The Something about Her: Opposites Attract book four

by Higginson, Rachel

  There was a good chance there would be a mutiny.

  God, how desperately I wanted to chew my bottom lip until it was raw and bloody, but I refrained. It was more important to maintain the illusion of control than to snap and let them all know I was out of my damn mind for taking advice from a bike shop owner I didn’t even like.

  Oh, my god, what had I done?

  To my surprise nobody moved. In fact, they seemed to settle into more permanent postures. Blaze spread his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest—the universal signal for, you can’t make me leave.

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t universal, but I read his intention clearly.

  The rest of the kitchen followed suit, nobody even acknowledging Ashlynn anymore.

  She picked up the message too. “Are you serious?” she demanded. “After all we’ve been through?” She turned to her fellow sous chef. “I expected this behavior from you,” she snarled at him. “You’ve wanted my job for three years. You can fucking have it. Good luck to you.”

  He didn’t turn his head or look at her, but I felt his attention shift to her for just long enough to say, “Don’t forget why you’re leaving, Ashlynn. This wasn’t your choice. She fired you.”

  I glanced to my left and watched the line of men nod their heads in agreement. Same thing was happening on my right.

  “I was going to Red Oak. You know that,” she argued weakly.

  I nearly laughed at her lateral move to the city’s oldest steak house. If she thought that was going to be an easier work environment, she was in for a rude awakening. The head chef there, Trent Shepherd, was one of the meanest chefs by reputation. Total and complete egomaniac and asshole.

  Nobody else moved to help her or walk her out. They just stood and waited for her to leave.

  The better side of my humanity kicked in and I started to worry about her. Had I screwed her from getting another job? Had I taken away her hopes and dreams completely and ensured she wouldn’t get another position as respectable as Bianca? Had I ruined her career completely?

  But then she leaned forward and spit on the ground in front of my feet. The gloopy mucous dripped through the no-slip mats between the quarter-size holes.

  “Classy,” I murmured in a poisonous tone.

  She stepped back, grabbing her roll of knives from the countertop behind her. Taking a step toward the door, she lifted her chin in the air and said, “I can’t wait to watch you drown.”

  I didn’t have a comeback for that. She might be right. I didn’t know if asking her to leave would expedite that coming to fruition, but I knew it wouldn’t help. She was a good chef most days, but possessed a venomous attitude that was corroding her from the inside out.

  “Your coat,” a steely voice demanded from behind me.

  My shoulders instantly rose at the sound of Ezra’s voice. He was pissed. Beyond pissed. This calm, cold voice was his most angry.

  And I didn’t know if it was directed at me or at Ashlynn.

  Ashlynn had the insight to look cowed. “M-my coat?”

  “From what I understand, you don’t work here anymore,” Ezra deadpanned, his chilling tone sending an icy wind through the kitchen. “Leave your coat.”

  Her teeth ground together as she considered her options. Ezra wasn’t just siding with me, he was sticking up for me, taking her down off her high horse and reminding her who she used to work for.

  Her jaw clenched so hard, I thought she might break a tooth. Then she slammed her knives down and started to rip open the buttons.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever been proud to work here. By her attitude and total negligence for authority, I would assume no. But she’d been here since Bianca opened five years ago. She’d survived under Marcel, who had been a total nightmare to work for from what I had heard. She’d run the ship after Marcel had left and she’d tried to transition under me.

  Did she start with this attitude? Or had the volatility of her time here broken her down?

  Would it break me down too?

  Or would I break the rest of the staff eventually?

  Ugh, why was being the boss so damn hard?

  Holding Ezra’s glare this time, instead of mine, Ashlynn tore off her coat, held it up in the air with one finger and then dropped it on the ground. “Fuck you too,” she snarled before storming out of the building.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, I let out an explosive breath, not caring if it made me look weak in front of the rest of the staff. Geez, that was intense.

  Ezra’s strong hand came down on my shoulder, squeezing tightly. “I’m proud of you, Dillon.”

  At his words of affirmation, hot tears sprung to my eyes. I was two seconds from losing it completely. Lifting my chin high and gathering whatever dignity I could muster, I addressed the room. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, but I hope we can move forward professionally, doing what’s best for Bianca. If any of you have questions or concerns about my leadership, please come talk to me. In private.” I pulled away from Ezra’s hand, stopping myself from sprinting to hide behind closed doors. “I will be back in a few minutes to discuss my menu changes for tonight. For now, why don’t you… start prep like usual?”

  I didn’t wait for their replies or even for them to acknowledge my order. Instead, I walked briskly back to my office, Ezra hot on my heels.

  When we were safely inside, I gently shut the door behind him and then threw myself into his arms, sobbing against his shoulder. “I’m sorry!” I sniffled, turning my head so I didn’t cover his crisp, white button-up in tears and makeup.

  His hand landed on my back, safe and secure and so like the big brother I loved. “For what?” His voice was full of careful amusement.

  I didn’t even know what I was apologizing for. Or if it was necessarily directed at Ezra. Maybe I’d meant it for Ashlynn, but he was the closest human.

  Rather than admit I didn’t know what I meant, I said, “That was crazy. She is crazy.” I sucked in another shaky breath. “What an awful way to start a Monday.”

  He chuckled at the truth in my words. “I have to be honest though, I was hoping you’d can her. She made life hell around here.”

  I pulled back, resisting the urge to punch him. “What? You knew she was a nightmare and left it up to me to fire her?”

  He shrugged, like he hadn’t really thought it all the way through yet. “I couldn’t have kept Bianca open without her,” he admitted. “That’s why it was so important you took this job.”

  Glaring at my brother with all the fire and brimstone I was capable of, I said, “You thought you’d bring me in so I could do your dirty work?”

  His eyes bugged innocently. “I thought I’d hire a real EC so I could finally get rid of her.”

  A knock at the door saved his life. I had just decided to strangle him.

  He opened it and let Blaze poke his head in. He addressed me. “There’s a delivery.”

  I smiled at him and hoped it didn’t look totally deranged. “Thank you.”

  After he’d walked away, I turned back to Ezra. “You deal with it. I need a few minutes by myself.”

  “You did the right thing,” he assured me. “I’m proud of you.”

  All I could do was roll my eyes and say, “Next time, warn me when you know something like this is going to happen.”

  “I didn’t think I—”

  “What if I would have quit instead?” I asked him, cutting him off before he could offer a lame excuse. “What if I would have just walked out?” My point hit home and he shut his mouth. I repeated myself, slower and with more conviction than I knew I was capable of. “Next time warn me.”

  When I was finally alone in my office, I dropped my face into my hands and growled. I sat there for a few minutes, until all the blood had rushed to my face and I knew my fingers were going to leave marks.

  I expected tears to fall, or gush, or just show up for a pathetic little pity party, but nothing came. My eyes remained dry and slowly, gr
adually, the adrenaline left my body and I began to find myself again in the midst of panic and anger and the feeling that I still didn’t know what I was doing.

  I picked up my phone, ignoring my motives, and searched the internet for the Cycle Life phone number. I’d pushed the call button before I could even absorb the store hours and pressed it to my ear.

  Nibbling on my thumbnail, I waited for someone to pick up.

  Vann answered only a few seconds later. “Cycle Life.”

  My throat dried out, at a loss of what to say after his crisp greeting on the other end. If anybody’s voice matched their personality and style so perfectly, it was Vann.

  He managed to make me picture him in slim fit pants and a button up short sleeve top—his uniform—with two words.

  “Is Vann around?” I had to ask the question. If I admitted I knew it was him just by the sound of his voice, I would sound like a creeper.

  “This is Vann,” he answered easily.

  “This is Dillon,” I told him. And then realized I didn’t have a game plan. Or even a vague idea why I’d called this man. “Er, Dillon Baptiste.”

  “Hi, Dillon.”

  Ignoring the confusion in his tone, I pushed valiantly forward. “I was just calling to…” Good grief, what was I calling to do? “To…” Make something up, Dillon! “To…” It’s now or never, say something! “Thank you for your advice. I took it.”

  His confusion evolved into disbelief. “You took it? You mean already? You already fired someone?”

  I licked dry lips and questioned my decision all over again. “You did say the next time someone talked back.”

  He laughed, the sound of it rumbling across the distance separating us. “I underestimated you, Baptiste.”

  I bit my bottom lip and then bolted forward in my seat, boldness filling my body. “Twice.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ve underestimated me twice now,” I told him. “First with the job. Now with this.”

  There was a heavy beat of silence before he admitted, “You’re right.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Although it didn’t sound like a compliment, it somehow was. Coming from this man that was so arrogant and so full of himself and so usually… right, it was high praise.

  “Anyway, thank you,” I repeated, needing him to know I really did appreciate his guidance. And the time he took to talk me off the ledge. “It was truth I needed to hear.”

  “Your problems are over then? Smooth sailing from here on out?”

  A bark of a laugh escaped me. “Hardly. But I’m hoping firing that one will at least make things a little better.”

  “It will,” he assured me. “Especially if you keep listening to me.”

  I found myself smiling at my desk, looking like a total loon. “Is that right?” Where had that throaty voice come from? Was I flirting? With Vann Delane? “Guess, I better ask you for more advice then.”

  His voice did the same thing as mine—took on that smooth, sexy quality, dropping low and husky. “Guess you better.”

  Blaze knocked again, sticking his head in my office before I had a chance to hang up with Vann. I shot out of my chair, standing, fumbling with the cell at my ear.

  Get it together, Dillon. You’re a grown woman. Talking to a grown man. Be an adult.

  “We need you, Chef,” Blaze said.

  It was the first time he had addressed me as Chef and I was immediately floored by the weightiness of hearing that one word.

  Oh, my god, I was the boss.

  This was my restaurant.

  And damn did it feel good to hear someone call me Chef.

  “I’ll be right there,” I told Blaze. To Vann, I said, “Duty calls.”

  “Let me know if you fire anyone else today,” he teased.

  I laughed, unable to help myself. Who was this guy? “You’ll be the first to know.”

  “Bye, Dillon,” he murmured.

  My stomach flipped at the familiar way he said my name. “Bye, Vann.”

  I hung up the phone and dropped it inside my desk drawer. I had a kitchen to run. I couldn’t be thinking about Vann Delane and his surprisingly good advice. Or his shockingly cute butt.

  Slapping a hand over my mouth to hide my smile, I walked back to the kitchen, pushed up my sleeves and got to work.

  Eight

  I was fifteen minutes early, because I hated being late to anything—especially dates. I hated that awkward feeling of waiting around for the other person to show, so I never wanted anyone else to wait because of me.

  And yet, by being early, what had I made sure would happen? I would be sitting at this trendy little coffee bar all by my lonesome while I waited for Matt Brennan the pastry chef to show.

  True to his word, Benny had passed my name along to his friend Matt, who had reached out shortly after. We’d spent the last two weeks exchanging texts and had finally found a free Saturday morning to meet for coffee.

  It hadn’t been easy. Our schedules were totally opposite. When Matt got off work, somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, after a good twelve-hour shift, I was well in the middle of prep. And when I got off work, in the early hours of the morning, he was only hours away from waking up and heading in. Basically, if this casual conversation turned into an actual relationship, we would get to spend about four hours together every day. In the middle of the night.

  So, coffee this morning sounded promising.

  Still, it was hard to find a guy that understood the number of hours I had to work without questioning them. Matt understood the chef life. He lived it himself. Sure, logistically it would be difficult to spend real time together. But theoretically, we were already on common ground.

  Right? At least that was what my eternally optimistic heart was trying to tell me.

  Matt worked for an up and coming bakery that he swore was the place to get baked goods in Durham. Ezra used a pastry chef he’d worked with for years, so I didn’t know too much about the bakery scene, to be honest.

  Pastries were outside my area of expertise—except for chocolate croissants, which were basically my favorite thing on the planet. Admittedly, I didn’t pay too much attention, other than to know if what my kitchen was putting out was good or not.

  Nothing at Bianca was made in house. We cut pieces and plated them with all the pizazz to let you think we knew what we were doing. But nobody on my staff could recreate the magic Ezra’s girl managed.

  I fidgeted in my seat and took a sip of my cooling latte. I shouldn’t have ordered so soon because now it was getting cold while I waited for Matt to arrive. But I preferred to pay for my own drinks, another reason I showed up early. Everything was better when I was in complete control of my beverages.

  Taking in the dark browns and hunter greens of this cool spot, I couldn’t help but applaud his choice of meeting place. As far as first dates went, this was an excellent choice.

  Not that I went on a lot of first dates. Or even met guys alone in public. But I was trying this whole take-charge-attitude thing at work and I was hoping I could apply some of it to the rest of my life and work out some of this heavy shit that always followed me around. If for no other reason, at least I could add a fun coffeeshop to my life.

  I wanted to come back here with my laptop and work on Bianca’s fall menu. I would curl up in one of the round booths by the back windows and dream up the most delicious food Durham had ever seen. Plus, this place was more than just its décor. Their coffee was excellent.

  Even lukewarm.

  Dinking around on my phone while I waited for Matt to arrive, I confirmed my participation in Vera’s bachelorette party the following week and answered a few emails. Nerves swam around my stomach, jumping off high dives and executing synchronized swimming competitions.

  The last few guys I’d loosely dated had been more of the same—setups by well-intentioned friends. Loosely dated might be an overstatement. Basically, we shared the most awkward, stilted meal in blind date history, and I
ran away before they could ask for a second chance.

  It had been years since I’d dated a guy that captured my interest. During high school, I’d been forced to run in Durham’s prep school circle thanks to my good old dad. The boys I’d met during those pretentious years were the stuff of nightmares. When they could manage to not assume you were going to sleep with them three minutes after meeting them, I found them boring and unambitious.

  Sure, they wanted to make money, but there was no sacrifice there. No real drive. And why would there be when daddy had already carved a path for them. All they had to do was walk forward into the planned future their trust fund paid for.

  Not that I had any room to talk when it came to trust funds.

  Which led me to the next segment of dating—men after my money.

  To be honest, that was partially my fault. After high school, when my dad had died and I’d inherited full access to the money he’d left me, I’d gone a little… wild. I could hardly complain about the guys attracted to the cash I was throwing around, when I was pretty much making it rain every single night.

  That had been a dark, dark time. I’d been lost in grief and confusion and this world that I couldn’t navigate without my dad’s guidance. I’d started to self-medicate with drugs, alcohol, and the party scene.

  It had worked for a while. I hadn’t had to think about what an asshole my dad had been and the guilt I felt for missing him anyway. And I hadn’t had to think about what I was going to do with my life or what I wanted to do with it or what was even my purpose on this planet. The crowd I’d run in had everything I needed to numb out—especially men willing to help me.

  Or take what they wanted without my permission.

  When the partying ended in the worst possible way, I’d spiraled into depression. There were no men there. There were no people there at all. It was just me, my regrets, and my self-hatred.

  And an ample amount of fear-induced panic attacks.

  Culinary school had pulled me out of the worst of those hopeless days because it taught me how to work for something. It showed me that work, especially work I loved, could be way more effective in helping me move on from the hard parts of my past than partying ever could.