home these days.”
Ignoring her snarky little truce-violating remark, I head out back towards the truck and get ready to unload the rest of the furniture.
Why am I doing this again? Offering to help my biggest competition?
I mean, I did like this restaurant. And I did like Riley’s mom, although I have to question her parenting skills if she could produce a child like Riley.
But it’s weird. Deep in my stomach, there’s this feeling like I’m doing a good deed for her or something.
I really hope it doesn’t stick around.
***
Riley tries not to look impressed as we pull up to the luxury apartment complex I live in. Her arms are crossed over her seatbelt, and she’s rolling her eyes every time I look her way. But I’ve known her too long not to see what’s going on underneath all that performative annoyance: she’s really glad she’s not driving all the way back to the beach tonight. There was more furniture to move than I thought, and the sun set a little over two hours ago.
She sighs. “Well, at least it’s close by.”
“That’s definitely the best part.”
I get out of the car, and she follows as I pull out my keys and lead her around the side of the complex to my ground floor suite.
I open the door, where I’m immediately greeted by Duke sprinting down the hall towards me, ready to jump on me and ask for dinner.
But when he sees Riley come in behind me, he stops in his tracks and starts barking his head off. He probably smells that cat from the beach house on her. Or, you know, maybe he knows she’s trouble.
“Easy, boy,” I say, holding out my hand and getting between him and Riley, “She’s…well, she’s terrible, but don’t bark at her. She’s going to be staying here for a little while.”
Duke lets out a couple slightly softer barks and watches Riley warily as I head into the kitchen and grab his food.
“Who let you have a dog?” Riley asks, walking up to Duke and slowly reaching out her hand to scratch him behind the ears. Ugh, it’s been less than a minute and she already found his weak point. They’re going to be best friends by tomorrow.
“I got him from the shelter. He’s a fucking amazing dog, so you’d better be nice to him.”
I pour Duke a modest portion of food, still trying to make up for his huge breakfast last week, and Duke reluctantly pulls away from Riley’s scratching to come eat his dinner.
Riley’s eyes dart around the place, looking for things to insult. “Nice…uh…couch.”
I shrug. “It’s insanely comfortable, and it pulls out into a bed, though once you sit on it, you may not even want to bother. I assume it’s where you’ll want to sleep.”
Skeptically, she sits down. “Hmm…I guess.”
I duck back into the kitchen and open the fridge, looking at potential recipes I could teach Riley. “But don’t get too comfy, because starting today, you’re officially enrolled in my cooking boot camp. And we’re going to start with you watching me make dinner for the two of us.”
I pull out a couple pots, some olive oil, some chicken breasts, and a handful of spices from the rack. “And I’m starting right now, because I’m fucking starving.”
Getting no answer, I look back into the living room and see Riley curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Shit, I knew she was tired, but I didn’t know she was that tired.
Alright, fine, I guess I’ll let her sleep. I mean, fuck, if I moved halfway across the country and found out I had to open a restaurant in less than two months, I’d be exhausted too.
But she’d better sleep tight.
Because tomorrow, boot camp starts for real.
And if she thinks I’m going to take it easy on her just because I did something nice for her today, then she’s got another thing coming.
Chapter 11: Riley
RING-RING-RING-RING-RING!
Urgh…what the hell is that? And why is it so loud so early in the morning?
Grumpily, I pull the blanket draped
on top of me up over my head and curl up into the soft back of the couch, but a couple seconds later, the blanket gets ripped off me, and I look up to see Liam towering over me with an expectant look on his face.
Oh, right. This is his couch. My tired brain talked me into spending the night over here so I wouldn’t have to spend 90 minutes carpooling back to the beach; a mistake I definitely won’t make again after whatever the hell this is supposed to be.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. It’s the first day of cooking boot camp, and you’re already falling behind.”
“Liam, what time is it? It’s too early for this, just let me sleep…” I roll over towards the back cushions of the couch, only to feel a massive hand wrap around my shoulder and flip me onto my back.
“It’s 6:30,” Liam says, “But since you pooped out the second we got back here and instantly fell asleep, you’ve had well over eight hours of rest, and now it’s time to start learning how to cook like a professional chef. So you’re going to get up, and then, with my help, you’re going to make us some breakfast.”
“Can’t we just order breakfast burritos and get them delivered here?” Still not fully awake, I start to roll into the back of the couch again.
Liam’s hand grabs my shoulder again, pulling me onto my back and holding me there, and I finally open my eyes all the way and look up at him, trying not to reveal my shock at how strong he is. “No. That sounds disgusting. I don’t even think there’s anywhere around here that makes a good breakfast burrito. But even if there was, it wouldn’t matter. You’re opening a restaurant in less than a month, which means you need to start cooking now.”
With a sigh, I look up at the ceiling. Why the hell did I agree to this? “I’d rather have the cheapest, greasiest breakfast burrito in the universe than try and choke down whatever you eat in the morning.”
Something sparks in Liam’s eyes. “Wait,” he says, “Have you ever had my cooking?”
I shake my head. “Why would I eat something that I know is going to make me throw up?”
Liam lets out an evil-sounding laugh. “Oh, man, this is going to be fucking great. Okay, you know what? I’ll make breakfast. You can relax for a little while longer.”
“Thank you, jerkface,” I say, rolling on my side for a third time as Liam’s hand lets go of my shoulder. Unfortunately, I think I’m officially too awake to go right back to sleep, so I guess it’s time to wake up for real.
I flop onto my back and stretch out a little, reaching out to scratch Duke behind the ears as he walks by. Then, I start to think through what I need to do today. I definitely need to follow up at that inspector’s office. I should probably email, I don’t know, a hundred more companies about delivering us ingredients? Maybe some local farms, too. And maybe I should figure out what type of wine we’re going to serve and start reaching out to vineyards.
More importantly, though, I need to figure out how to get back to Sam’s beach house and get access to my stuff. Then, I can tell Liam that this whole “cooking boot camp” stuff isn’t going to work out.
Almost like he read my mind, Liam steps out of the kitchen, holding a couple eggs and a whisk. “Matt’s going to come by on his lunch break and drop off your stuff.”
“What!?” I say, shooting up into a sitting position, but Liam’s already right back in the kitchen, whisking the eggs.
Ugh, he had Matt bring my stuff over here? And knowing Matt, he’s probably on his way to work already. With a sigh, I get up off the couch and head down the hall towards the bathroom. “Well, I guess I’m going to take a shower, then.”
Twelve minutes of angry showering later, and I step out of the bathroom to see Liam waiting for me on the living room couch, forking bites of an omelette into his mouth.
He points at an uneaten omelette sitting on a plate on the coffee table with his fork. “Just a little something I threw together with some leftovers from the fridge.”
Ugh, he thinks he’s such a good cook. Rolling my eyes, I grab the plate off the coffee table. “Yeah, I’m sure this omelette you made in ten minutes is going to be so special and delicious.”
I take a bite, and before I can stop myself, I sharply inhale as the creamy, eggy omelette bite hits my tongue.
Oh, crap.
This is absolutely amazing.
There’s all kinds of spices mixed right into it, along with chopped peppers and tomatoes that taste insanely fresh. Swallowing it as fast as I can, I try and recover so I can claim that it tastes like glue that’s been left out in the sun, but it’s definitely too late for that judging by the smirk on Liam’s face.
“Any inaccurate statements about my cooking from the past five years you’d like to take back?”
I glare at him, doing everything in my power not to take another bite. “Not a single word.”
“Okay,” Liam says with a shrug, “Then I guess you’re going to need to see what I can do with thirty minutes now that you’ve seen what I can do in ten. And as much as I’d love to stay here and watch you eat that omelette while you pretend it’s not the best one you’ve ever had, I should probably head over to Crave.”
“Wait,” I say, “You’re going to Crave? What happened to cooking boot camp?”
“Oh, it’s still on,” he says, getting up off the couch, grabbing his phone, and tapping the screen a couple times.
My phone buzzes, and I look down to see two pictures, both of them recipes scrawled into a notebook with Liam’s stupid handwriting.
“While I’m holding down the restaurant, you’re going to be cooking dinner. I picked these recipes because once I see how you cooked them, I’m instantly going to know what we need to work on. But these are just the sides. When I get back from Crave…we’re going to cook the main course.”
Liam grabs his keys from off the coffee table and grins at me. “Enjoy your breakfast,” he says, before heading out the door and shutting it behind him.
I HATE him!
I walk over to the trash can and hold my plate over it, trying to work up the will to dump the rest of my omelette and order a breakfast burrito before I start the day…but my stomach protests with a hungry grumble, and I reluctantly take it back to the living room couch to finish.
And somehow, the next couple bites are even better than the first. How is it possible that a complete douche like Liam learned to cook like this? I haven’t had cooking like this since—
Oh, right. Liam said my Mom helped him get Crave off the ground. She probably helped him learn to cook like this.
And if anybody could accomplish that completely impossible task…she could.
With a frown, I look down at the recipes Liam sent me. The first one is some type of fancy mashed potatoes that looks like it shares a lot of ingredients with this omelette, and the second one is for a batch of dumplings, probably the ones he sent a picture of to me a couple days ago. I read through the instructions, doing the math in my head to see how long these are supposed to take to make…
Six hours!? What’s wrong with Liam? I have stuff to do today!
Okay, Matt’s coming by with my stuff on his lunch break, I’m going to assume that’s around noon. I’ll just cook versions of these recipes that take reasonable amounts of time to make, and then when I get my stuff, I’ll be ready to get back to work on opening Riley’s Pizza Kitchen.
I put my phone down, and frown as I realize I’ve somehow eaten the entire omelette. And sure, I knew Liam must have been at least kind of a good cook, otherwise no one would ever come to that obnoxious-looking restaurant. But I had no idea he was that good.
While I’m not looking, Duke stretches his neck out over the coffee table, trying to eat the scraps off my plate. When I catch him, he’s licking the rim, and he looks up at me guiltily as I pull the plate away from him. “Bad dog,” I say, wagging my finger at him.
Then, I scratch him behind the ears again. “Cute dog, but bad dog.”
I also never figured Liam would be a responsible pet owner. But here I am, on hi
s couch, petting his dog, with the taste of his breakfast still on my tongue.
For a complete jerkface, I have to admit…
He’s full of surprises.
***
So, as much as I hate to give Liam any credit, I have to say this has been by far my most productive day since coming back to LA. First, I cooked Liam’s recipes in ninety minutes, not six hours like he wanted me to for some reason. They’re in the fridge right now, waiting for him to get back.
Ugh, I sound like his wife or something. He’d better not just make me cook him dinner every day.
Anyway, I finished the food early, and ever since, I’ve been on a roll. I just got verbal agreements from three local California farms to send us cheeses and toppings, and I have Dad on the case trying to hunt down Mom’s old recipe books up at the family house.
For maybe the first time, it actually feels like this is happening.
In fact, I’m so far ahead of what I thought I was going to get done today that I’m relaxing, something I haven’t really done in…man, I don’t know how long. Definitely not in my last couple of months in New York.
Matt came by at lunchtime with all my stuff, and somehow, Sam’s copy of Fuck You, Loverboy made the cut. I guess I did leave it right by my suitcase, with a bookmark in it…
So, with my newfound free time, I’ve been reading a little further into it, and at this point, it’s just completely ridiculous. These supposed “enemies” have been having sex for at least thirty pages now, and it doesn’t look like they’re going to stop anytime soon.
I wonder if Sam actually finished this book, because even though these two characters were kind of like me and Liam in the beginning, they’re definitely not like us now.
I mean, come on, Liam and I banging like these two?
Just picturing it feels wrong.
Still, it’s pretty intense. Their relationship has totally changed now, and they have no idea how to feel about it, or what it means going forward. It seems like it’s going to get pretty dramatic after all this crazy sex stops.
If it stops.
Screw You, Lover: An Enemies To Lovers Romance Page 6