Davis turns with a scowl on his face. “Just give me five minutes.” His voice is nicer.

Brent’s head stays down. He’s not a moron; I’m sure he can figure out there’s more to our conversation.

“We’ll see. Depends on when we get out.” I leave with the scallops and my dignity.

Three hours later, I’m counting my drawer.

“Let’s go.” Davis is standing next to me.

I peer left and right, finding the wait staff cleaning tables and counting their own tips. “We can’t talk here.”

“I’ll see you in my office. Are you almost finished?” He’s curt.

I want to scream ’fuck off’ and throw my apron in his face. The problem is, I need this job—or should I say, my landlord needs me to have this job.

“Give me a few. I’m sure you can find someone to fill your time.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Amelia.” He sighs.

But I don’t look up, and he eventually stalks down the hall.

I finish counting my drawer, and I purposely sit around and chat for fifteen minutes.

As my heart beats against my chest, my knuckles rest on the door. Then, I knock quickly.

Davis says, “Come in,” before I can claim he didn’t hear the knock.

I open the door. His chef coat is off, and his T-shirt is clinging to his sweaty body from the hot kitchen. God, he looks good.

“What?” I stand in the doorway. There’s no way I can veer any closer.

“Shut the door.”

I inch my neck through the opening and allow my eyes to look around the room. “Are you sure you’re alone? I mean, I would hate to interrupt you.”

“Give me a damn break. Shut the door, and get your ass in here,” he demands.

I cock my head, but I do agree that there are a few things to discuss. One being that our relationship is over.

I move to shut the door, and Lucy passes me in the hallway. She cringes, as though I’m in trouble. Little does she know, it’s Davis who is in the hot seat.

“Listen, I don’t want some bullshit, like she was doing a story or she’s a good friend,” I say, starting the conversation.

He leans back in his chair. “I’m not going to lie.” He clasps his fingers together in front of him.

“That’s refreshing.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“I met you both within days of each other. As much I don’t want to say it, you both intrigued me.”

“Well, I’m not really into that whole threesome thing. It’s fine if you want to date her, but I’m not going to sit here and wait to be picked by Brooklyn’s Most Eligible fucking Bachelor. All I want to know is will this affect my job?” I stand firmly in place. I’m proud of myself for standing up to him. Go Amelia.

He stalks over to me. His hand reaches out toward my cheek, but I slap his hand.

“You can’t touch me.”

He leans on his desk, his hands wrapping around the edge of it.

“Amelia, that picture was taken weeks ago, well before I fell for you.”

“How do I know that?”

“Trust me.”

“Trust doesn’t come easy with me.”

“The magazine comes out twice a month. I did a segment with her the night before you started here. We went to dinner, and that was all.” He steps closer into my personal space. “I swear.”

I will my body to back up and move away, but it’s like my feet are stuck in cement.

His thumb brushes my cheek. My eyes close from his touch, and the pieces of my heart pull together from his admittance. My heart is moving faster than it should be.

His story could make sense. You hear all the time about how the press insinuates things with celebrities.

I open my eyes and fixate on his. “That’s strike one.”

He laughs. “And that’s where they stop.”

There’s a truthfulness in his eyes that even my cynical self can’t deny.

“Good, because you only get two.”

I place my hand on his chest, and it vibrates from his laughing.

“This isn’t baseball?” The smirk on his face signals he’s joking.

I shove him but he steps even closer, both of his hands cupping my cheeks.

“I promise, you have no worries. May I kiss you now?”

I nod and catch a small smile before he bends down and captures my lips with his. I hope this doesn’t end in disaster.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Amelia

“You bought the lame excuse?” Todd looks both ways to cross the street then steps off the curb.

I jog across the street to catch up. “I did.”

His head shakes. “Haven’t I taught you better?”

“Hey.” I grab his arm once we’re on the other side of the street. “Let me be happy right now.”

My eyes plead with him, and he nods.

“Fine, but you’ve been warned.” He spins on his heels and treads down the sidewalk.

Changing the subject to keep the peace, I say, “Why are you coming over to my parents’ house again?”

“Your grandma asked that I come over.”

“What?”

We descend the stairs to the subway. He grabs my hand and weaves us through the bustle of people coming up the stairs.

He pauses to answer my question until we’re on the platform, waiting for the next train. “She wants to try something with her sauce recipe.” He shrugs. “I’m not sure it can get any better, but she asked, and I’m not about to say no to your grandma.”

“So, I assume you’re staying for dinner. Todd . . .” I pause, wondering how I can tell him I invited Davis to my family dinner.

The train arrives, and Todd’s hand on the small of my back urges me to go first. With one seat left, Todd signals for me sit, and then he stands, holding the nearest pole. He distracts himself with his phone, his thumb brushing down the screen.

Sitting on the hard plastic bench, my hands clutch my purse. The distinct foul smell of the subway wafts through the air.

I think back to the first time I took Bryce on the train and how excited he was to do something he’d only seen in movies. He’d glamorized the day-to-day transportation most New Yorkers dreaded, but damn, if it didn’t live up to everything he’d thought. His smile was so wide the whole time. Groups of us would fight to take a taxi, but he still wanted to take the train. I guess, when you’re from rural Michigan, public transportation is exciting.

As always, the good memories bring the bad ones, like the times Bryce would hire private cars to come pick us up, showing how fast he’d changed from the boy who loved the subway to the man who demanded luxury.

Todd’s foot hits mine, and I look up to his concerned face.

His phone now tucked away, with his eyes, he’s silently asking me, What’s the matter?

I shake my head and shoot a small smile to appease him. I’ve bothered him enough with my problems. The horrible thing is, I was over Bryce before Cam and I started—well, as much as you can be when your boyfriend of four years dies unexpectedly. . Maybe over isn’t the word, but I’d moved on.

Bryce didn’t stay lodged in my head for hours. I didn’t need alcohol to erase the memory of him. Cam was the first one who showed me I could love again, even though I’m not sure I even loved Cam now.

Todd’s foot nudges mine again and he tilts his head, signaling it’s our stop. I stand, and he waits for me to exit first.

“What were you thinking about?” He comes alongside me, and we scurry up the stairs.

“Nothing.” I don’t even look his way. Instead, I keep my eyes straight ahead.

He lets it go until we reach the street. Then, he grabs ahold of my arm and guides me to the side of a building. “Talk.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest and widens his stance, insinuating he’s getting comfortable until I speak.

I cast my eyes down and shuffle my feet. “I was just remembering Bryce.”

“Noodle.” He sighs.

This is exactly why I didn’t want him to know. He turns into Mr. Fix It.

“No.” I place my hand on his forearm. “It’s fine. It was one memory, nothing major. Let’s go.”