It was definitely the sound of a woman moaning, but could it really be her?
I shake my head again and step back as I realize that listening to this is a gross invasion of Garrett’s privacy. But the sound of another moan stops me dead. Saliva pools in my mouth as I’m filled with an intense revulsion.
No, it can’t be her. It’s someone who sounds like her.
But I’d recognize that low moan that ends with a squeaky whine anywhere. And I’d shagged enough girls before her to know it’s not a common sound.
She moans again, this time calling out Garrett’s name in a breathy tone that is unmistakable.
I shove open the door and find Priya bouncing up and down on Garrett’s lap. It takes my instructor a moment to realize I’m standing there, seeing as his face is buried in my girl’s chest.
For a moment, I can’t see or hear anything. Everything goes black. But I blink a few times and find them both racing to put their clothes on. Garrett is speechless as Priya issues one apology after another.
I feel as if I should be doing something, but all I can do is watch, almost as if I’m a passive observer. Am I having an out-of-body experience? I should be beating Garrett to a bloody pulp or demanding Priya explain herself.
But I’m numb. I feel nothing. I say nothing. Because I know that, after today, I’ll have nothing.
I turn around and walk out of the office before Priya is finished getting dressed. Then, I walk out of the academy, and Priya’s life, forever.
As I plop down into the desk chair, I accidentally miscalculate my trajectory and the chair slides out from underneath me, causing me to fall flat on my arse. Shaking my head, I pick myself up and carefully sit down, using the lever to adjust the height of the seat. Sharing an office with my sexy new executive chef definitely has its perks. But the downfalls are me literally falling down at least once a week.
Alice often acts offended when I tease her about how short she is, but I know how much she likes to pretend-fight with me. Because it inevitably leads to a pretend-reconciliation, which always leads to sex. Since I convinced her to stay in New York, and came clean to her about Priya, we haven’t had much to fight about.
Yes, the conversation about Priya was a painful one. But, thankfully, it was nowhere near as painful as the actual experience.
Fortunately and unfortunately, I expect my pretend-fights with Alice over the discomfort of sharing an office will come to an end soon. Though I’ve yet to tell Alice, I’ve begun looking for restaurant space to expand my Empire State restaurant empire. I’ve found an American barrister—rather, a corporate lawyer, as the Yanks call them—who has advised me not use a venture capital firm to whom I’m directly related.
I’ll probably never agree with the old adage that one shouldn’t mix business with pleasure. Alice has proved this wrong repeatedly. However, in this case, my lawyer is probably right. Luckily, Cristian doesn’t seem to mind my decision to go with a different firm for this new venture.
As I begin responding to an email from my meat vendor, my mobile vibrates on the desk. Picking it up, I discover I have a new text from Edward.
Edward: The tire man will be visiting you this evening. Be on your guard.
The tire man.
I know what that means.
In the early 1900s, the Michelin tire manufacturing company began publishing a restaurant guide, in an effort to get people to take more road trips. Thus, creating a demand for more tires. Over the years, the guide turned into something of a bible for foodies. And that is how a starred-review in the Michelin Guide became one of the most coveted awards in the culinary world.
It seems Edward still has some sort of illicit connection within the Michelin Guide who has tipped him off about an anonymous reviewer dining at Forked tonight.
Me: I don’t want to know anything else.
I shoot off my response quickly, then I temporarily block his number, so he can’t send me anymore texts with a physical description of the anonymous reviewer. The purpose of the anonymity is to make sure the reviewer gets the full and true dining experience of dining, without additional effort or showmanship. At Forked, we put in the same effort every day, whether we know we’re being reviewed or not.
But my desire to ring Alice and ask her to come in to work on her day off is overwhelming.
Despite the fact that Edward and I have made small efforts toward reconciliation, Alice hasn’t shown any interest in forgiving him yet. And I don’t blame her. But I won’t deny that her grudge presents complications.
Christmas is right around the corner, and I still haven’t decided if I should tell Alice we’ve been invited to spend an entire week with Edward and his new fiancée at my parents’ flat in Battersea. I don’t want to make Alice feel guilty if she doesn’t think she’s ready to subject herself to that kind of torture. It’s only been six months since I showed up at the airport in time to rescue her from the Paris internship.
Though Alice and I have already begun discussing the possibility of moving in together, we’ve decided that we should take it slow. The last time I lived with a woman was more than a decade ago, and that ended quite poorly. And Alice has never lived with a significant other. We’re both pretty green at the whole healthy relationship thing. It’s best we allow our love a bit more time to ripen before we throw it on the coals.
Unable to contain my excitement over Edward’s message, I shoot off a quick text to Alice.
Me: The tire man will be here tonight.
Alice: Are you forked-up on the good whiskey again? What the hell are you talking about?
I laugh as I realize the history
