CHAPTER 11 #2
After days of research and heated arguments, we’d narrowed down our top choices.
I picked a gorgeous rustic venue in Vermont; he was dead set on a lakeside chateau in North Carolina.
I didn’t even know there were chateaux in North Carolina, but it didn’t matter.
My option was going to beat his, hands down.
“Have fun in Vermont.” Vivian hugged me. “Try not to kill him, okay? I can speak for Sloane and myself when I say a murder charge right before your birthday would not be ideal.”
During one of our more… spirited text threads, Sebastian and I somehow committed to visiting both our top venues together. It was the only way we trusted the other to be honest about their thoughts, and we’d have to do a walkthrough of the final location anyway.
We were visiting Vermont this weekend and North Carolina later in the month, after my birthday.
I was dreading both trips. They meant even closer proximity to Sebastian, but I had no choice. They were a necessary evil.
“I’ll try my best, but no guarantees,” I said. “I might need you to bail me out.”
Vivian laughed as the front door opened. “You got it.”
“Who’s bailing who out?” a deep, lightly accented voice asked. Dante walked in a second later. He was carrying their adorable two-year-old daughter Josephine, affectionately known as Josie, with one arm and holding a picnic basket with his other.
Josie’s face lit up. “Mommy!” She reached for Vivian with chubby little arms, squirming frantically until Vivian took her from her husband.
“Hi, darling.” She planted a giant kiss on the girl’s cheek. “Did you have fun at the park with Daddy?”
Josie giggled. “Yes! We saw doggies!”
“Ooh, we love doggies.” Vivian turned and gave Dante a softer kiss. “She’s going to make us get her a P-U-P-P-Y when she grows up, isn’t she?” she whispered.
He grimaced, but his eyes were tender as he looked at his wife and daughter. “Please, don’t speak it into existence.” He inclined his head toward me. “Maya. Good to see you.”
“You too.” I smiled even as something tightened in my chest.
I didn’t have baby fever, and I wasn’t someone who grew up dreaming of a dozen kids and a white picket fence. However, seeing how happy and domestic the Russos were made me ache for something similar.
I had a lot of career ambitions, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want family outings and picnics in the park too. The trick was finding someone I loved and respected enough to start a family with. So far, the options were dismal.
My mom kept saying my expectations were too high, and maybe she was right. But if I didn’t have high expectations for the person I spent my life with, then I might as well have no expectations for anything at all.
“Are you the one who needs bailing out?” Dante asked, sounding as amused as an intimidating, six-foot-four Italian CEO could sound.
“No.” I blushed. “It was, um, an inside joke. I have to go, but I’ll see you at my party in a few weeks?”
He nodded.
I said my final goodbyes and slipped out, leaving them to their family time.
The Russos lived only a few blocks from me. I had time to go home, change, and pick up my luggage before I was supposed to meet Sebastian, but my plans vanished into a puff of smoke when I exited the building to find a familiar black SUV idling by the curb.
The window rolled down.
“Get in,” Sebastian said, sounding bored. A pair of sunglasses hid his eyes. “Your luggage is in the trunk.”
“What the hell?” I spluttered. “How did you know I was here?” If he was stalking me, we weren’t going to make it to Vermont before I required bail.
He shrugged. “Your assistant loves me. Also, Vivian posted a photo of your party-planning session to her business page.”
“She would never post our location.”
“No, but I recognized the carpet. Dante and I are friends, you know.” Sebastian gestured at the passenger seat. “Are you getting in or not? Because if you want to walk all the way to Vermont, I’m happy to oblige.”
“Nice to see our trip is off to a good start,” I grumbled. I climbed into the car and barely had time to shut the door before he peeled off, nearly mowing over two women in designer activewear in the process. “I can’t believe you ambushed me.”
“It’s a four-hour drive, Sal, not a kidnapping,” he said dryly. “Do you need to use the restroom?”
“No.”
“Do you need to eat?”
“No.”
“Then sit back and pick a playlist. You’re the DJ.”
“Fine.” I opened my Spotify and scrolled to my pop playlist. A Riley K. song blasted through the speakers, and I allowed myself a satisfied grin when Sebastian grimaced.
This was his least favorite song in her discography. Actually, it was mine too, and I said that as someone who loved Riley K. But seeing Sebastian look like he wanted to crawl out of his skin and bash in his eardrums was worth three minutes and fifty-four seconds of torture.
“How did you get my luggage?” I asked. “Don’t tell me my assistant gave you that too.”
“No, your housekeeper did. I told her I was doing you a favor.” He gave me a smug smile. “She also loves me.”
“That’s it.” I put on my sunglasses to hide my annoyance. “I’m firing everyone and hiring nuns.”
“I’ve met a few nuns. They—”
“If you say they love you too, I swear to God, I’ll throw you out and run you over. Twice.”
Sebastian’s laugh filled the car.
Eventually, we settled into a semi-comfortable silence. The awkwardness of our last in-person interaction crowded in between us, but the music and outside scenery made it easier to pretend everything was normal.
It was a relatively short drive from New York to the venue in Vermont. It was located in a teeny-tiny little town called Ellington, which didn’t have an airport or a train station, so driving was the most convenient option.
“Are you ever going to tell me the truth about why you ran out of that meeting in October?” Sebastian suddenly asked.
The one I’d left to go straight to Pittsburgh. I couldn’t believe he remembered.
“I told you. I had a doctor’s appointment,” I lied.
“We’re stuck in this car for at least another hour, and your taste in music is questionable. The least you can do is tell me something interesting—and true.”
“My taste in music is not questionable. Not everyone likes to listen to pretentious French jazz.”
“Don’t change the subject.” He glanced over at me. “Is it really that bad?”
I chewed on my bottom lip. I hadn’t told anyone about my Pittsburgh theory. I was worried it would make me sound unhinged, but the secret had been gnawing at me for weeks.
Oddly enough, Sebastian would be the perfect person for me to share it with.
He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t dismissive.
He’d always taken me seriously, even when I tried to rage-bait him once by arguing that Henry VIII was the greatest monarch in history (he wasn’t, which Sebastian had made clear via a sixty-minute dissection of every point I’d made).
“It’s not bad,” I hedged. “But if I tell you, you might think I’ve lost it.”
“Try me.”
I took a deep breath. “I think the listeria outbreak over the summer was planned. Someone broke into our packaging facility in Pittsburgh and purposely sabotaged our products.”
It sounded even crazier when I said it out loud.
I winced and braced myself for ridicule, but it never came.
“Why do you think that?” Sebastian asked curiously.
“The cases never sat right with me from the beginning,” I said.
“My dad is anal about safety regulations. The quality and reputation of our products are important to him, and staff are required to undergo training every year. Anyone who violates the rules is suspended or let go. We’ve been in this business for decades, and we’ve never, ever had an issue with contamination. ”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Sebastian reasoned. “It only takes one accidental fuckup.”
“That’s what I thought too, but my gut told me otherwise.
Our Pittsburgh factory is where a majority of our Italian line is packaged.
When you mentioned Pittsburgh during our meeting, that triggered a memory.
Earlier this year, one of our employees there was fired because they weren’t following our food safety guidelines.
You’d think that would be the end of it, but they showed up a few weeks later with a gun.
Threatened to shoot everyone there and then shoot themself.
Thankfully, security was able to disarm them before anyone got hurt. ”
“Holy shit.” Sebastian’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “I didn’t hear anything about this.”
“We buried it,” I said. “I convinced my father not to press charges, which would’ve opened a whole other can of worms, but the ex-employee was ordered to seek treatment. They’re also not allowed to step foot within three thousand feet of any Singh Foods properties.”
“So you think they violated their restraining order to get back at the company,” Sebastian mused.
“It sounds far-fetched,” I admitted. “I went straight to Pittsburgh that night to talk to some of the employees. See if they’d noticed anything strange in the weeks leading up to the first case. None of them did, but I swear, my gut is usually right. I just can’t prove it.”
I desperately wished I could. Yes, I’d handled the contamination crisis effectively, but the company had still lost a share of customers who heard “Singh Foods” and thought “listeria.” If I could prove that the contamination was a result of sabotage, not inadequate food safety controls, that would go a long way toward repairing our brand’s reputation.
“Have you told anyone else about this?” Sebastian asked.
“No. I don’t want to say anything until I have more than a hunch.”
“So I’m the chosen confidante.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I’m honored.”
My skin warmed. “Don’t let it get to your head. I only told you because you’re annoyingly persistent.”