Billionaires Dollar Series

Maddie’s eyebrows rise, as she sits on one of her kitchen chairs. “You know the julienne slice?”

“Oh yes.” I attempt to flip the knife in my hand. It’s only moderately successful. “I’ve been trained in all the best schools. Switzerland, Japan, Nicaragua… I’ve been all over.”

“Mhm.” She rests her head in her good hand, grinning. “Go on then, Master Chef. Show me how it’s done.”

A minute later, I hold up my chopping board with a finely sliced tomato for her inspection. “You might want to take cover when I do the next part.”

“Take cover?”

“Yes. The oil usually spatters a bit.”

“How professional.”

I cluck my tongue at her, turning back to the hot pan. Making the only thing I can-spaghetti Bolognese-for a chef who cooks in a Michelin restaurant? If nothing else can be said about me, let it be known I have balls.

“Will you tell me now?” I ask, lifting the pot to the spaghetti. Maddie had tried to interfere a couple of times, but I told her this was my turn to shine.

“Tell you what?”

“What happened today.”

She groans, and when I look back, she’s resting her head against the table.

“That bad?” Leaving the food to its own devices, I pull out a chair next to her.

She mumbles something into the table.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not made of oak, so I didn’t catch that.”

Maddie twists so she can look at me, her head resting on her arm. A tendril of dark hair has made itself at home across her cheek. I reach out and smooth it back.

“I told Jason I was a finalist for the culinary fellowship.”

My hand drops to my side, a flare of jealousy burning inside me at the mention of her ex. “You did?”

“While we were working next to each other on the line.” Her words make it clear this was the gravest form of error.

I lean back. “That’s bad?”

“Considering I should have been able to predict his response, yeah, it’s bad. The line is like a well-oiled machine. Each of us prepares a few aspects of a dish. Timing is important. So is teamwork.”

“And Jason’s a finalist too,” I mutter, remembering.

“Oh yes, of course he is.”

My hand tightens. “He didn’t run his knife through your hand, did he?”

Her lips twitch. “To sabotage the competition?”

“No, he didn’t. Though I appreciate the sentiment.” She sighs. “He got upset. Told me that I was wasting my time and the jury’s-that I should have waited until I was ready. That’s what he always said, that I wasn’t ready yet. Not to apply, not to have my own restaurant…”

My teeth bite down on my tongue. “That’s such fucking bullshit.”

Her eyes flick to mine. “I think so too, now. I didn’t always.”

“You’re the best chef I’ve ever met. Not to mention you’re the most hard-working person. Fuck, Maddie, you could have had a restaurant years ago.”

Her smile widens. “Thanks. But finding investors to back a young, undecorated chef isn’t easy.”

“Fuck that. I know a ton of investors-I am an investor. Anyone would be happy to back you.”

Her uninjured hand grips mine, her eyes switching to my fingers. “Well, I got angry too. Chopping and being angry don’t mix.”

“I can imagine not.”

“Ergo, the Incident.” She holds up her injured hand, eying it accusingly. “And there’s no way I’m letting this bad boy cost me a shot at the fellowship.”Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

“I understand why not,” I say, and every fiber of me hums in agreement. How dare he tell her she’s not ready? To try to psych her out of competing?

“Yes. The pasta is about to boil over.”

“Shit.” I make it just in time, lowering the temperature and shifting to the Bolognese sauce. It stares back at me, uninteresting and plain, just like all food I’ve ever been able to make.

The question gnaws at my bones, my shoulders tensing from the possibilities of her answers. “Will you tell me?”

“Why you and Jason broke up,” I say. “Why you dated him in the first place.”

Can she hear the burning curiosity in my voice?

It’s quiet for so long that I glance back, only to see Maddie staring at me. Her eyes are cloudy.

I stop stirring the Bolognese. “Too personal?”

Her lips curve. “We’ve gotten pretty personal with one another already.”

“So we have,” I agree.

“It’s not a pretty story.”

My dislike of Jason rises by yet another degree. “Oh?”

“No.” Her eyes drift to the window, staring out at the neighboring buildings. Light flickers in the windows. “I’d been suspicious for a while. Just little things, you know. But then one evening… I was returning to the restaurant after working a catering job. Just to drop off some stuff. The place was all locked up, but it wasn’t entirely dark. There was a light on in the bar.”

Dread sinks to the bottom of my stomach. “What did you see?”

She puts her head in her hands. “God, why am I telling you this? It’s so…”

“It’s okay, Maddie.”