By the time Minka has made her daily Lyft income goal for the day, four hours have passed. I’m so fired up with this new knowledge about Edward, I decline the offer to share dinner with her and Eric.
“I have some research to do,” I say as she pulls up in front of my parent’s house in Brooklyn.
“He’s only making spaghetti. Kinda hard to get that wrong.”
I laugh as I reach for the car door handle. “It’s not an excuse. I really have some stuff I need to take care of before tomorrow.”
I don’t bother telling her how easy it is to make bad spaghetti, or how I once saw Eric dump an undrained can of cream corn into a pot of store-bought Alfredo sauce.
She eyes me warily. “No cyberstalking Ethan’s socials, okay?”
“Pfft. Not my style.”
“You did break your no-googling rule today.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s only for significant others. Ethan is not a significant other. I google prospective employers all the time.”
She purses her lips like she’s holding back saying something. “So, you are accepting the offer?”
I take my time as I consider my predicament.
I still can’t figure out why my father claimed he’d gotten me an interview with Ethan when—according to Ethan—he was the one who approached my father with the idea, not the other way around. I also had no idea why Ethan would want to work with me after what Edward has been telling everyone, even if ninety percent of the words that come out of Edward’s mouth are lies.
There are so many things I don’t know about Ethan right now, but there are many more things I do know about his twin. And if I play my cards right, I may be able to use that knowledge to my advantage.
I smile as I push the car door open. “Put it this way: I’m not accepting the job offer. I am accepting the offer to make Edward wish he had never crossed me.”
Chapter 4
ALICE
“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Ethan says without looking away from the computer screen in his office at Forked.
A paunchy technician in a uniform stands behind him, pointing at the screen as he explains to Ethan how to adjust the carbonation in the soft drink dispensers from a computer program. The screen is facing away from where I stand in the doorway, which makes me feel as if I’m intruding.
But I quickly push the thought away. I have to walk in with confidence and presence of mind if I want to pull this off.
“I wasn’t so sure I’d come back,” I reply honestly, straightening my shoulders as I take a step inside. “But you were right. I need this job. And I should be grateful you’ve offered me a chance to get back on my feet.”
Confidently submissive.
I repeat these words in my mind a few times to remind myself not to explode the way I did yesterday. Ethan obviously got a kick out of my feistiness. But I’m certain that, more than anything else, he wanted me to submit to his authority. His superiority.
I can play that game.
For now.
He looks away from the computer screen, and his expression seems skeptical. “So, you’re here to accept the job? Not here to tell me to shove it up my arse?”
I swallow a scathing reply and force a demure smile. “I know I’ve made mistakes,” I begin, ignoring the duh expression on his face. “But I’ve done my homework and I’m so impressed by what you’ve built. Not just with this restaurant, but your entire career.” I pause to let the sickly sweet compliment sink in. “I’m not here to punish you for what happened…what happened between your brother and me. I’m here to work.”
Ethan has to understand from the get-go that this is all business. I’m not here to get back at Edward. And I’m definitely not here to become another notch on his bedpost. I’m here for the promotion and the raise and nothing else.
His face is serious as he turns back to his computer screen. “Good. You can find Ollie. She’ll give you a uniform and intake forms and show you around. You’ll start next Friday.”
“Opening night?” I reply, trying to hide my disappointment that Ethan won’t be giving me the tour of the restaurant himself.
He glances at me with a tinge of annoyance. “No, we open the following Friday. You’ll have a weeklong orientation before opening night. I need to make sure you know how to do things my way.”
Confidently submissive. Don’t take the bait.
I force my smile even wider, to the point of maniacal. “Great!”
I stare at my phone screen, turning my head from side to side as I examine my skin using the front-facing camera. “Did I put on too much makeup today?” I ask my mom as she folds a pile of freshly laundered towels on the sofa.
She rolls her eyes as she tucks a lock of light-brown hair behind her ear. “You care too much what people think about your appearance, Alícia,” she says in her lilting South Carolina accent.
She still refuses to call me Alice despite my father and brother adopting my preferred name when I was in high school, which was when I first started idolizing world-renowned chef Alice Waters. While my friends had posters of the Jonas brothers on their walls, I had sticky notes scribbled with ingredient lists and cooking tips I’d found in Waters’ cookbooks. My obsession has hushed to a gentle admiration over the years, but I still think I might die if I ever actually met her in person.
“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to work for your ex-boyfriend’s twin brother,” I reply, exiting the camera app on my phone and opening my browser to look at
