Chapter Thirty-Three
Turned out, if you weren’t the acting CEO of the Ellingham Group, getting a last-minute reservation for Chiêu was a lot harder than Juliette had anticipated.
The restaurant had built up a reputation since it opened, and given its small footprint and extensive chef’s tasting menu, it had also built up quite a wait list of hopeful diners.
“What do you mean you can pencil me in for December?” Juliette demanded into her phone, her breath coming in short puffs as she made her morning run through Olympic Sculpture Park. “It’s July!”
“We’ve got one spot left for December twenty-third at ten forty-five PM, would you like to book it?” the girl asked in a tone that implied she was doing Juliette a favor.
“Sure, I’ll just starve until then,” Juliette griped, ending the call without giving the girl her name.
Could she call Clayton and ask him to work his magic again?
That might be awkward, considering she didn’t plan on bringing him along.
But who else did she know who might be influential enough to wrangle a table?
Ah, someone who worked with a doctor who just invested in the restaurant, according to Troy’s own admission at the Pacific Pines luncheon.
“Hello?” Just that one word in his warm, honeyed Australian accent was enough to make Juliette’s legs quake like she’d run a marathon. “Juliette?”
“Charlie,” Juliette said, so breezy. Like, impossibly breezy. “Hey.”
“Hi,” he said, the smile radiating through the short syllable.
God, she really could just lap him up. “I’ve been wanting to call you all day but I had back-to-back stints.
I’ve been up to my elbows in chest cavities.
” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry, that’s the least sexy thing I could have said, wasn’t it? ”
“Not for a serial killer or a cannibal,” Juliette said, smiling despite herself. Why had she called? Right. Murder investigation. “Hey, this is super awkward, but I kind of have a favor to ask.”
“Of course, anything you need,” Charlie said promptly.
“You haven’t heard it yet. What if I’m a cannibalistic serial killer and I need you to help me dispose of the evidence?”
“As long as you let me take you for dessert after,” Charlie said.
Why was he so stupid cute?? “Actually, my favor is about dinner. It’s probably a total long shot, but I need to get reservations to Troy Pham’s new restaurant and he mentioned that your boss was a stakeholder—”
“Dr. Campbell, yeah,” Charlie said. “I can get you a reservation, no problem. How many?”
They were both lucky he wasn’t standing there because she could have kissed his face right off, reservation be damned.
As it was, she silently pumped her fist in the air in victory.
And it must have been because she was so grateful to him—and not because any part of her was desperate to see him and smell him and maybe lick him just the littlest bit again—she said, “How about two? Why don’t you join me? ”
“You want to have dinner with me?” Charlie asked. “Are you sure? I really don’t mind asking about the reservation. You don’t have to invite me to be polite.”
“What did I tell you about accusing me of doing things to be nice?” Juliette teased. “Of course I want you to come. I mean, not if you’re busy, or don’t want to, or would rather scrub your toilet or shove your hands in someone’s chest cavity again—”
“I’d love to,” Charlie said before she could think up any more gruesome examples. “What time? I’ll pick you up.”
This was all starting to sound very datey, and Juliette was already regretting her reckless enthusiasm.
She had a job to do, after all. “I’ve got some things to take care of this afternoon.
Why don’t I meet you there? Seven? You’re absolutely saving my life.
I owe you one. Or three or four, depending on your stamina. ”
“I think I’ve proven my stamina to be prodigious,” Charlie said, his tone low and vibrating.
Juliette bit her hand to keep from moaning. “Great, perfect, see you at seven!”
The line for Chiêu had grown threefold on her return trip.
Troy Pham’s food was good, but Juliette didn’t believe in waiting in line for dinner.
Charlie had texted her that he’d successfully made the reservation, but there was a caveat and he’d explain it when he saw her.
As long as she got in the restaurant, she didn’t care if they had to eat in the bathroom.
Veeta and Kate were waiting in the back alley where the kitchen let out for the handoff, and Kennedy was on watch duty from the café across the street in case Brigitte showed up.
All Juliette had to do was get access to Brigitte’s office in the restaurant, locate the divorce decree, hand it off to Veeta and Kate in the alley without being spotted, and finish her dinner date with Charlie, leaving Troy and Brigitte none the wiser. Easy.
“Juliette,” came Charlie’s voice, stealing her attention and then her breath as she looked up.
Someone had been suit shopping, and the results were nothing short of devastating.
Charlie wore a slate gray suit, fitted to within an inch of its life on his athletic frame, a soft heather green button-down with a slight sheen to it bringing out the highlights in his eyes.
He’d styled his hair, too, though he’d traded the rigidly slicked back look for a looser one, letting the natural wave of his auburn hair lend him a slightly rakish air.
When he smiled, one hand tucked in his pocket, he looked straight out of a Hugo Boss ad.
“Charlie Hawkins, you distracting son of a bitch,” Juliette said, too stunned to catch the words before they tumbled out of her mouth. She was going to need a forklift to get her jaw off the ground. “You look incredible. Where have you been hiding this wardrobe?”
“Someone mentioned my old sport coat wasn’t up to the task,” Charlie said sheepishly. “So I got fitted for a proper suit. Cost me a month’s student loan payment.”
“More than worth it,” Juliette said, growing awfully warm and fuzzy at the idea that Charlie had gotten dressed up for her. She put her hands on her hips. “How dare you upstage me?”
“I couldn’t if I tried,” Charlie said, his eyes drinking in her ensemble.
Sure, she’d plucked and shaved and waxed and done a hundred squats and push-ups before she got dressed so her butt and arms were in their finest form.
And she’d traded out her usual sequined micro dress for a more fitted affair, a black-and-white bodycon dress with a pencil skirt, a dramatic art deco neckline, and a slit up the thigh.
“You look perfect. Actually, you look like a life-size Barbie.”
He stepped forward, his hand sliding around her waist as he leaned in, his scent enveloping her as he grazed her cheek with his lips. But he might as well have stripped her naked for the response her body had, going soft in all the right places, practically collapsing into him.
“That’s literally the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Juliette said as he stepped back, her voice breathy and light.
Keep it casual, Juliette. Keep. It. Casual.
But Juliette never did anything casually, not even her flings.
She did everything with ruthless intention, like a proper former child prodigy, pouring all her focus and attention into the task in front of her.
It was why she’d been put on the fast track to prima ballerina by the age of eleven, why she’d excelled in school from an early age, and why she’d been so dedicated to saving Simon Says.
For all they had damaged her, her parents had instilled the idea from her earliest years that Juliette could literally do anything she set her mind to.
And her mind, whether she wanted it to or not, had set itself on Charlie Hawkins.
What would happen if she stopped fighting it?
If she let him in—really let him in—and saw where this thing might go?
“Shall we?” she asked, her body buzzing with delight at the prospect of a new challenge.
“Right, about that,” Charlie said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “I was at the hospital when I called to make the reservation and—”
“Hawkins, your table for four is ready,” the hostess said, waving them through the door.
Juliette frowned. “Four?”
“I was at the hospital,” Charlie reiterated, fidgeting, “and I was only going to book for two, but then—”
“Hawkins, always unfashionably early!” said Rajiv as he sauntered up on the sidewalk, slapping Charlie on the back. “I swear, this guy used to sleep in lecture hall just to have the front row seat. We eating or what?”
“Is ‘or what’ an option?” Juliette asked, looking to Charlie with a blank stare.
“I should have called you,” Charlie said, looking like he wished an earthquake would strike right then and open up the sidewalk to swallow him whole. “Rajiv said we owed them dinner for bailing on the tennis demonstration the other day.”
“We owed them?” Juliette said.
“Charlie,” said Sporty Ex from behind Juliette, bypassing her entirely to give him what Juliette thought was an inappropriately lingering hug. She held Charlie out, looking his outfit up and down critically. “Where did you get this? Is this new? Who picked it out for you?”
She’s not Juniper, she’s not Juniper. Fight the patriarchy.
Although the patriarchy wasn’t the only thing Juliette wanted to fight when Katarina touched Charlie like that.
Like she had a right to, after the things Juliette had done to him in her bedroom only days ago.
Not that Juliette had a claim to him, but neither did Katarina.
And the fact that Charlie didn’t immediately disengage from her embrace, instead demurring to her barrage of questions, only made Juliette feel more like punting her into the sun.
“Hey, babe,” Rajiv said, making a show of putting his arm around her. “Let’s do this thing, huh?”
“I’m sorry, I really am,” Charlie whispered to Juliette as the hostess led them to their table. “We can leave if you want. Or request another table? I know you wanted to have dinner just the two of us, but Rajiv can be very insistent when he wants something.”
“Why would I want to leave?” Juliette asked. “Rajiv is right, we didn’t get the chance to humiliate them at the tennis demo.”
Troy had added some kind of fake raindrop installation since last week, suspended from the ceiling on fishing wire. As if Seattle needed more rain. Juliette shot off a text to the group about the slight change in her dinner arrangements, assuring them that she was still fully committed to the plan.
Kate’s reply text was fast and furious. By sporty ex do you mean katarina???
Juliette frowned as she replied, pausing beside the chair Charlie pulled out for her. I didn’t realize he had that many sporty exes.
I need you to understand how dead serious I am when I say this: You need to go full Juliette Winters on her. Crush her. Eviscerate her. Make her regret ever being born.
At least Juliette wasn’t the only one feeling less than positive about the woman.
But Kate wasn’t done. The things that woman did to Charlie. Destroyed his self-confidence. Messed up his relationship with Jake. She’s worse than their dad, the way she tries to control him.
I can handle her, Juliette texted.
But Kate was on a tear now. I’m going to put eyedrops in her drink, just tell me what she orders.
I bet it’s an old-fashioned but she demands they only use ecologically sustainable whiskey and she wants to know the farm where the orange garnish came from and she wants to know if the bitters are house-made or packaged.
And then she’ll just scrap that and order a red wine from some vineyard with a zero-carbon footprint and brag about how environmentally conscious she is.
“Juliette?” Charlie asked, seeming anxious. Was he worried that he’d upset her? Or worried that she might make a scene in front of his rival and his ex? It could go either way at this point, honestly. “Did you need to … take care of something?”
“Nope, I’m good,” Juliette said, taking her seat. Eviscerate Sporty Ex, find Brad’s divorce papers in Brigitte’s office, hand them off to Veeta and Kate waiting in the alleyway, clear her name, recover the stolen manuscript, and save everyone’s day. All before the dessert course.