Chapter 2 #2
When she finally turns to me, slow, almost deliberate, I can’t lie. I’m starting to wonder if she’s seen the headlines.
“I can make this happen…” Chef says, snapping me out of my thoughts. He nods, repeatedly.
I drop my head into my hands, masking my laugh. This is what it’s come to? My business spreading all up and through the country club kitchen?
A huge smile breaks over my face. “Really, Tony?”
He shoots me a wide-eyed, tough-as-nails look of disbelief that says, I’m Chef Hibbert in this restaurant, not your goddamned godfather. Don’t ever disrespect me again, and damn sure not in front of my staff. Don’t have me make that call to Warner Easton Sr.
Yeah, it says all of that.
It’s simple. At work, I’m Mr. Easton and he’s Chef Hibbert, respectfully.
“Sorry, I just can’t believe…” I chuckle, still shaking my head.
“This is what y’all do here?” And by y’all, I don’t mean just him and the staff.
Chef Tony Hibbert is my godfather, but he’s also been my dad’s best friend since grade school, so I’ve got zero doubt that the server-to-chef grapevine sponsored a quick call to my parents, who are all too happy to aid and abet some midweek matchmaking.
Anything to get me healed up and happy.
I think I prefer the carbs and tea assortments.
“You know she owns a gallery…” Chef helpfully supplies, ear-to-ear cheesing as he jerks his chin back toward the bar.
Against every fiber in my being, I turn my head.
Aaaaand, yup.
Whitney is looking.
Has looked at me twice now, like she knows me.
As flattering as it is to be seen by a beautiful woman like that, the way every nerve ending in my body is standing at attention feels significant—and a lifetime ago, I wouldn’t have been able to wait two seconds before walking over to her.
But deep down, I can’t dismiss what that look means.
She’s seen the headlines. She recognizes me, and I recognize the judgment smeared across her beautifully painted face.
She sees the dry-eyed, tone-deaf tech tycoon who coldly moved on after losing his wife.
So, if she’s still looking, it’s with a purpose.
One I can’t ignore.
Especially not when an objectively good-looking man, blinging in head-to-toe white, coming off the golf course, scooped her up into a familiar hug. Not when I watched as she dissolved into his arms, smiling and giddy as they both howled with laughter.
“Had to get your attention somehow,” he’d said.
Yeah, that’s one way.
“No, I think I’ll pass,” I say, turning back to Chef, whose slick grin amounts to I’m not buying it for one second.
“Well, just in case—”
“I won’t,” I cut him off, finishing his thought because I won’t reconsider.
Despite whatever I thought I’d noticed about her, all the signs are right there.
The look at me laugh, her bare left hand, the vying for this guy’s wandering eyes as he actually flexed his biceps and licked his lips—Jesus—plus, the full-body, definitely-not-a-friend-hug hug.
Everything about this woman screams ring-hunting socialite.
“Listen, she’s beautiful,” I say. “But she’s clearly already got her eyes on the prize.”
Chef’s eyes dart from me to Whitney and the guy at the bar.
“Aw, shit. Chance Lawson?” Chef waves me off.
“They done all grown up together. The Lawsons, Hamiltons, Graves, Kings, Allens, Townsends. Shoot, even the Livingstons. Most of these kids were all in Zion & Zara together. Went to cotillion together. If they were gon’ tie the knot, they’d have already done it. ”
“You said Zion & Zara?”
She’s a debutante.
“Mm-hmm…” He glances over at Whitney and tosses her a quick wave.
“Word is, she was in the running for Luxe Lady, too,” he adds, and all I hear is the part he doesn’t say.
Just like Sherry. Debutante, Luxe Lady, marriage-minded socialite hellbent on making her introduction to society no matter what it takes. Or breaks.
Everything I’m trying to move on from.
“Good to know,” I say, letting him prove my point that she’s not for me.
“Mm-hmm…”
“I’m still working on me,” I reason.
“Just ’cause you’re not there yet, ain’t no shame in sharing the journey with someone.
” Chef deepens his stare, and I can tell he’s switched hats.
He’s in full godfather mode. “I know it’s only been a little over a year, but throwing yourself into work, closing yourself off from the world… That ain’t no way to live.”
You’re still here. That’s what Dr. Bellamy always says. Give yourself permission to live.
I exhale, straightening. “I hear—”
“But are you listening?” Chef gives me a stern nod.
“She ain’t like some of these women, looking to lock a man down for his wallet and his name.
That gallery she’s got? It’s small, but it’s hers.
Built it the same way you did with Echelon…
” He blows out a long breath. “Up for the Ascension Award in May, too. Arts, not technology.”
“Are you done advocating for this woman?” I laugh, but I’ll admit, this version of her rubs up against the one I was building in my head.
“Are you sure you don’t want an introduction?” he presses.
I blow out an exhausted breath.
“One hundred percent.” When Chef opens his mouth again, I save him from himself. “Thanks, but like I said, I’m so good. She’s a no for me.”
I smile, stealing one last glance at Whitney, grateful that I’ve perfected my poker face.