The Difference Between Us Read online

  “Do you have a minute, Molly? I wanted to personally welcome you to the team.”

  Checking my phone as discreetly as I could, I tried not to flinch and bit back the truth. “Yeah, sure. I have a minute.” Quite literally, one minute.

  He stepped over to the corner of the conference room, and I breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t taken me back to his office. This would be much easier to get out of.

  Henry’s hand landed on my forearm, just above my bent elbow. He squeezed gently and kept his hand there.

  Suddenly, all concerns of being late, and feelings of glee for being chosen for the team vanished, and an uncomfortable feeling of ickiness washed through me. Oh, no, was Henry Tucker hitting on me?

  I glanced down at his hand where it sat too warm and sticky against my bare skin. He didn’t remove it. So I shifted the things in my arms, and took a subtle step back.

  He followed me.

  Ugh.

  “I’m expecting a lot from you, Molly,” he said in a smooth, deep voice.

  Fear of being too inexperienced for the job I was just assigned pooled in my gut. Like a swamp. With fifteen-foot alligators. I smiled widely to distract attention from the green tinge of my skin. “I know. This is a big job. I’m really thrilled to be part of the team.”

  Henry’s expression softened. “I believe in you, Maverick. I think you have exactly what I need.”

  I licked dry lips and tried not to notice when Henry glanced down at my chest. Gross.

  Shifting my planner in front of my body, I cursed myself for not buttoning my sleeveless blouse up to my chin. “Thanks, Henry. I’m looking forward to working with you and Ethan on this.” Lie. Total, complete lie. But one that needed to be said.

  Henry leaned forward, bringing us uncomfortably close together. “But mostly me, right?” He winked.

  He actually winked at me.

  Letting out a nervous laugh, I nodded and said, “You got it.”

  He finally released my arm, and I sucked in a deep breath to regain my personal bubble. “We don’t have a meeting with Black Soul until March. They want to see the full package before they approve anything, so we’ll need to work hard to put together a stellar presentation. We’ll start planning tomorrow. I’ll email you the details later tonight.”

  “I’ll look for them,” I promised.

  He caught me looking at my phone again. “Are you in a hurry to be out of here today? I figured you’d want to stick around and gloat.”

  My smile had frozen in place a long time ago, and now wasn’t the time to drop it. “Gloating’s not really my thing,” I told him. “Plus, I’m late for another meeting.”

  “Oh, really? Work related?”

  I shook my head, “It’s definitely work, but not STS. I’m planning my best friend’s engagement party, and I was supposed to meet the caterer forty-five minutes ago.”

  Henry stepped back, and I relished the additional six inches of separation. I wasn’t normally one of those people that hated being touched, but Henry had zero regard for space. I’d been at STS for three years. During that time, I’d never been able to warm up to the Little Tucker, even though he’d always been nice to me. And he could remember my name, unlike his father.

  Slipping out of the conference room in a surge of other employees anxious to get home for the day, I hurried to my desk to grab my purse. Emily, my one true friend at STS, stopped by my desk. She leaned her weight on her hands and kicked up her legs. “Congratulations!”

  I smiled at her, and it was real and genuine. It felt so freaking good. “Thank you! I feel like pinching myself. I can’t believe I got picked.”

  “I can,” she said sincerely. “You have the best eye for detail here.” She leaned forward, cupping her mouth with her hand. “And the best taste. Black Soul is going to fall in love with you.”

  “I’m just hoping they don’t fire me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Enough with the modesty, Molly. You deserve this. We should definitely celebrate. Drinks? Dinner? Strip club?”

  My shoulders slumped, knocking my purse strap loose. “I wish. A strip club is obviously in order.” I hoped she knew I was joking about that. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if she was being serious. Although with her lavender hair and septum piercing it was hard to picture her surrounded by oiled up, half-naked men thrusting their crotches in her face. I shook my head, ridding my imagination of that terrifying mental picture. “But I’m supposed to go over the menu for Vera’s engagement party. Wyatt’s going to kill me.”

  “Oh, that’s better!” She waggled her eyebrows. “Celebrate with Wyatt. Celebrate real hard.”

  I threw my planner into my purse and snorted. “What is wrong with you?”

  Her eyebrows jumped to her hairline. “What is wrong with you? Have you not seen Wyatt?” She fanned her face, being dramatic like usual. “He’s a hottie with a body. And you could use a body if you know what I mean.”

  Shaking my head, I reminded her for the umpteenth time, “We’re just friends, Em. Seriously, just friends.”

  Her mouth turned down in a frown. “Such a disappointment. Hot men are always wasted on you.”

  I hitched my purse up again and ignored the heat of embarrassment painting my cheeks. “Yeah, well, we can’t all be you with your perfect boyfriend, perfect relationship, and perfect three-bedroom house.”

  “And perfect dog,” she added. “You forgot the perfect dog.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her. “And the perfect dog. In my limited experience, all the hot men that have been interested in me were also douchebags. I’d rather have someone nice than hot.”

  “Hmmm…” she mused, considering her long-term boyfriend. “Alex is both of those things. But so is Wyatt.”

  “And yet we’re only friends.”

  She rolled her eyes, but didn’t push the topic. “Congratulations again! Happy hour tomorrow to celebrate?”

  “Obvs.”

  She blew me a kiss. I waved goodbye, and then practically sprinted to my car. My phone buzzed again, signaling an incoming text.

  I hate you.

  Wyatt really was just a friend. The I hate you text confirmed it. Or he had been prior to my making him wait for over an hour.

  Chapter Two

  I parked at Cycle Life, the bike shop my best friend’s brother, Vann, owned. I’d stupidly worn heels today and my feet ached as I hurried across the street to Lilou, one of the hippest restaurants in the city. It was the perfect spot for an engagement party for two of my very favorite people.

  Especially since Vera and Killian had met there. Or technically, in the parking space where I’d just left my car. Basically, this area was very significant to their relationship and future wedded bliss.

  Vera and Killian had hated each other at first. He’d been an arrogant asshole, and she’d been scared to trust anybody after her scumbag of an ex had spent years abusing her. My heart squeezed thinking about that time. Vera was so content now. She’d found a happily ever after that would last forever. But I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her every time I thought about her and Derrek together.

  She still wore the scars from her relationship with him. Even if Killian was amazing and thoughtful and kind. I sometimes wondered if she would ever be completely over that time in her life. It was my goal to help her wholly move on. I was the biggest advocate for her happiness.

  Which was why I’d volunteered to head up her surprise engagement party. Volunteering to oversee was not one of my brighter moments, but I wasn’t going to leave it in Vann’s hands. Her ultra-healthy brother would have hosted it on some mountain biking trail and served granola bars for appetizers.

  Not that I was any better at food than him. Vera and Killian were the master chefs. I told people I loved burnt toast because I was physically incapable of making it any other way.

  And that’s why I enlisted our other good friend Wyatt to help me out with the menu. Plus, he’d somehow convinced his scary boss to let us host the
event at Lilou, but only because the cranky restaurateur, Ezra Baptiste, was also Killian’s best friend.

  Once I’d made it to the side door of Lilou, I typed out a quick text to Wyatt.

  I’m here.

  Then I paced back and forth for five minutes while I waited for him to open the door. My feet ached from wearing heels all day and a headache had formed around the base of my skull. Despite my Black Soul victory, I needed today to be over.

  I thought about my earlier conversation with Emily. She loved to go out to celebrate work wins. But honestly, success stressed me out. I did not feel like the competent graphic designer I pretended to be. There was too much pressure to do whatever it took to get the best jobs. And then there was always that feeling of my work not stacking up to my coworkers. I had to prove myself in every single task and I couldn’t escape the pressure to always be interesting and innovative and unique.

  I preferred to celebrate alone, with a bubble bath and bottle of wine. Or paintbrush in hand, in front of a blank canvas. The last thing I wanted to do was go out to a crowded bar and talk about all the ways I got lucky enough not to crash and burn. I’d much rather enjoy the excitement by bringing it to life in vibrant colors and paint-covered portraits and artistic expression.

  The side door swung open and Kaya poked her blue-haired head out. “He’s so pissed at you.”

  I ignored Wyatt’s edgy sous chef and her gloating. Her favorite thing in life was pissing off Wyatt, so me showing up an hour and a half late and right in the middle of hectic dinner service was probably the highlight of her day.

  Stepping inside Lilou’s kitchen was like walking into a tornado. People were everywhere, working on prepping, cooking and plating all at once. Stainless steel surfaces were covered with dishes, and perfectly executed food, and oh so sharp knives. Wyatt stood in the middle of the flurry, tall chef hat covering his buzzed head, tattoos peeking up over the collar of his pristine chef’s jacket.

  He had changed a lot in the last few months. When Vera and I first met him, he’d been more relaxed, way more laid back. He would always come visit us at Vera’s food truck that used to park at Cycle Life and together we’d gang up on Vera, always teasing her about Killian.

  But since Killian had left Lilou to open a restaurant with Vera, Wyatt had stepped up as executive chef and lost his ability to chill. He was all drive, meticulous precision and serious career mode now.

  To be fair, he basically worked every second of every day, so work mode was also life and survival mode. But I missed my friend that liked to joke around and steal food when Vera wasn’t looking.

  “Wash your hands,” Wyatt barked at me.

  I realized I was breaking a few health code rules by hanging out in a kitchen I did not belong in, so I decided not to argue with him. Or ask him to say please.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said instead. “My meeting ran late.”

  Drying my hands on a paper towel, I turned around and faced him. He was leaned over a drool-worthy dish inspecting it closely. With one finger wrapped in a hand towel, he swiped at the edges of the plate, removing a rogue drop of sauce. He passed it to a stoic waitress and nodded. She grabbed the plate and disappeared into the dining room.

  Wyatt turned his handsome face to me. “And? Did you get the big, life-changing job?”

  I loosed a smile. “I did!”

  His lips twitched with a proud smirk. “Atta girl.”

  I beamed at him, thankful for his confidence in me. We had been talking through texts more than usual to plan Vera and Killian’s party.

  Wyatt’s head jerked in the direction of a counter near the coolers. He was back in super serious mode again. “Everything’s cold now, but that’s what I’ve come up with so far. You’re welcome to taste what’s there and let me know what you think Vera will like best.”

  “She’ll like whatever you make, Wyatt. She’s not picky.”

  He made a sound in the back of his throat. “I’m not going to make just whatever for Killian Quinn and Vera Delane. They’re beyond picky. Their entire life’s work is based on being picky.”

  I rolled my eyes at the obvious hero worship Wyatt still had for Killian. “All right, all right. I’ll be picky too.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Wyatt went back to work and I walked over to the spread he’d laid out on the counter. Different entrees on varying plates, bowls and platters covered the stainless-steel countertop. Everything was cooked to perfection and visually appealing. Wyatt had taken a menu and turned it into a stunning piece of art.

  I loved to paint and draw. I mean, really loved it. My favorite thing in the world was to take a blank canvas and bring it to life, to make it something more than it was. I saw the world in vibrant colors and interesting angles. I saw people in expressions I wanted to make immortal, and poses that could be painted. I wasn’t an artist, not really. But creating something with my hands gave me a deep sense of purpose and meaning.

  That was how I felt about Wyatt’s food. And Killian’s and Vera’s, and all of these friends of mine in the food industry. They didn’t just cook something. They created something—something inspiring and lasting. They didn’t just add spices; they built flavor profiles that would never be forgotten. They didn’t just throw together ingredients; they painstakingly crafted the most perfect dining experience possible. Each dish possessed the perfect bite.

  They were artists. And I respected them deeply for what they did.

  I picked up a skewer with a hunk of meat, a roasted tomato, and slice of cucumber drizzled in a white sauce that seemed familiar. Shoving the entire thing into my mouth, I moaned into my hand. “Is this the sauce?” I asked around the too-big bite.

  “Yeah,” Wyatt called over his shoulder, knowing what I was talking about without having to look.

  “These for sure then.” I moved on to mini wedge salads with bacon and blue cheese crumbles, and fresh mozzarella balls wrapped in prosciutto and basil with a tomato puree for dipping. There were meatloaf meatballs, and buffalo chicken smothered French fries. There were even house made sausages wrapped in some crispy dough and sliced to bite-size that basically tasted like more please.

  I stared at the spread again, shocked and overjoyed and near tears. “Oh, my gosh, did you make all of her dishes?”

  Wyatt sounded distracted when he answered, “The ones I could remember. I did some of Killian’s too.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “With my own spin of course.”

  “Wyatt, this is amazing. And so much more than I was hoping for. You’re a genius!”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Are you kidding? They’re going to love everything. Every single thing.”

  He ignored my compliments. “So how many people are you thinking?”

  “I’m not sure. Vera only has like ten people on her side. Killian is the popular one.”

  Wyatt’s staff laughed like I’d told a joke. But it was the truth. Maybe Vera was a generally more pleasant person than Killian, but she’d never had a wide circle of friends. And I was pretty much her only remaining friend since Derrek had spent so much time isolating her. For as grizzly as Killian could be, he knew a ton of people. Sure, most of them were in his industry, but they were still the kind of acquaintances that got invites to an engagement party.

  Wyatt laughed at one of the jokes another chef made about Killian’s popularity and how the only reason he had so many friends was because they were too scared of him to decline. Then he said, “Well, let me know when you have a final number so I can shop for enough ingredients.”

  I picked up a tiny dessert cup. Yum! Chocolate mousse. “I sent out like fifty invitations to Killian’s people. Do you think they’ll all come?”

  Wyatt’s head bobbled back and forth as he thought about it. “I’ll plan for that many. Someone will take home leftovers.”

  I licked the remaining chocolate off my lips. “I volunteer as tribute. Also, when you’re done grocery shopping let me know what the
total is and I’ll pay you back.”

  He waved me off. “Don’t worry about it.”

  This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. He had decided to be obnoxiously stubborn. “Seriously, Wyatt, you’re already making the food. At least let me pay for it.”

  “Not happening,” he murmured.

  “I’m paying you anyway. Even if I have to guess the total.”

  Wyatt turned around, his eyes twinkling and a grin pulling at his lips. “What’s your guess?”

  “My guess?”

  “Guess the total.”

  I looked at the food on the counter and calculated it times fifty and then considered my own personal grocery bill. “One hundred dollars.” The kitchen staff laughed again. “Uh, two hundred dollars?” They kept laughing. “Ten thousand dollars!” I really hoped not because I would need to hit up those paycheck advance places if that was the case.

  Four more dishes passed Wyatt’s inspection and then left the kitchen in a flurry of waiters dressed in black and swinging doors. “How are you going to get them here and keep it a secret?”

  Just then, the pass-through door opened and Ezra Baptiste stepped into the kitchen. His cold gaze scanned the space quickly before landing on me.

  “Busted,” I whispered to myself.

  His stare turned glacial as recognition hit him. It was safe to say he wasn’t expecting to find me invading his place of business. His jaw flexed once… twice. But as mad as he was he seemed frozen in place, unable to decide what to do next.

  “Hey, boss,” Wyatt greeted him. He sounded more confident than I knew he felt, but I also knew it was because he wanted Ezra to take him seriously, respect him as master of his domain.

  Good luck, Wyatt. Ezra barely seemed capable of having a soul most days, let alone the ability to show human emotions like respect and trust. Wyatt had his work cut out for him.

  On the other hand, I didn’t need Ezra’s admiration or for him to take me seriously. I didn’t have to work for him, and other than the engagement party, I never wanted to work with him either. Mostly I just wanted him to forget I existed altogether.