Chapter 5
Wayne
Bianca had been reckless, thoughtless, and completely na?ve by inviting that woman back to her apartment.
She’d made a childish, impulsive decision, and it wasn’t wrong of me to point it out.
If me telling her what a terrible idea it was meant that in the future, she’d make a better decision, then that was great.
Hopefully, she’d never do something so stupid again.
So then, why did I feel like absolute shit? My tattoo had burned for the week since I’d left Bianca’s apartment, aching and stinging. It had kept me up at night, distracted me so I’d burned an oven full of lasagnas and had to remake them all to a considerable expense.
It hadn’t been the best week. I was making zero progress with Bianca. In fact, I was making negative progress, which was almost definitely the reason for my tattoo pain.
I’d been trying to convince myself I didn’t care, but if I was truthful, it bothered me a great deal that I’d pushed her farther away. It wasn’t what I’d wanted to do, not at all. The thought that she hated me now ate at me, almost as much as the tattoo burned.
Damn it! I’d been right to say something if it meant it kept her safe. So why was I so disturbed by her obvious ire with me?
I hadn’t sensed any danger or subterfuge from the crying woman on the couch, but that didn’t change the fact that even though it went well this time didn’t mean it would go well in the future. Who knew what the intentions of the next person Bianca brought home might be?
Here I was, about to go back to her place.
I’d taken extra care when prepping her meals, making sure everything was perfect.
She hadn’t picked out her food for the week.
She’d been shut up in her room. So, I’d done my best, giving her all of my personal favorite recipes.
Maybe she’d like them. Maybe they’d make her think more favorably about me.
I snorted as I loaded the car. I highly doubted it.
When I got to her apartment, she opened the door then turned on her heel and walked away. She didn’t go upstairs, which was nice, but she did put in earbuds and glare at me as she sat on her sofa.
I kicked the door shut behind me and headed into the kitchen, which was spotless. Did she clean like this or did she have a cleaning lady? From what I knew of her, it seemed most likely she had someone come in for it. She didn’t seem the deep-cleaning type.
Oh, well.
I nearly jumped to attention when she walked into the kitchen, but she glared at me again. “I’m just getting a drink,” she said in an annoyed voice.
“That’s fine,” I said as kindly as I could.
She sniffed. “Of course it’s fine. It’s my home.”
I didn’t reply as she walked out. What could I say? It was her home. I’d just wanted her to feel comfortable in her own kitchen.
I sure as fuck wasn’t feeling so comfortable right about now, but that was my own fault.
Normally, I put her dinner in the oven and left her to dish it up herself, but today, I wanted to try to make some sort of amends. Just because I didn’t want to jump right into bed with the woman didn’t mean I could go on with her hating me, either.
As quietly as I could, I found her plates, napkins, and forks, and dished up the lasagna. As I walked out of the kitchen, she must’ve been coming in. I’d been so focused on being quiet that I hadn’t heard her get off the couch. “Oh,” I said. “Here. I made you a plate before I leave.”
She sighed, long and suffering, then took the plate from me. Her eyes narrowed, then she turned, but I followed her. The hostility had to stop. She either had to let me apologize for the way I’d said things, or something had to change. “Can we talk?” I asked.
Bianca set the plate on the coffee table and crossed her arms. “Why are you asking for my permission? You’ve been so comfortable just saying what you’re thinking up until now.”
I sighed and swallowed my pride. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I was rude and stepped out of bounds. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Her glare only grew more intense. Damn it.
“You shouldn’t apologize for hurting my feelings,” she said.
“You should apologize for being an opinionated asshole. You have no say in what I do, and no room to judge me! Ha! You’re the pretty boy chef who works for sad, old rich ladies just to be eye candy. ”
Now she was taking it too far. My hackles rose. Why was I so focused on keeping this job with her? Yeah, we were fated mates, but that didn’t mean I had to keep working for her. “Okay,” I said before she or I stepped over a line that we couldn’t uncross.
“No, not okay,” she said. “You’re not hired because you’re some amazing chef,” she spat. “You’re hired because you’re hot.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling at her, though she deserved it. I opened my mouth to tell her where she could shove it, but she held up one hand.
“One more thing,” she said. “How does it feel to be judged falsely?” she asked. She smiled, a fake, teeth-bearing grimace. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”
Ouch. That hit me right in the gut. My heart raced as my blood boiled.
I didn’t know what it was about her that set off my temper.
Fated mates were supposed to be compatible, literally made for each other.
Why was this going so poorly? Sure, her sass and her ability to fight her way out of the corner was sexy as hell.
And yeah, she’d definitely keep me on my toes, but I wasn’t sure that working for her was going to continue to pan out.
Breathing deeply, I kept myself from saying anything, knowing damn well that I’d be as likely to say the wrong thing as the right thing.
As fast as I could, I gathered my supplies and stalked out of Bianca’s apartment without a goodbye. I’d calm down and then decide how to proceed and if we should continue working together.
I drove straight to my mom’s house. She was my biggest supporter, and would tell me like it was, whether that meant her being on my side or Bianca’s. I needed the truth and an outside perspective.
“Hey, baby,” she said when I walked in. “Don’t you have work today?”
I shook my head. “I just left my last client for the day. But it was Bianca, who I told you about at dinner last week. And again, she’s pissed me off beyond all reason.”
Mom sighed and patted the couch. “Come sit, tell me.”
I explained about Bianca inviting a stranger over and tried to be honest about how I’d reacted without downplaying it or exaggerating it.
“Wayne.” Mom sat back and looked at me, puzzled.
“What is it about this girl that gets you so worked up?” She narrowed her eyes.
Damn, she was figuring it out. “You’ve had clients who have drank themselves into a damn near coma.
You’ve been sexually harassed, insulted, had your food insulted, all sorts of stuff.
This woman invites another woman into her home, and you feel the need to school her? What gives?”
I shrugged. “She reminds me of my sisters. She’s young.” If I told her the truth now, she’d never let it go until I was married and making her some grandbabies. “And na?ve.”
Mom nodded. “Okay, well, I guess with you having the sisters you do, you’re a natural big brother.”
Thank goodness she bought it.
“But, honey, she’s not your sister. Or your responsibility.” She shook her head and put her arm around my shoulders. “I do understand that your heart is in the right place.”
“I don’t know if I can stop from telling her what she needs to hear,” I said.
“Well, if you can’t separate your emotions from the job, maybe you should quit. Would it hurt your career prospects?” she asked.
The truth was not at all. I had people on a waiting list. Some of the other pack members who had heard about what had happened with Ms. Dottie and Ms. Parker had called me and asked me to put them down for dinner parties.
I wasn’t the only one who disliked those old biddies.
If anything, the incident had helped my business.
“Maybe it’s time to let this one go, sweetie.” She jumped up. “Now, since you’re here, I’ve got a pie just out of the oven. I know how you like warm apple pie.”
I moaned and followed her to the kitchen. “I’m going to have to hire you to bake for me,” I said. “I hate baking.”
I loved to cook but not bake. Weird, maybe, but oh, well.
Outsourcing my baking really wasn’t a bad idea, though. I tucked the idea in the back of my mind to contemplate later.
No matter how much I tried to convince myself that I should quit and leave Bianca to her own devices, I still resisted the concept. I didn’t want to pursue a relationship yet, sure, but that didn’t mean I wanted to sever the only tie I had to her.
And what would that do to my tattoo, and my health? Removing all contact surely would mean the bond would suffer.
I didn’t know what the fuck I was going to do. I couldn’t make this decision yet. I’d have to stew on it.
So instead of making a large, life-altering decision, I ate pie. Damn good pie, too.