On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [24]
“Lilah, I hate to be the one to break it to you,” Grant continued, “but Devon Sparks is an asshat.”
“Grant!” Lilah was scandalized. “Language. And anyway, don’t worry. It was strictly a one-time deal; I’m sure he’s as eager to forget all about it as I am.”
Grant gave her a look that clearly stated he knew what she was full of, and it wasn’t rainbows or sunshine, but he didn’t contradict her.
Full of gratitude for the reprieve, Lilah said, “So what were you moaning about when I first came in?”
Reminding him of his earlier grievance proved the perfect distraction. “The menus aren’t done!” Grant cried. “Adam’s leaving for two whole weeks and taking Miranda with him, and the menus will never be done right again!”
Lilah held out a hand. “Give me the menus, let me see what I can do.”
Clutching them to his chest, Grant gave her a suspicious look. “You’ve never worked in a restaurant in your life. There’s nothing fancier than a fried chicken shack in Spotswood County. How will you know what to write?”
“I taught Hamlet to teenagers, Grant. I think I can handle one stupid menu. Gimme. And eat some of these fried chicken livers before they get cold.”
Grant exchanged the menu for the paper towel full of tender, crunchy morsels with a happy sigh.
“Oh, Lolly. Your aunt’s recipe? I have died and gone to heaven.”
Lilah preened a little. Here was a man who knew what was good. Stupid Devon Sparks. What did he know about anything? Nothing, that’s what.
The menu was printed in pretty script on a legal-sized piece of what looked like recycled paper. The heaviness of the paper felt good in her hand, and she liked the nubby texture of it.
Grabbing a red pencil off the corner of the desk, Lilah perched on the sagging couch set against the back wall and started marking it up.
“Your boss? Might need remedial kindergarten,” she commented, changing apetiser to appetizer with raised eyebrows.
“He’s gotten lazy,” Grant slurred, mouth full. “Ever since Miranda came along he’s been unloading this job on her. He had to do it himself today and he rushed it, because he wanted to have it done before Devon got here. To take over our restaurant and turn all our lives into a living hell.”
“Gracious.” Lilah was taken aback by Grant’s vehemence. “Is it really that bad?”
“Bad doesn’t begin to describe it! We’re about to be under the thumb of one of the most famously dictatorial chefs in the industry! I used to work for him, back when he opened his first restaurant, Appetite, and I tried to quit about once a month before I finally managed to make it stick. It’s not going to be good, Lolls. You might want to rethink this whole brand-new beginning you’re trying on for size. Let me find you a job bussing tables someplace else.”
“No! I want to be at Market. I like it here, all the folks I’ve met have been so kind and welcoming. And you said yourself, no other good restaurant is going to hire someone like me, with no experience at all, and pay a decent wage. I’m willing to impose myself on my oldest, dearest childhood chum like that, but my aunt didn’t raise me to be a charity case.”
Not entirely true—Lilah had felt like a charity case most of her life, living with her aunt and uncle. They hadn’t tried to make her aware of her status in their household, never reminded her that she wasn’t theirs, but she’d felt different from her cousins, all the same.
With Grant, though, Lilah knew herself to be on solid ground. Grant had always just liked her; no duty, obligation, or charity about it.
He smiled at her now. “I’ve loved having you in Manhattan with me. Even if my apartment’s not really set up for two people.”
“It’s cozy,” Lilah said. “Think how nice it’ll be when winter comes.” She was looking forward to the snow. Virginia