From across the restaurant, Marjorie snapped a picture. She doubted it would make the website, but in her head, she wrote the caption: “Kait’s personal hell. From left to right: Landon James, Simone Dexter, Grayson LeClark, and Kaitlyn LeClark (2019).”
While Gray’s brow was knit as he flipped back through the applications, it was Kaitlyn who looked irritated. Marjorie knew it had more to do with Simone and Landon’s ubiquitous presence at the restaurant—and the way Simone always seemed to have a hand resting lightly on Landon’s forearm or upper thigh, or her head on his shoulder—than it did the wait staff issue.
“What did your parents do?” Landon asked, and Marjorie had to give him credit. He wasn’t just here to flaunt Simone in front of Kaitlyn. He seemed as invested in the success of LeClarks as any of them. “They hired teenagers.”
“They hired us,” Gray corrected. “But they also paid their servers well. The cost was built into the prices. They didn’t have to depend on tips to pay their bills.”
“That’s beautiful,” Simone said. She’d been a waitress for a year before her modeling career took off and knew the struggle of surviving on tips well.
“And impractical,” Landon said.
“It’s a goal,” Kaitlyn said. “In a few years, when business is stable, we can look at raising prices and wages.”
“That’s bad business,” Landon said to goad her into looking at him, something she’d avoided doing since he came back to town. He was gratified to see her chin come up and her eyes shoot sparks at his. “If you’re charging $21 for steak and frites now, you can’t arbitrarily raise it to $28. You’ll have to retool the menu to disguise the price hikes. If you’re determined to do it this way, it’s better to start out with the higher prices, and the corroborating higher wages will bring you a higher caliber of applicants.”
“That would be great if we were billionaires,” Kaitlyn said tightly. “Unfortunately, we have to work within the boundaries of something called a budget.”
Landon opened his mouth to retort, but Simone’s nails dug into his thigh underneath the table, and he settled for a smirk. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“Why is he even here?” Kaitlyn complained to Gray. “This is LeClark business.”
Gray sighed and raised the applications higher over his face. He didn’t bother to worry if Kaitlyn would offend Landon anymore. The worse she was, the more he seemed to come around.
“You might say I’m invested in LeClark business,” Landon told her patronizingly. “So when you’re considering doing something that might tank your business and my investment, I like to throw in my opinion.”
“Noted,” Kaitlyn said, her voice frosty. “But you might say I am a LeClark, so my opinion outweighs yours.”
Gray lowered the stack. “What is your opinion, Kait? Teenagers or prisoners?”
“Prisoners,” Marjorie called to them. “I’m telling you, every time I’d take prisoners. Teenagers would rather be at the mall or the beach or on their parents’ yachts. Prisoners would rather be here.”
“That’s a good point,” Gray conceded.
They decided to have an open house to evaluate applicants in person. Simone swore she had an eye for feckless teenagers. Kaitlyn bit back the urge to ask why Simone needed to be there. She didn’t want Landon to shoot her another one of those devastating smirks. He’d made it pretty clear why Simone was always around. Sometimes Kaitlyn wanted to ask him why he’d bothered kissing her if he had this supermodel waiting for him at home. Had it just been a game to him? Of course it was, she chastised herself. Nothing was real life to Landon James. And certainly, nothing was sacred.
A few days later, Marjorie took the car back to the apartment early, filled with her photography equipment, to start editing the photos she’d taken. Kait had planned to get a ride with Gray, but his training with the newer BOH staff was running late.
“I’m heading out,” she called into the kitchen. “I’ll just walk.”
From a corner booth where they were translating recipes, Simone’s head shot up. “You’re driving her home,” she said to Landon, who was already reaching for the keys.
“Of course I’m fucking driving her home,” he said irritably. “She’ll get hit by a car otherwise.”
“No, thanks,” Kait said dismissively when he intercepted her. “It’s a short walk.”
“It’s a short walk with even shorter sidewalks,” Landon said, and steered her toward the Spider.
Kaitlyn considered trying to shake him loose, but while the grip he had on her arm wasn’t tight, it was like iron. It would be less embarrassing in the long run to just spend a few awkward minutes together than to get in a tug of war she couldn’t win in the parking lot.
“Isn’t Simone mad you’re leaving her at the restaurant just to drive me home?” she asked when he started the car.
Landon slanted her a look. “Why would she be? You might have a problem with her, but she likes you fine.”
“Why would I have a problem with her?” Kaitlyn snapped.
Landon shrugged and made the single turn between the restaurant and her apartment. Kaitlyn thanked God that this ride, and therefore their conversation, was almost over. “You tell me.”
“I’m telling you I don’t.”
“Sure.”
It wasn’t the word so much as the way he said it that infuriated Kaitlyn. Like just because he’d kissed her, left town, and come back with a supermodel that had to mean she was pining after him or something. It irritated her so much that she said as much.
“Pining?” Landon arched an eyebrow as he pulled into a parking spot a few rows down from her front door. “Do people still do that in the 21st century?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Kait all but growled. “I’m not doing it.”
She started to get out of the car, but he reached across and yanked the handle shut. His nearness made her lose her breath, but she sent him the deadliest look she could muster. “Let me out, Landon.”
“Just to be clear,” he murmured, his forehead nearly touching hers.
