THIS IS WILD
ADDISON
M y cell phone was blowing up in a way that hadn’t happened since I’d graduated from high school. Granted, the majority of those texts had been from distant relatives, but still. When I grabbed my phone from my pocket and saw the number of messages waiting for me, I almost turned it off. But then my mind instantly flew to Patrick. What if something was wrong with him?
I clicked on the first message just to make sure it wasn’t about him. It was from a number I didn’t recognize, asking me for a statement. Confused, I quickly scrolled through the rest of the texts and saw the same type of question being asked over and over again, all from numbers I didn’t recognize, each one claiming to be a different member of the press.
Assuming they had the wrong person, I powered it down until my shift at the restaurant was over. I didn’t have time to deal with my phone blowing up while I was trying to work. With my feet aching and my head pounding, I wrapped up my shift and untied my apron before hanging it in my staff locker.
“You looked stunning last night, Chef,” one of the kitchen staff said, and I looked around to see if he was talking to me.
I pointed a finger at my chest. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. Didn’t know you knew Jamison,” he said with a grin, and I had no idea what the heck he was talking about.
“I don’t. Not really. Just met him last night for, like, two seconds,” I overexplained, which almost made it sound like I was lying.
“Well, the pictures look really nice, Chef,” he said.
I still wasn’t sure what he meant, but I wasn’t in the mood to ask.
I just wanted to get home, drink about a gallon of water, and soak in a hot bath. As I made my way out of the restaurant and onto the street, a man suddenly approached me.
“Chef Whitman?” he asked.
I scanned the length of his body to check out his appearance. He was severely overdressed for the middle of the day.
“Maybe?” I answered, unsure of who this man was or what he wanted.
He laughed and extended a hand. “I’m Frederique Ferdinand,” he said, and my mind spun.
“As in the biggest restaurateur backer in the city?” I stumbled over my words as I shielded my eyes with my hand to look at him once more.
I knew exactly who he was, and I mentally kicked myself for not recognizing him immediately. Frederique was the man behind some of the most successful restaurants in Manhattan. Apparently, his MO was his ability to spot talented up-and-coming chefs and financially back them so they could open their own establishment. I’d heard about him over the years, but never once considered that he might seek me out.
“I am one of the biggest, yes. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Uh, I mean, sure,” I answered as I looked around, wondering where we’d have any privacy.
I couldn’t ask him to return to my workplace with me to have this discussion. Especially if it was heading in the direction I assumed that it might be.
“My car’s right over there. We could chat inside, unless you’re not comfortable with that?” he offered.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot.
I’d never heard anything scary or off-putting about the man, so I assumed it couldn’t hurt to get into his car with him.
“That sounds okay.”
He led me toward where his massive SUV sat idling, and we hopped in the back. Once the doors closed, he launched into a speech that I was sure he’d delivered to other chefs a thousand other times before.
A part of me was still so in shock, not to mention hungover, that I only heard a handful of his words. Things like he’d heard all about me from one of his friends, thought my food was delicious, and seemed convinced that I could be a very successful chef in the city if I had the freedom to do what I wanted. Then, he offered to back me so I could open my own place.
I started choking on literally nothing. “Excuse me?”
He laughed once more, clearly amused by my discomfort. “I said that I’d put up two million to front a restaurant of your choosing. A staff, also of your choosing. Of course, I’d have a say in the final menu, but everything would be your creation.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. My mind spun with possibilities. This was an absolute dream offer—I knew that—but…
“Why me? I haven’t even been doing this for very long. I’m sure there are others who are much more talented than I am,” I said.
I wasn’t trying to sound disparaging about my abilities because I knew I was a good chef, but so were a lot of other people.
“This is what I do, Chef Whitman. I have a keen eye for culinary talent. I back people I believe in. Only three of my restaurants have closed. Three. For reasons that had nothing to do with the food, I assure you.”
“I’m very aware of your reputation in the industry,” I said, hoping that my tone sounded as flattering as I had meant it to be.
He leaned forward and pulled at the pouch in the back of the seat. Reaching inside, he grabbed an all-black business card and handed it to me. The thing was definitely not made from any type of card stock that I was familiar with. It felt more like a credit card. I balanced it in my palm, moving my hand up and down.
“It’s metal.” He grinned, and I enclosed my fingers around it.
“It’s heavy.” I stated the obvious.
“I know.”
I shifted on the leather seat, suddenly wondering if I was sweating through my shirt. How embarrassing would that be? “Can I have some time to think it over?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to make a decision like this over the holidays, but I wanted to present it to you before the new year. I have a location in mind in Hell’s Kitchen that I plan on grabbing before it hits the market.”
I nodded my head like all of this was completely normal. “I really appreciate the offer. I just need some time with it,” I repeated myself, feeling like an idiot for doing so.
He was probably already regretting even making me this offer.
“My number and email are on the back of the card. Reach out with any questions you might have. And let’s reconnect after the first of the year. Sound good?”
Swallowing hard, I nodded my head in agreement. It still pounded, and I regretted the movement.
“Would you like my driver to drop you off at home?”
“Oh, no. Thank you. Uh, I should be going. It was nice to meet you.”
I opened the car door and hopped out before he could talk me into letting him take me. I needed a moment to myself. And I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know exactly where I lived.
“I’ll be in touch, Chef,” he said.
I closed the door behind me and wandered toward the subway station.
This was the last thing that I’d expected. The craziest part was that I didn’t feel overwhelming excitement about the offer. And I absolutely should have. This was an incredible thing. Other chefs in my class would have tripped over themselves to make a man like Frederique notice them. So, why wasn’t I more enthusiastic?
I was still mentally beating myself up as I hopped on the train. I tried to pretend like my head wasn’t punishing me for overdrinking last night and like the sway of the subway car wasn’t making me the slightest bit nauseous when it absolutely was.
When I finally reached my stop, I made my way up the station stairs and onto the street. There were even more people than usual crowding my every move, making it hard for me to walk. Manhattan was one of those cities that grew busier, the closer it got to Christmas. And since the holiday was only a few days away, the city was beyond congested. I couldn’t wait to get out of the chaos and into the solitude of my room.
Looking up, I spotted my mother’s building in the distance, and I tried to walk faster, but it was no use. There were too many tourists stopping at storefront windows or turning around abruptly to do something or other. I felt like a character in a video game, dodging and weaving around obstacles that appeared out of nowhere.
My head ached with each step I took until I reached the building entrance and hustled inside. I rode the elevator up and quickly made my way inside my mother’s place. I was thankful that no one was there so I could take my aching body to the bath in peace.
I sat on the edge of my bed and kicked off my shoes before pulling the weighted business card out of my pocket and dropping it on my nightstand with a thud. Pulling out my phone, I glanced at the dark screen. I’d completely forgotten to turn it back on. It powered up quickly, and the message notifications went wild once more. Frederique’s offer had made me blank on the fact that my phone had been blowing up all morning.
Scrolling through the messages again, I noticed one finally included a link to what they all seemed to be referring to. I clicked on it, only to see pictures of me and Jamison splashed all over Page Six and other local gossip outlets. The photos were everywhere. And we looked like a couple. The headlines that accompanied the pictures said that we were.
I ran my hand down my face, unsure of how to handle this. My phone continued to vibrate nonstop in my hand.
Pushing up from my bed, I walked into the hallway and padded toward my sister’s room. Knocking on her door softly, I turned the knob and let myself in. She was sleeping on her back, her hair tied up in a ponytail, and a satin mask covered her eyes. Plopping down next to her, I shook her shoulder.
“Sarina,” I whispered. “Sarina, wake up.”
She jostled slightly before smacking my hand away. “Go away.”
“Wake up,” I said with a little more force, and she tugged the mask away from her eyes.
“Addison?” she grumbled.
I crossed my legs as I sat up. Sarina followed suit, pulling the mask off of her head and dropping it on her nightstand.
“What’s the matter? What time is it?”
“Early afternoon,” I said because it technically still was.
“Why am I awake then?”
“Look at this,” I said.
I shoved my phone in her face, and the brightness made her wince. I quickly adjusted it before handing it back to her.
She started laughing. Actually giggling, like the whole thing was amusing to her.
“That’s so great,” she said as she scrolled, her finger whipping up so fast that I had no idea what she was even doing.
“It’s not great. They think I’m dating that Jamison guy. The one you said loves to do coke. Our pictures are everywhere. My phone has about a million text messages from strangers, asking me for a statement and interview requests.”
“It’s not a big deal, Addison. Why are you so upset?” Her eyes were focused on the screen instead of on me.
My jaw clenched. “Why am I so upset?” I repeated her question as I tried to get my thoughts in order. “Because I’m not dating him and I don’t want people thinking that I am. How did the press get my phone number in the first place?”
She gave me a half-hearted shrug. “They have their ways. Happens all the time. It will blow over.”
“Can’t you do something? Make a statement on your socials? Anything that helps?” I was begging now as she continued to go through my phone, doing who knew what.
“Shit,” she said as her eyes grew wide. “You just got a text from Matthew O’Grady,” she said, and I swore my heart started beating in double time. “You’re in trouble now.” She turned the phone to face me so I could see the message notification on the screen.
I grabbed the phone so fast that it dropped on the bed between us. We both lunged for it, but I reached it first and clutched it tightly in my hand.
“Read it out loud,” she said.
I shook my head. “No. Please fix this,” I asked once more.
I pushed to a stand and headed toward her door.
“You’ll only make it a bigger deal if you deny it. And they won’t believe you anyway. It will blow over faster if you say nothing.”
I had no idea if that was true or not. I’d never had any experience with this kind of thing before. Sure, Patrick had been a celebrity of sorts back in Sugar Mountain, but that was not even remotely the same as this. No one had printed articles about us in the local paper or posted online. Gossiping in Sugar Saloon, sure. But that was about as scandalous as it got.
Hustling back through the long hallway toward my end of the condo, I passed my mother, who was now sitting in the kitchen.
“That Jamison boy is as rich as they come. Very nice pull, Addison. I’m impressed.”
“It’s not true, Mother. I don’t even know him,” I shouted over my shoulder as I continued heading to my room.
Slamming my door, I wiggled into my bed and opened the message from Matthew as my heart raced and my fingers shook.
If the pictures aren’t what they look like, you might want to give my brother a heads-up before he burns the whole town to the ground. BTW, miss you.
Crap.
Patrick had seen the pictures. Of all the things for him to see, he’d seen those particular photographs of me with another guy. Which meant that he believed the headlines, just like everyone else seemed too. Then again, why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t like he knew that my heart still ached for him daily.
I wasn’t sure what to respond back to Matthew, so I simply texted him a thanks and miss you too before pulling up Patrick’s name and staring at it. The thought of him seeing those pictures and how upset he must have felt, made me sick to my stomach.
He probably believed that I was out here in New York, moving on with my love life, when the truth was that there was no moving on. I was stuck. But as long as I was still living here, unsure of what my future looked like, I refused to tell him that.
It seemed like everything I did hurt him. And I hated myself for it. But he deserved to know the truth about this.
Hi. I just wanted you to know that those pictures aren’t what they seem. I’m not dating that guy. He’s a friend of Sarina’s. I know you might not care anymore, but I still needed you to know the truth.
Without overthinking, I pressed Send and watched as it quickly changed from Delivered to Read. My heart started thumping as I waited for his response. The dots bounced and then disappeared on the screen before they started bouncing again, indicating that he was typing—or at least thinking about it.
I appreciate it, Addi. Thank you. And just for the record, I’ll always care when it comes to you.
I started crying. The tears spilling so hard and fast from my eyes that I couldn’t even see the phone anymore. It made my head ache worse as the pounding intensified.
I still loved Patrick so damn much. And it killed me that I couldn’t tell him. Not while my future was still so up in the air. Not after I’d just gotten this insane offer that I didn’t know what the hell to do with. Not when I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back to Sugar Mountain.
Just thinking that thought alone made me feel sick. What the hell was I doing with my life?