“By the way, have you read Horowitz’s e-mail about the London studio’s reaction to the proposals? The only parts they actually liked were the ones you brought to the table.”
“I read it. Abbott will eventually get a grip on things.”
“Or he’ll be fired. Horowitz was saying the other day that he doesn’t think Abbott will last one more month. He thinks they’ll come begging you to take over after.”
“I don’t like to spend my time talking about what-ifs.” My tone is sharper than it needs to be, but I have no desire for this conversation. For the longest time, I’ve carefully separated my personal and professional lives, but lately, every time someone mentions how Abbott might break under the pressure, I immediately think about Alice and what that would mean for us.
The waiter arrives with the tab. The second he’s gone, Clara leans over the table. “So, if I take back what I said and swear anything you tell me stays between us, would your answer change?”
“Nice try, Clara. Nice try.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alice
“These are fabulous.” I’m in a fancy jewelry store downtown, trying on amethyst earrings from Pippa’s newest collection, and they are just beautiful. I like to reward myself when I seal a new deal, and today I managed to convince one of the most popular San Francisco bands to play in Blue Moon twice a month. I’ve been after them for years; persistence pays off. Amethyst earrings are a totally acceptable reward. As the designer at Bennett Enterprises, Pippa will probably kill me when she sees me wearing them, insisting I don’t have to buy anything she creates because she can just gift them to me. She doesn’t understand. Buying them feels like I worked for them, and deserve them. “I’ll take them.”
Watching the vendor pack them, I fight to stifle a yawn, and it’s not even seven o’clock in the evening. Running three restaurants is very different to owning one, or even two. It’s not only more work, but different work. Nowadays I’m more often on the phone with potential partners and advertisers than in the kitchen or talking to customers. Some days I’ve even taken to working from home in the mornings since all I do is talk on the phone.
Dividing my time between three locations seems to be counterproductive, and I have to do something about it. I don’t have the energy to plan that course of action though, so I just put it off and continue on the hamster wheel like I’ve been doing for months now.
“Thank you for stopping by today.” The vendor hands me the small bag, and then I’m out the door. Despite being bone-tired, I smile, taking in the commotion around me in Union Square. It’s buzzing with people of all ages, taking leisurely strolls or striding with purpose, and I’m soaking in the beautiful August evening.
There’s also another reason behind my smile—I’m meeting Nate in about half an hour. It’s been almost two months since he first asked me out that night in Blake’s bar. He’s cooking for me tonight, and I’m over the moon. He’s been spoiling me until now too with quick dinners or breakfast, and I love being pampered almost as much as I love spoiling him.
But when I arrive at Nate’s apartment later, he’s in a bad mood. He prepared a delicious dinner, pork chops with Gouda cheese and salad, and I try to make small talk, but he’s been replying with monosyllabic answers to most of my questions. I don’t like it, and I like the scowl on his face even less.
After we’re done eating, we clean up, returning to the table to finish our wine. I’m waiting patiently for him to share with me what’s bothering him, but my patience expires after exactly one hour of scowls and one-word answers.
“Why are you so pissed off?” I ask.
Nate’s scowl deepens. “Just issues.”
Uh, if you think I’m gonna be satisfied by that, the joke’s on you, buddy.
Crossing my arms, I face him with my chin held high. “Nuh-uh, nope. This isn’t going to work.”
Alarm flits on his face, replacing the scowl. “What?”
“You not sharing things. If you’re in a bad mood, I want to know why. If something I did is bothering you, tell me. If—”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
I nod as the small knot of tension at the back of my neck melts.
“Well, whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“I’d just ruin your mood too.”
“Your bad mood is ruining mine anyway, so spill it.”
The corners of his lips lift in a small smile. Now we’re talking. I swear I’d dance naked on tables if it would make him happy. I’m in such deep trouble.
He leans back in his chair, playing with the glass of wine in his hand. “Remember what I told you about Mom? About her troubles with her mortgage?”
“Yeah.”
“I still can’t convince her to let me help her. Talked to her today, didn’t get anywhere. She’s unbelievably stubborn.”