Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Sadie
Me
Just got home from Lockhart’s. We talked it all out, and everything is good. I know you wanted to know, and I know you’re saying, pheeeew, the same way I am right now.
Bryn
Wait, you told him about YOU?
Me
No. We just talked about his side of things. The whole Weston-Wright thing and why he didn’t tell me he was one of the owners of the company.
Bryn
Girl, you let the man bare his soul and you said nothing about DF?
Me
I couldn’t. I wanted to. I tried. And I completely locked up. The words just weren’t there, Bryn.
I think once I get past the opening of Toro, I’ll feel better, and I’ll be able to share some of this with him. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Bryn
But what if your review of Toro isn’t good? Then what? Will you actually be able to admit to Lockhart that you tore his restaurant apart? Seems to me that coming clean then would be even harder than coming clean now?
Me
Let’s just pray it’s a 5-star experience and the conversation will be easy on the both of us.
Bryn
But what if it’s not?
Me
Well then, I’m fucked.
Bryn
Let’s say it’s 3 stars. Would you be honest about it in your review? Or would you lie for your boyfriend?
Me
I can’t lie. I’ve built an entire career on honesty. I don’t know how to do it any other way.
Bryn
JFC.
Me
I know …
I pushed one of the lighting tripods aside to make room at the kitchen counter, giving me just enough space to eat lunch.
It had already been a very long morning spent filming a homemade macaroni and cheese video. The company that created the cheese grater I used was the sponsor of the segment, and once it finished baking, I’d mixed it all up and put it in Tupperware—hiding most of the signs that Dear Foodie had made it—and brought it down to my doorman for him to take home and enjoy. If I ate a heaping bowl of pasta, especially one made with four different kinds of cheeses and thick, curly noodles—a meal I craved, made with extra comfort and love—I’d be full and asleep in less than twenty minutes. And I didn’t have time for sleep, not when I had two more videos to film today, an article to write, and several static posts I needed to shoot and schedule.
While I nibbled on my lunch of two hard-boiled eggs and cut-up veggies and hummus, I attempted to get through some of the comments on the video that had gone live this morning—one that I’d shot a few days ago. There were thousands of comments to weed through on each social media site. I started with Instagram—the friendliest of the bunch—and read what my followers had written, responding to the more important questions.
Best spin on a salmon bowl I’ve ever seen. Can I hire you to be my private chef, Dear Foodie???
I’m a nail tech in LA. Hit me up. I would love to paint your paws.
Do you use Kewpie Mayo or, like, Hellmann’s?
Why do you make everything look so delicious? Goodbye, protein diet. Hello, carbs .
Ew. Who cooks with a Band-Aid? Do you know how unsanitary that is? The least you could have done was wear a glove.
Who gives a fuck if she has on a Band-Aid? Leave her alone. She’s human.
Human and everything I want in a woman. She can wrap those fingers around me any day.
A text came across my screen, saving my eyes from the wildness of my followers, and I clicked on it.
Lockhart
I just tasted you.
Me
How?
Lockhart
One of the best things about eating your pussy after I shower for work is that you’re on my face for the rest of the day.
Me
You’re telling me you’re at work … and you can still taste me? Like, you’re going through meeting after meeting, conversations with your family—all the things—and I’m there, on your mouth, like it’s no big deal?
Lockhart
That’s exactly what I’m telling you.
Me
Oh God.
You know you’re making me wet again, don’t you? And I realize I just had you, what, five-ish hours ago, but this is what you do to me. You keep me constantly turned on.
I had just hit Send when my phone started to ring, my boss’s name on the screen .
I knew what he was calling about. I just didn’t have the stomach for that conversation today.
Except I didn’t have a choice.
I swiped my finger across the screen and said, “Hi.”
“Sadie, good afternoon. Do you have a minute to chat?”
Lockhart
Do you want to know what you do to me?
Me
Yes.
“Of course.” I found a small pad of paper and a pen near where my camera was set up on the counter, and I grabbed it. “What’s up?”
“When we last spoke, we talked about the opening of Toro, and I mentioned that with the amount of buzz it’s getting, I want to build up the momentum of your review, like we did with Horned. My plan is to really get our audience salivating.”
“Yes, I remember, and I like your plan a lot.”
“Good. Because it’s time to initiate it.”
I tried to fill my lungs, my eyes closing as I said, “Okay.”
“Here’s my idea, Sadie: we’re going to divide the buildup into three stages, dragging it out even longer than we did with Horned to amplify things even more. Stage one will be a review of Charred. Stage two, a review of Musik. And stage three—the final stage—is your review of Toro.”
My eyes flicked open. “Hold on a second.” My heart was pounding so hard and so fast that I swore he’d be able to hear it in my voice. “You want a total of three reviews? For all three of The Weston Group locations in LA?”
“Sounds like you think that’s a bad idea.”
Was it? Or was I just freaking out because I was dating a Weston?
I was too skewed to tell at this point .
I needed to put my brain in a pre-Lockhart setting.
But I could barely even remember what that life had felt like—that was how much he dominated my thoughts now.
“I just”—I let out some air—“think that’s a lot.”
“And I think it’s going to bring in so many viewers that our site is going to crash.”
Lockhart
You make me so fucking hard. I’m about to lock my door and jerk off to the sight of you in my pool last night. And the shower we took after. And the way I woke you this morning with my mouth on your pussy.
I shook my head, trying to find the air I’d just released, my lungs so tight that I didn’t think I could get any in. “Are you talking full reviews of Charred and Musik or little glimpses of my experience there?”
“I like the idea of a glimpse, but it must include your opinion. Consider it a shortened review with photos. Less fluff for those, more meat. We’ll post the review of Charred next week, the following week will be a review of Musik, and the week after will be your full review of Toro.”
“What about the two restaurants that are on my schedule for the next two weeks? Do you still want me to go to them? And write the reviews? Or are we pausing those and only focusing on The Weston Group?”
Lockhart
Tell me I get to see you tonight?
“Yes, I would still like you to go to the others,” my boss said. “For those weeks, we’ll be sharing two of your posts—one from The Weston Group outing and the other from where you are scheduled to eat.” He paused. “I understand that, during those weeks, you’ll be working for Seen for two evenings when we normally only have you for one. And I know that means double the work. You will be heavily compensated for this, Sadie.”
I wasn’t worried about that, nor was I worried about the amount of work he was putting on me.
I could handle it.
Charred wasn’t a huge issue either. I’d recently been. I took plenty of photos. The meal had been superior—from the bread to the espresso martini I had during dessert, a vast improvement from the one I’d had at the Manhattan location of Charred—which meant I could use what I already had and didn’t have to go back.
My review would be stellar, so at least when it came to that restaurant, I could breathe a sigh of relief.
But at Musik and Toro, I didn’t know if my experiences would be the same.
“I’ll get it all done,” I assured him. “No worries.”
“Like I said, I’m going to run two of your articles per week. Charred and Musik will run mid-week. If you could get me the write-ups after this weekend for Charred and next weekend for Musik, that would be best.”
“I’m on it.”
Even though my stomach said otherwise.
“Sadie?”
My pen tapped the blank paper. “Yeah?”
“I told you the viewership of Seen was up twelve percent after your article on Horned. When we run the articles on The Weston Group, with their reputation and following and with the way we’re building anticipation, our numbers are going to increase even more.”
The spit I swallowed felt like acid going down my throat. “I know.”
“What I’m saying is, this isn’t going to be huge. This is going to be massive—for Seen and for you. The foodies of LA and all throughout the state are going to react, and this will end up affecting every location of Charred across the globe and the other locations of Toro as well as the ones that are slated to open this year.”
My stomach was now churning. “It most certainly will.”
“This will probably be the largest feature you’ll ever write for Seen . Remember that—when you’re writing and when you’re taking photographs. This is the one, Sadie, the one that really matters.”
If he was expecting a response, I didn’t have one to give him.
“We’ll talk soon,” he said, and he hung up.
My screen didn’t go dark. It showed the last message from Lockhart.
I wanted to comment on how hot it was to have the image of him jerking off to me in my head. I wanted to tell him I wished I could stop by his office and pay him a visit so he wouldn’t have to do anything himself, that I’d be there to take care of him.
But I couldn’t.
I … felt too sick to type those words.
Me
Tonight = yesss.
I put my phone down, my gaze dropping to my plate of eggs and veggies and hummus, and I brought it over to the corner of my kitchen, where the trash receptacle sat. I held it over the opening, waiting to see if my stomach changed its mind.
It didn’t.
So, I dumped the paper plate inside, and I walked into my office.