“Because I know you,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. We’re obviously not going to get anywhere today. Take care of yourself, Drew. And good luck with Thanksgiving dinner. If you run out of something, talk to Anna.”
I’m suddenly equally baffled and irritated by her cryptic words. “Yeah, no thanks. She’s a waitress. I’m the chef. I’ll handle it,” I say, bristling.
“It’s up to you. But remember what I said.”
And with that, she brushes past me and leaves.
Chapter Eighteen
CJ
I don’t break down right away. I wait until I’m home, behind the securely locked door of my bedroom. But I don’t cry the tears of grief that I expect. These feel more like … relief. I told him. I did what I could do.
This past week has been miserable for so many reasons. I’ve been beating myself up for even having that conversation with Nick. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it was going behind Drew’s back. But god, I never could’ve imagined it going the way it did. Or Nick being so vile. I can’t think about that day without wanting to crawl in a hole and die. I wish I would’ve just told him then.
But based on his reaction today, I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
In any case, the real misery was having no contact with him and not knowing if I’d be able to figure out what’s going to happen to him.
Thankfully, now I at least have a plan to show him I’m telling the truth. That he’s in danger. And hopefully I may be able to save him. Even if it’s too late to save us.
When I’m done letting it all out, I clean up and head for bed, even though it’s barely eight o’clock and I haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast. I have both no appetite and an early day with Matt tomorrow to prepare for holiday surge capacity. Always a big social media time for marketing.
I also have to touch base with Anna and thank her, then get her to meet me sometime before Thanksgiving … and agree to yet another favor. But she’s kind of got skin in the game on getting Drew and me back together. That is, if she doesn’t want him to be a miserable ass at work all the time. So I’m thinking she’ll help. This plan all hinges on the real trick — I have to figure out how to get my hands on some Alba truffles. Whatever those are.
In between meetings on Wednesday, I convince Anna to meet me for lunch on Saturday. I don’t ask her about the truffles, since she’s made it clear that just because she’s a waitress doesn’t mean she knows shit about gourmet food.
But a quick internet search gives me what I need, and simultaneously makes my jaw drop. Turns out they are Italian white truffles … and they cost thousands of dollars a pound.
Holy. Shit.
Some quick mental math tells me I can buy a quarter of a pound with what I’m willing to part with from my savings.
I can only hope that amount will suffice for their needs. And that, if nothing else, my spending so freaking much will show Drew how serious I am about making amends.
Still, it’s a nerve-racking purchase, both for its price tag and the fact that he may never even ask Anna for it. He is pretty damn stubborn. Maybe we’re too alike for this to work. I brush off the thought, determined to focus on the endgame. With a few clicks, the purchase is made, and a chilled container will be delivered to me at work tomorrow morning.
On Thursday night, I’m still wallowing when Matt bangs on my bedroom door.
“Okay, Cee, this is getting ridiculous. I made dinner. At least come out and eat.”
I don’t say anything, putting my back to the door and hoping he’ll just go away. I told him what happened, both that day at Drew’s place and this week at the restaurant. I kind of had to. He’s not exactly one to leave me alone when he can tell I’m miserable.
“You know I have a key to this door,” he says when I don’t respond.
With a deep sigh, I force myself upright. Because I’ve been lying down so long, every part of me aches in protest. I pull the door open forcefully.
“It wasn’t locked,” I snip. “And I’m not hungry. But thanks.”
I make to close the door in his face, but he puts a hand up to stop me.
“I’m going to have to cancel my trip if I can’t trust you to feed yourself,” he says, his voice much less harsh now.
I scrunch my brows together. “What trip?”
He smiles. “Come eat dinner and I’ll tell you.”
With that, he turns around and heads downstairs.
Bastard.
I contemplate just going back to my self-imposed isolation, but he knows me and my curiosity too well.
“Damn you, Matt,” I call downstairs as I descend into the main living area.
I can hear him chuckling in the dining room, and I almost trip down the stairs I’m so eager to go down there and smack him.
“Come on, I made pot roast.”
My stomach grumbles at the appetizing aroma that hits me as I find Matt and two huge bowls of meat, veggies, and broth already set on the table.
“Guess I could eat,” I grumble, instantly forgiving him for being annoying.
Matt smirks at me. “Thought so.”
I sit down and start to wolf down the meal like a starved person. Which I guess I basically am, having eaten maybe three full meals this week.
“So where are you going?” I ask around a mouthful of buttery carrot and potato. I’d wait until I swallowed, but now that I’m in front of food I don’t seem to be able to stop eating.
Matt grimaces at me but doesn’t comment on my lack of manners. “I’ve kind of been meaning to tell you something, but I didn’t want to wave it in your face, considering …” He trails off, giving me a significant look.
I glare at him for getting too close to talking about it. He knows I’m not ready. I only told him what happened because he wouldn’t leave me alone.
He clears his throat. “Anyway. I’ve been seeing that model from the director’s dinner. Alyssa. We’re leaving tomorrow to go to Tahoe for a long weekend. Just thought you should know where I’ll be so you don’t worry.”
He says it all in a rush like he’s terrified of my reaction. And I get it. He’s dating someone. He thinks it’ll hurt that he’s got someone when I’m fresh off a breakup.
“She must be something if she’s held your attention for more than a few days,” I remark drily.
Matt huffs a laugh. “Yeah, she’s cool,” he says casually, clearly downplaying it.
But now that I’m not buried in my own misery for a hot second, I can see it. He’s happy. And my workaholic brother is taking time off to be with a woman. He must really, really like her.
“So is this where you’ve been disappearing to lately?” I tease, feeling just a bit more like my normal self.
“I haven’t been disappearing,” he scoffs.
I roll my eyes. “Sure you have. I barely see you outside of work anymore. It’s okay, you don’t have to be afraid of breaking me. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry to leave you on your own. But we’ll have family time at Thanksgiving dinner, right?” he says gently.