She smiles as she steps forward, raising one knee in the air as if she’s about to straddle me, when we’re both startled by a knock at the door.
“Take a seat,” I whisper to her, and she quickly sits in the chair on the other side of the desk. I rise and make my way to the door, opening it wide as possible, as if I have nothing to hide. “Yes?”
Emilio glances at Alice and back to me. “The floor drain in the kitchen is slow. I put some bio-crystals in the drain, so hopefully it will be clear by tomorrow, but whoever opens tomorrow will need to test it. I don’t know if we can open if it’s clogged. Code violation.”
I turn to Alice for confirmation of whether this is a health code violation, and she shrugs. “Bloody hell.” I ponder the situation for a moment before I realize Emilio is waiting for me to dismiss him. “Thank you, Emilio. Enjoy your evening.”
“You too, Chef.”
I wait until he’s left through the rear entrance, then I listen quietly for any sound indicating Andy is still in the building, but I hear nothing. Turning to Alice, I can’t help but smile as I realize we’re alone for the first time since we spent the night together in the hotel.
“Come with me.”
Chapter 16
ALICE
As I follow Ethan out into the corridor, I watch him slide his phone out of his pocket and tap the screen a few times until the restaurant’s sound system begins playing a Frank Sinatra song I don’t recognize. As we reach the staff door leading to the dining room, the lyrics say something about finding time to spend an evening together. I know where this evening is headed, and I’m one thousand percent on board.
Except for one thing.
“I’ll be right out,” I say as he holds the staff door open for me. “Just have to use the restroom.”
He smiles as he seems to know exactly what I’m going to do. “I’ll be at the bar.”
My limbs flood with a warm giddiness as I half-jog to the employee restroom and close the door behind me. Unbuttoning my jeans, I breathe a sigh of relief to find I remembered to wear a semi-decent black, lacy pair of underwear today. As I sit on the toilet to freshen myself up, my phone vibrates on the sink.
Finishing up, I glance at my phone screen as I wash my hands. The email notification disappears before I can read the subject line preview, but I see enough to know the email is from Le Cordon Bleu. I quickly tear off some paper towels to wipe my hands and snatch the phone off the sink.
Opening the email app, I find a message from Bette Martin asking if I’d read her previous email or had a chance to consider whether I’d be joining them this summer. My stomach clenches as I realize she may have said I had until July 15th to respond to the internship offer, but they probably need an answer sooner. Maybe they have a new applicant who’s more qualified.
I can’t keep putting this off.
Sitting down on the toilet to compose a response, I find myself typing and deleting every sentence as I second-guess myself. I don’t want to give Bette the impression I’m definitely going to accept the internship, but I don’t want to leave an opening for them to hire someone else. If things should go south between Ethan and me—and I really wish I could believe they won’t—I’ll need to take the job in Paris, for multiple reasons.
Dear Bette,
Thank you so much for checking in. I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. I’ve been trying to work out the logistics of the internship and the pay scale. I’m very appreciative of the offer as it stands, but at that salary/stipend I would need to either secure a second job in Paris or count on my parents for additional resources.
I’m currently looking for possible openings at other restaurants near the LCB hotel while also waiting for an answer from my parents on whether they can provide some support for the length of the internship. I promise you will be the first person to know when I figure out the financial logistics of making the move to Paris this summer. I really look forward to working with you and the rest of the Le Cordon Bleu staff again.
Cheers,
Alice Lopez
After hitting send, I stare at my inbox for a while as I hope I haven’t totally screwed up this opportunity.
Bette’s email was sent a few minutes ago. If it’s a bit past midnight in Manhattan, what time is it in Paris? Six a.m. She probably won’t respond to my email until later tonight, if that.
I’m about to close the email app, when a new email appears at the top of my inbox.
Alice,
It’s so good to hear from you! And I’m sure we can negotiate the stipend. The internship partner, Lazare Brasseries, is very eager to work with you. I’ll get back to you after I discuss your concerns with the executive chef.
Cheers!
My stomach twists into a hard knot as I stare at the email. I immediately begin imagining all the disastrous scenarios her email has set in motion.
If I tell Ethan about the internship offer, he may be happy for me. Or, it may inspire him to promote me to sous chef sooner rather than later.
On the other hand, he may see it as a sign I’m not a team player. He may choose to nix the promotion altogether. Worse, he’ll think I concealed the internship from him because I planned on abandoning Forked—and him—all along.
But he would have to know that denying me the promotion would only force me to go to Paris.
Maybe the idea of me leaving New York appeals to Ethan?
I shake my head as I realize I’m thinking about Ethan as if he’s Edward. I have no doubt Edward would want me to leave Manhattan, so I could stop being the thorn of truth in his side; the truth about his mediocrity.
But Ethan isn’t threatened by my talent.
Not yet.
This is ridiculous. I have a gorgeous man waiting for me right now, his mind filled with all the filthy things he wants to do to me, everything I’ve been dreaming of him doing. I can think about my career later. Now is not the time.
I sigh as I stand up and slide my phone into the front pocket of my jeans. As I enter the dining room, the volume of the music becomes louder, and my stomach gurgles as I realize what song is playing: “La Vie En Rose” by Celeste. But as I approach the bar, my thoughts of Paris and my anxiety melt away, replaced by a pleasant feeling of butterflies when I find Ethan pouring two drinks out of a frosty cocktail shaker.
“How many roofies did you put in my glass?” I ask as I climb onto a barstool.
He slides one of the cocktails toward me and laughs when I push it aside and take the other tumbler instead. “I lost count, actually,” he says, placing the shaker in the sink behind the bar. “How many do you prefer?”
I shrug as I bring the cocktail to my lips. “Depends. Do I want to remember what we’re about to do or do I want to block out the shameful memories?”
He tilts his head. “Well, that depends. Are you Catholic?”
I raise my beverage in the air and we clink glasses. “Touché. Bottoms up.”
His smile widens as he watches me guzzle the entire cocktail in one go. “God, I love Catholic girls.”