Chapter 23 #3
She perches on the end of the bed and pats the space next to her. “Come sit.”
I give her a dirty look as I go over to the small table and sit down in one of the wooden chairs.
Sighing, she says, “Have it your way. But I promise, I didn’t come for anything bad.”
I can’t imagine any possible reason she could have for coming here that I’d consider good, but I don’t say that. Glancing around the room while I wait for her to get on with it, I feel a tiny sense of smug satisfaction in noting that Riley’s room is much larger.
After an uncomfortable stretch of silence, Christy says, “I’d like you to come back.”
A short laugh bursts out of me. “You must be joking.”
“No, I’m not.”
I shake my head. How this woman could ever believe that I’d go back to her after all the horrible things she did is astounding.
“There’s not a chance in hell,” I tell her.
“We are so beyond over. We signed the papers, I packed up my stuff, and I left the damn state to get away from you. And I haven’t felt any ounce of desire to look back. ”
Her face scrunches up for a second, then she scoffs. “I’m not talking about us getting back together.”
Okay, now I’m confused. “Then what are you talking about?”
“The restaurant,” she says sharply, like a slap in the face. Like obviously I should have understood that. I gape at her, and she shifts her tone to something that almost resembles pleasant when she continues. “I’d like you to come back and take over as head chef.”
“As your partner?” I ask, still trying to process this.
“No, the restaurant is mine now. But you’d be in charge of the kitchen operations like before.”
“Only without sharing in the profits.” My hands are starting to shake from the nerve of her, so I shove them under my thighs, not wanting her to see.
She shrugs casually, as if I have no right to be upset by the idea. “Like you said, we signed the papers. On more than our marriage. I paid you out for your half of the business. Do you really want to go through that paperwork and legal stuff again?”
Her words remind me that no, I don’t want to go through anything with her again.
Not that I was even considering her proposition.
It just caught me by surprise. I stand and take a purposeful step toward the door before telling her, “The thought of me working for you is even more ridiculous than the thought of me getting back together with you. I’m not interested. ”
She rises, moving closer to me. “Addison, wait. Please. Hear me out. I know I fucked things up with us, and I know I hurt you. I’m sure an apology is useless at this point, but I’ll say it. I’m sorry.”
“Great, you’re sorry,” I say, although I certainly don’t believe her. I don’t know how it took me so many years to realize how manipulative she is, but looking at her now in this moment, it’s becoming crystal fucking clear.
And something else that’s becoming clear to me is all the ways in which Riley is nothing like Christy.
Riley is kind and considerate and giving.
She listens to what I have to say, and she cares about my interests.
She pays attention to the little things.
Her smiles feel like warm rays of sunshine landing on my skin.
And when she’s with me, it feels like that’s exactly where she wants to be.
Her fans might feel like she betrayed them or something, but that’s not the real her.
The real her is a woman who tries too hard to make everyone else happy, even if she has to make herself miserable in the process.
She’s a woman who knows how to be silly and who can make anything fun.
She’s someone I always want to be around.
The real Riley Rowland is the woman I’ve fallen in love with.
And she deserves to know that.
As I go to leave the room and this woman I never want to see again, Christy grabs my wrist to stop me. “I am sorry,” she repeats. “I didn’t realize how great of a thing I had with you until you were gone.”
I’m not sure once more if she means in our relationship or with the restaurant, and it truly doesn’t matter. Yet, shaking myself out of her grip, I ask, “What about Raya?”
It hasn’t escaped my attention that the social influencer chef Christy was cheating on me with—the one she then appointed as head chef of CRAVE—didn’t come on this trip with her.
Christy’s hand falls awkwardly at her side. “We’re still together.”
I’m tempted to say something snarky like, I’ll send her my sympathies, but I refrain. “Isn’t she the chef for the restaurant?”
A look of surprise flashes briefly across Christy’s face, and I realize I just gave away the fact that I read the article that was written about Raya taking over—very successfully, from what it sounded like. But she doesn’t call me out on it.
“She is, but honestly, things aren’t going so well with that. It’s always a gamble, constantly switching up the entire menu to follow what’s trendy. We get lots of new customers, but not as many repeat ones. That’s why I need you to come back and take over again.”
The look she gives me now does seem genuine, and I believe she feels that I did a better job with the restaurant.
But there’s a hint of something else in her eyes that I don’t like.
I could be reading her wrong, but I get the feeling that if I did decide to not only come back to the restaurant, but to give our relationship another shot, she’d willingly dump Raya in both aspects.
Which reminds me, yet again, that she’s not the kind of person I want in my life at all. So I tell her, “I’m sorry the restaurant went downhill after I left, but I have a job I love here and people I care about. I’m happy.”
I make it to the door in a few long strides, and as I twist the knob, I turn my head back to her. “Maybe someday you’ll learn to appreciate the things that really matter, and you’ll be happy too.”
The deep frown lines that appear when her lips turn down make her look older than she is.
I don’t tell her that I hope she’ll find that happiness.
Because, while I believe I’m a better person than her, I don’t think I’m a good enough person to wish happiness for someone who treated me so horribly.
But I also won’t be upset if she is happy.
I won’t feel anything at all about it, because I have no intention of ever thinking about Christy again.
I step out of the room before she has a chance to formulate a response, and when I shut the door, I leave her firmly behind me.
That’s when I turn and notice Riley standing in the open doorway of the room across the hall. My instinctual relief at seeing her is quickly replaced with panic at the horrified look on her face.
I dart my eyes from her to Christy’s room, then back to her again, the realization sinking in of what this must look like.
“No,” I say, forcefully shaking my head. “No, it’s not—I just let her talk to me. I would never—”
My words are cut off at the simple jerk of Riley’s head toward her room behind her.
I cross the hall to her and we go inside.
I’m grateful she’s not shutting me out, but I need to clear everything up.
I need to make sure she understands that nothing happened with Christy.
That I don’t want anything to do with Christy ever again.
I need to tell her that the only person I want is her. Preferably forever.