by Cassia Leo
My stomach clenches at the lascivious look in his eyes, and at the prospect of having to say my name aloud. “Alice,” I mutter, hoping the people in front of us can’t hear me over Ethan’s lesson, for which I seem to have arrived very late.
I need to pay close attention to make up for my tardiness. But as soon as the girl with the dark, glossy hair standing next to me stops taking notes, I know I’ve spoken too loudly.
Her almond eyes narrow at me. “Alice Lopez?”
I flash her a curt smile, not wanting to seem unfriendly, but desperate to be done with the introductions, so I can get back to listening to Ethan. But the gesture doesn’t deter her.
Her eyes widen now as a smile stretches across her round face. “I was just telling Ollie how excited I am to finally meet you.”
I glance down at the notepad in her hand—a reminder about why we’re here—then I turn back to Ethan as I whisper, “Great to meet you, too.”
The girl is silent for a brief moment, long enough for me to hear Ethan say the words deep Maillard crust, then she continues. “You didn’t even ask my name. I’d hardly say we’ve met.”
My stomach sinks as I realize how rude I must seem. This is definitely not the impression I want to make on my first day at Forked.
Turning back to her, I smile again, more warmly this time. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to pay attention since I arrived late. What’s your name?”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly not impressed with my social skills—or lack thereof. “Misty,” she replies, though her tone sounds more hurt than annoyed.
“I’m really sorry,” I apologize again, feeling the confidence Judy infused in me seeping out like juices from a steak.
My self-esteem takes another hit as I’m forced to reach back and pick my jeans out of my butt-crack again.
Misty waves off my words and a smile creeps up her cheeks again. “No worries,” she says, her gaze fixed on my nose. “You’ve got something on your… It looks like...”
I touch my nose and find a smear of chocolate on my finger. “Crap!”
She giggles softly and a searing heat creeps up my cheeks. And, suddenly, I’m back to feeling like the new kid in class. I need to focus on the lesson before I’m sent to the principal.
I continue rubbing my nose to get the rest of the chocolate Judy must have transferred to me when we hugged, then I turn back to Ethan. The room has gone deadly quiet, and a couple dozen eyes are now boring into me.
My heart thuds in my chest as I realize this is the moment I’ve been dreading since my father secured the interview for me weeks ago; the moment when everyone would recognize me, and I’d be subject to the judgment of my peers.
Have they all read the article in Food & Beverage magazine? Or have they all heard the lies Edward told about me secondhand, like a game of Telephone, muddled and twisted by personal opinion and bad memory?
“Sorry, I’m late.” I squeezed the words out through the tightness in my throat. “I…I met Mrs. Ben—I mean, Judy. I met Judy, and we had a…chat. I didn’t—”
“I saw your reunion,” Ethan cuts me off. “I’m fairly certain you were already late before that.”
I glance around at the curious faces then turn back to my new boss. “You’re right. I’m…” Was I really going to apologize for the third time today? “I’m sorry. I should have arrived a few minutes early.”
Ethan laughs. “Why would you want to arrive early? And you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m not the one who’ll suffer your ignorance when you can’t tell a customer which wine pairs with a wood-fired Tomahawk.”
Suffer my ignorance?
I hardly believe someone’s dinner can be ruined by the wrong wine pairing. Then again, maybe I only feel this way because I’ve never really had a taste for fermented grape juice, as much as I love it in braised meat dishes and a good reduction sauce. But my opinion on wine isn’t the point. Though I’m no sommelier, I do have a strong understanding of wine pairings as long as I know the tannic quality and what notes are most prominent.
“You’re absolutely right,” I say, straightening my shoulders in an attempt to force myself to feel some of that confidence again. “But I think I have at least a basic understanding of wine pairings. I’m sure I’ll fill in any gaps in my knowledge through experience.” It’s humiliating to have to pretend as though I haven’t worked at some of the most demanding restaurants in Manhattan so as not to bruise this man’s ego. “Besides, why does a hostess need to know wine pairings? Isn’t that the job of the servers?”
I glance around again, hoping to see agreement in my new coworkers’ eyes, but all I see is confusion and trepidation. Clearly, I’ve said something wrong.
Ethan lets out a long sigh as he begins making his way through the small crowd of people between us. “I thought you did your homework on me and were so impressed with what I’ve built,” he remarks as he stops, his face no more than a foot from my mine. “Isn’t that what you said last week? So, do tell me, where did you do your research? The Library of Alexandria?”
His words are drenched in so much disdain it’s almost terrifying.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” I say, desperately trying not to search the room for someone who can help me out of this misunderstanding—or for an exit door. “Am I supposed to—”
“You said, ‘why does a hostess need to know wine pairings?’” Ethan reminds me.
I glance at Misty, but her gaze is fixed on her notepad. “I…I remember that. But I don’t understand how that implies I didn’t do my research.”
An older gentleman with a salt-and-pepper beard and square glasses standing behind Ethan shakes his head. What is going on here?
Ethan tilts his head, and the gesture reminds me of his brother. “If you’d actually done your homework, you’d know that there’s no hierarchy in my restaurants.”
I narrow my eyes at him, actively stifling the impulse to argue with him the way I used to argue with Edward. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, everyone is expected to know the menu and wine pairings, the cooking times, regular patrons and so on. And no one is above anyone else. We work together as a team. A true collective. If you’d actually read a single article about me, you’d know that.”
I cringe inwardly as I recall skimming the “About Us” page on the Forked website and thinking that was enough. I hate googling people. It seems like an intrusion of their privacy despite the fact the information is publicly available.
Okay, that’s not totally true. If Minka were here, she would force me to admit I hate googling people I date. But I dated Ethan’s twin brother, so that’s basically the same as dating Ethan, right? Not that I would ever date Ethan.
Despite his perfect forearms and gorgeously symmetrical features—and the fact that he’s my ex’s twin brother—he’s my boss. I’m not here for him. I’m here for the raise and the promotion, and that’s it!
Then, why didn’t you google him properly? The voice in my head niggles at me, forcing me to come face to face with my obvious confusion. It doesn’t help that I can smell the clean scent of Ethan’s skin at this proximity.
He doesn’t smell the same as Edward. He smells better.
Stop!
A soft giggle from someone I can’t see behind Ethan breaks me out of my thoughts.
Ethan’s face is cold. “You clearly have no idea what I’ve built or how I built it,” he says, practically spitting the words at me. “It’s no wonder you’ve—” He cuts himself off before he can finish this thought.
My confusion and embarrassment turn into a raging fire in my belly, and suddenly it’s as if I’m back in that kitchen with Edward. “Go ahead. Finish what you were about to say.”
He shakes his head. “I’d rather not. It’s not very gentlemanly.”
His words stoke the fury burning inside me.
“You’re no gentleman,” I say, my words as cold and venomous as the expression in his eyes. “And I may not have done
my research on you, but clearly you have been woefully misinformed about me. I don’t take crap from anyone, especially anyone with the last name Thorne!” I turn around and give Ollie a quick hug. “Sorry. I was really looking forward to working with you.”
“Where are you going?” Ethan calls out after me as I head for the double doors.
I stop in front of the line and turn on my heel to look into his dark eyes. “I’m going to get a Lyft, then I’m going to get forked-up, because I quit.”
I don’t look in Judy’s direction as I storm through the pastry kitchen. I refuse to glance over my shoulder to see if Ethan is following me, as he did during my interview, though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t secretly hoping he was chasing after me.
But when I make it out onto the sidewalk on the corner of 8th and 23rd, I can’t resist looking back at the entrance doors. No sign of Ethan.
Turning away, I hastily slide my phone out of my back pocket and, with shaking hands, open my Lyft app. I glance over my shoulder again, but no one is coming to stop me. With tears stinging the corners of my eyes, I type in the first address that comes to mind and submit the ride request.
Don’t cry, you silly girl, don’t cry. He’s not worth it.
Drawing in a deep breath, I try to regain control of my emotions.
But the job was worth it.
A painful lump forms in my throat as I realize I’m unemployed again. My dad will be so disappointed.
Even worse, I’ve likely proved everyone’s suspicions about me correct. My former coworkers are probably in there discussing how Edward was right; how I’m not a team player. I’m just a quitter who can’t handle criticism. They have no idea the words Edward spoke to me while we stood alone in that walk-in cooler six months ago.
And they probably never will know, because I’m not just quitting Forked. I’m quitting the culinary arts entirely.
Chapter 5
ALICE
I met Edward at a culinary convention at Javits Center, of all places. Not exactly romantic. I should have known then my heart was destined to wind up splattered on the floor.
He was examining a set of Japanese knives at the booth of an artisan knife smith. I’d be lying if I said his good looks weren’t the first thing I noticed about him. But it didn’t take long to see there was something different about him.
The way he examined the boning knife in his hand, turning it over and over, an intense longing in his eyes; well, I found myself blushing at the thought of him looking at me like that. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for me to realize the longing I saw in his eyes that day would never be directed at me.
At first, it was a challenge to see if I could get him to look at me like that when we were in the bedroom. Then, after he convinced me to work with him, it became my mission to see him look at my culinary creations with that intense approval. And it happened almost immediately.
His appreciation of my saucier and pastry skills made my heart soar, but his obsession with my knowledge of Mexican food stroked my ego like nothing else. He watched my hands so intently as I ground seeds and dried chiles in a molcajete into a paste. He studied the notebook where I kept all my recipes as if it were a bible. But he still never looked at me the way he looked at my food.
Of course, all this only made the words he spoke to me in that walk-in cooler even more damning.
I still question if I ever loved him, or if I only loved the idea of being admired by him.
Minka raises an eyebrow at me as I stir the chicken and dumpling soup Eric made for us without actually putting it in my mouth. “Why are you shaking your head?”
I put down my spoon. “Just thinking about how Edward and I met.”
Minka chuckles. “Girl, you have to stop giving him your energy. He’s not worth it.”
“Obvious statement of the century. Don’t you think I know that?” I reply with zero energy.
She shrugs. “Sometimes, I wonder if you miss him.”
My eyes widen. “Uh...no. Forgive me if I’m a little depressed. I’m sitting here seriously considering quitting my chosen career path because that narcissist used me up and tossed me out like a piece of garbage.”
“Which narcissist?”
I roll my eyes at her question, though it may be a valid query. I don’t know Ethan well enough to know if his pathological tendencies match his brother’s. But being twins, it’s not difficult to imagine they do.
“I’m sorry,” she says, reaching across the round dining table to grab my bowl of cold soup. “I don’t know how you can let him still have this much power over you. Like, why don’t you try getting a job in Brooklyn?”
I let out a mirthless laugh. “I’ve tried. I’d have to get a fast-food job or move to Massapequa with Adrian to get away from the legacy Edward gifted me.”
She takes our bowls of soup to the kitchen which is less than ten feet away in the small, gentrified apartment she shares with Eric. Minka’s boyfriend has generously agreed to spend the night at a buddy’s house so she and I can have our second sleepover in two weeks. He even made me some comfort food before he left. It doesn’t matter that the soup was inedible. Eric is a good man.
Why am I always attracted to bad men?
Even now, after being humiliated by Ethan in front of my peers, I can’t help remembering the way he smelled, like a forest soaked in fresh rainwater. I wanted to wrap myself in that scent while sipping a glass of whatever wine he suggests as a good pairing.
“I lost myself.” I speak the words softly, almost inaudibly, but they still feel freeing.
Minka opens her freezer and grabs a frosty bottle of Grey Goose vodka. “You what?”
“With Edward…I lost myself,” I begin. “I forgot who I was. I wanted his approval so badly. I… I got so caught up in being his equal, I never considered I might be better than him. I feel like… I think I lost my passion for the art.” My throat aches as I feel the bone-deep truth in the words I’m about to speak. “I’m afraid I may never get that back.”
Minka shakes her head as she hugs the bottle to her chest. “You can’t let him keep taking from you, sis, or you’ll have nothing left.”
I watch her in silence for a while as she grabs tumblers out of the cupboard and pours us each a couple fingers of vodka. I imagine myself sitting on the sidewalk in front of a Duane Reade drugstore, begging for coins so I can pay my parents the monthly rent. I imagine dropping a bucket of coins at my father’s feet as he looks disappointed, silently wondering why I couldn’t just give up on cooking and get a job in an industry where I’m not blacklisted.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have deleted that OnlyFans page last weekend,” I say as Minka places two vodka tonics on the table in front of us.
“Maybe people can sign up to watch you cook in nothing but an apron.”
My eyes widen. “That’s actually a pretty good idea.”
She purses her lips. “No, honey. That’s not a good idea. That’s a last resort.”
I shrug. “Hear me out. Maybe I can smear—”
But my lurid suggestion is interrupted by the buzz of the doorbell.
I look at Minka curiously. “Are you expecting someone?”
She looks almost offended by my question. “Girl, you’re my only friend. Who the hell do you think I’m expecting?”
The loud buzz startles me again as she gets up and walks toward the intercom panel near the front door.
She presses the button. “Who is it?” she asks, no pretense of friendliness in her tone.
“It’s Ethan,” a warm British voice replies. “Ethan Th—”
“I know who you are!” she cuts him off. “You have the audacity to show your face ’round here. You better leave before I come down there and show you just how much I know about you.”
“Ex—Excuse me… I’m not—” There’s a brief pause, then he clears his throat and continues, “I’m sorry. You must be Alice’s mate. I mean, friend. You probably hate me.”
“You got tha
t right! Now skedaddle before I come down there and you find out how much I hate you.”
“Listen, Minka. Uh, that is your name, correct?”
She rolls her eyes as I make my way toward her. “I don’t know how you know my name, and I don’t care. I’m giving you ten seconds,” she says as she begins counting upward from one.
“Please,” he pleads. “I only need to speak to Alice for a moment. I need to…to apologize for my boorish behavior.”
“Eight,” she continues counting.
“Please,” he interjects, somehow managing to still sound civilized despite his urgency.
“Nine.”
“Two minutes,” I call out over Minka’s shoulder toward the intercom.
“Alice!” Ethan answers back, the relief in his voice audible even through the tinny speaker. “Is that you?”
Minka looks at me as if I’ve just agreed to a one-way trip to hell, which may not be very far from the truth. “What are you doing?” she whispers.
“I have to do this,” I say, willing her to feel the intensity of my need. “I walked out of there too quickly. This is my chance to put him in his place. I know he’s not Edward, but he might as well be. I… I think it will make me feel better.”
She eyes me with obvious skepticism. “Are you sure, girl? ’Cause I don’t mind going down there and giving him a piece of my mind for you.”
I nod. “Positive. I need to do this myself.”
She sighs heavily. “All right. But I’m an elevator ride away if you need me. Just text and these hands,” she says, pushing up the sleeves of her hoodie, “are at your disposal.”
“I love you,” I say, planting a kiss on her smooth cheek before I head outside into the brightly lit, carpeted corridor.
As I take the steel-walled elevator down to the ground floor, my mind scrambles for the words I’ll say when I get down there. But the butterflies in my belly make it difficult to concentrate. Why does this man make me feel like a teenage girl with a crush? I never felt this out of control around Edward. In fact, quite the opposite.
