It never took long for all the guilt to come flooding back and begin crushing him from the inside out.
Fuck.
Julian had no idea how long he’d sat there quietly contemplating Thane’s rehashing of the past before Thane spoke again.
“Julian, did you leave me this time? I probably deserve it if you did.”
That brought a smile to Julian’s lips, and he took the opportunity and promptly changed the subject. The path they were on would get them nowhere fast. “I’m not sure I want to move to Ellicott City. You guys keep having those once in a thousand year floods. How many thousands of years have you knocked out now? I feel like I’d need some swimming lessons or something.”
Thane barked out a laugh. “I love this area, I swear I do, but that last flood may have done me in. I’ve got to stay local for Levi. Luke’s registered to begin school here… I’ve liked being able to walk to work, but my staff can’t continue to have their safety at risk. It’s a hard decision.”
Julian’s grin grew as he listened to one of his naughtiest former clients talk about his newly domesticated life. He was happy for his boss. Thane had taken Luke’s guardianship as seriously as he’d taken anything. Not that Luke, Levi’s teenage brother, needed much looking after. The kid was rocket-scientist smart and as fundamentally good a person as anyone Julian had ever known.
“Let me dig deeper into this Beckett St. Clair. He’s too interested in you. We need to get ahead of this,” Thane said quietly. “I have a bad feeling about this one.”
“Lord, Walker, no one needs this much negativity in their lives.” Julian guessed it didn’t really matter if Thane poked around in the cowboy’s background. He’d learn what Julian already had learned. “Do whatever you’ve got to do.”
“You gave in too easily,” Thane countered, skepticism coloring his words.
Julian rolled his eyes, then brought his palms up, running them over his face. He didn’t give in, and Thane doubted him. Then he gave in, and Thane doubted that.
Suddenly, firing the master chef seemed like a far easier conversation to have.
“Have you heard from Franklin?” Julian asked.
Silence held between them for maybe ten long seconds.
“What did you do, Julian?” Thane clipped out.
Thane knew him so well. Julian gave a small smile as he said, “We’ve lost our quality of food service. Plate presentation is down. I’ve heard gossip that some of our dishes are mediocre at best. As it turns out, that’s all on Franklin. He’s not maintaining the standard we expect. I did an impromptu quality check myself during prep this morning. I felt like the complaints were warranted and fired Franklin because he’s seriously a gigantic jackass. I’ve already sent an email requesting Dishology’s training department send someone over for tonight’s meal service—”
“Goddamn it, Julian. You do not have the authority to fire anyone without the GM’s involvement. You have absolutely no say in anything happening inside the restaurant. Why can’t you get that through your thick head?”
“I can’t help that your kitchen manager ran this place like a food truck.” Julian warmed to the new topic, grinning broadly. Thane cut him right off again before he could get on a roll.
“No. Julian, listen to me. There are employment laws at play here. Dishology has policies that must be followed. You’re pissing me off with this, and you won’t fucking stop. It’s never-ending.”
Julian pushed to his feet, done with this conversation. He didn’t care in the least about Thane’s ire. He saw himself as Thane’s eyes and ears at Reservations. He took the role seriously.
He left the office, letting the door swing shut behind him. He made it as far as the bottom step before his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Julian grabbed it, sending Thane’s call to voice mail. He’d give Thane time to cool off and see that Julian had made the right decision. Protocols were all well and good, but Reservations had a reputation to protect.
Franklin was a douche who’d be better suited for meal prep at the local fast-food restaurant. Maybe. Nah, Franklin wasn’t even Mickey D’s material. Julian had always liked their french fries and would hate to see the quality compromised.
Chapter 2
Beckett St. Clair drove the last leg of his journey home, traversing the long gravel road to the main lodge of his survivalist camp, giving a jaw-cracking yawn as he went. His elbow hung out the window of his pickup truck and the fresh, cool morning air hit his face. He needed sleep, something that wouldn’t happen for several more hours, until he’d tackled some of his responsibilities.
He was itchier and grittier than after a weeklong survival training course in the mountains. The dress clothes he now wore always made him feel that way. Pressed slacks, clinging dress shirts, and silk ties…ugh. Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to this wardrobe every single day?