Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
I winced. She sounded like she was about to lose it. She shouted for Savannah until I caught a scuffle of feet and heard the low tones of Savannah’s voice, set to soothe. She was good at that. Not good enough. I edged closer, ears tuned for her words. All I caught was, “Mrs. Bailey, take a deep breath. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
She kept going, her voice pitched lower, a non-distinct murmur, followed by another screech that included the words I know he—
I didn’t have to ask who the he was. Mrs. Bailey knew who was after her. But unless the security team had wired the kitchen with cameras, they couldn’t prove it was me. Not that they needed proof. All they needed was Savannah’s word, and Griffen could solve the problem by getting rid of me.
Or I could solve the problem by asking him for what I want. Like an adult.
I tried that idea on, trying to picture it in my head as I had so many times. And as it did every time, the picture twisted, Griffen’s face morphing into my father’s. I could hear his scornful laughter, the sound of his voice as he called me a pussy and said he’d never let a son of his in the kitchen. I wasn’t a servant, and I wasn’t a woman, so what did I need with cooking?
Everything. I needed everything.
As a teenager, I’d only known there was something mystical in the alchemy of cooking. Now that I’d spent a third of my life in professional kitchens, I understood that it was more than magic, more than science and art married with the necessity to nourish the body. It was life.
If I asked and Griffen said no, I’d have to leave. I couldn’t stay if he turned me away as my father had. I knew I could find a job somewhere in town if I needed to scratch my itch that badly. Hell, I could buy a food truck. I didn’t have enough cash to set up the kind of place I’d dreamed of running, but I was far from broke.
No, the problem wasn’t getting in a kitchen; it was getting into Heartstone’s kitchen. If Mrs. Bailey had settled for having me banned from the kitchens, I might have tried the more mature route of asking Griffen for what I wanted. Maybe. But then she’d started lying to Savannah, telling her I’d snuck in and ruined supplies, or moved things, any number of sins that weren’t mine. Did I defy the kitchen ban? Abso-fucking-lutely. Did I leave that kitchen exactly the way I found it? Minus the food I’d cooked and left for anyone who wanted a bite? Also yes. Until the night before, I’d never done a thing but cook and clean up after myself. Mrs. Bailey had earned this, even though I knew she’d never see it that way.
The voices in the kitchen faded away. I waited a long moment before retracing my steps to the treadmill and restarting my workout, this time at a brisk jog. I was ten minutes in when Savannah strode through the door, her face set, gray eyes as hard as granite.
I tried a charming smile. Sadly, Savannah had always been immune to my charm.
Letting the smile drop, I paused my workout, pulling up my t-shirt to wipe the sweat from my face. Taking a long drink from my water bottle, I lifted one finger to indicate she should wait, knowing it would annoy the shit out of her. I shouldn’t annoy Savannah. Especially since she could have me thrown out at any moment.
I couldn’t help myself. She was just so pretty when her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparked. I hadn’t been this reckless, this self-destructive, in years. Control and ambition had gotten me through the last decade. Six months back at Heartstone and I was poking at Savannah like I was sixteen again.
“What’s up?” I asked, one eyebrow raised in a smirk. She rewarded me with a flex of her jaw. She was trying not to yell at me. I was an asshole who was complicating her life, but I was also a Sawyer. Help did not raise their voices to the family. Ever.
Except Savannah wasn’t help, and I was an asshole. All the same, I was willing to bet she wouldn’t dare raise her voice to me. I was wrong.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she began, her gray eyes spitting icy fire, voice a shade higher than a polite volume.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I drank again, keeping my eyes on hers, using all my willpower not to laugh. It’s not that I was underestimating her. Savannah would get rid of me if I pushed her to it. She was a hardass. Totally. That just made me want to poke at her more. She fucked up my sense of self-preservation. Completely. That fizzy feeling in the blood that I got when I was up to trouble? Just talking to Savannah was enough.