Author Anonymous_ A True Story - E.K. Blair Page 0,1
can’t fight the urge to bust out laughing too. Because he’s spot on. “You read such garbage, you know?”
“Hey!” I chastise through my own fit of giggles. “I write that stuff too.”
“So what was it, huh?” he continues to tease.
With a toying glare, I admit, “The billionaire with a dark past.”
“Knew it! You like ’em rich and filthy, which is why you married me.”
“Are you stashing money I don’t know about?” I joke as he begins to wash the dishes. Looking over to our girls, Emily and Jill, I tell them, “Hurry up. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
They shove their last bites in their mouths, jump out of their chairs, and run up the stairs.
“Get back here and clear the table,” I call out, trying not to sound too naggy, and then grab my coffee before heading back into my bedroom to throw myself together.
I’m in the middle of brushing my teeth when Landon walks into the bathroom.
“Don’t forget that I’m working late tonight. Damon and I are testing out a few new recipes for the menu,” he says and then hops into the shower.
Landon is the sous-chef at Chin-Chin, an upscale French steak and seafood restaurant in the heart of Boston. We met when I was in college at Boston University, where I majored in film and television studies. During my third year, I took an internship in the props department at FOX25, Boston’s local news station. At the time, Landon was a young, up-and-coming chef and had landed a guest spot for a demonstration segment on the morning show.
“That guy was so hot.”
“I wonder if he’s single?” Brooke, my best friend who also interns, says as we are down in the kitchen, cleaning all the dishes from the segment.
“I doubt it. He’s probably banging some blue-eyed, blonde tart who drinks spritzers.”
Brooke narrows her eyes at me. “You just pretty much described me.”
I laugh and shake my head at her as I continue to wash the pans and plates while she dries.
“Excuse me.”
Brooke and I turn around to see the hot chef standing in the doorway.
“I think you accidentally took my knife case,” he says.
“Oh . . . I’m so sorry.” I take my hands out of the soapy water, dry them off, and walk over to the cart that we loaded all the props onto. Kneeling down, I find his knives on the bottom rack. When I move to stand, he steps beside me, and I stumble on my feet, hitting my head on the cart and knocking over a few ramekins of sauce onto my top.
“Crap.”
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry,” he says, grabbing ahold of my arm and helping me up.
Looking down at my blouse, which is now covered in oil and teriyaki sauce, I lie and tell him, “It’s okay.” When I shift my eyes up, I can see the embarrassment on his perfect face.
“That top is ruined.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I’ll just have to go shopping then.”
“Let me make it up to you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“No, it’s not,” he says. “But it would make me feel like less of a dick.”
“It’s really—”
“Stop being shy and let him make it up to you,” Brooke calls out from across the room, her words blemishing my face in my own embarrassment.
With a smirk on his face, he asks, “What’s your name?”
“Tori.”
He holds out his hand to me, and when I slip mine into his, he says, “I’m Landon.”
His eyes are deep brown, nearly the same color as his hair, which is cut short and gelled. He’s clean-shaven with a preppy look to him that makes the all-American statement.
“What’s your number so I can call you to make plans?”
He pulls out his cell and adds my number before slipping it back into his pants pocket. When he reaches down to pick up the case with his knives, my cell buzzes with an incoming text.
Unknown: Sorry about the shirt.
When I look up to him, he’s smiling. “Had to make sure you weren’t trying to blow me off with a fake number.”
He takes the case from my hands and drops his voice when he says, “I’ll call you later.”
I watch him as he walks out of the kitchen, and as soon as he’s gone, Brooke squeals, “Oh, my God! He was totally flirting with you.”
Shoving my cell back in my pocket, I roll my eyes and walk over to the sink. “Flirting? He wants to take me on a date because he ruined my shirt, Brooke. That’s not flirting, that’s pity.”