Page 101 of Meet Me on Lilac Lane

And maybe something just snapped inside her. “They were delicious. Artwork. Pomp and circumstance. It’s a medley of flavors, a symphony for the mouth. And you just dumped them because of what? Pride? Just take a look at the recipe!”

He just stared at her, nostrils flaring.

Okay, so maybe…um. She cut her voice low. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to insult you or your work, but?—”

“That’s enough, Ms. Hart.” He snatched the recipe card from her hand, glancing at it, then back to her. “The thing you don’t seem to understand is that this ismykitchen. My kitchen, my rules, my recipes. When you have your own kitchen—and honestly, Ms. Hart, Ivery much doubtyou’ll ever reach that level of success—youcan decide what to make. Until then…”

He ripped the recipe in half, then again, and again. Then he added the papers to the chocolate, spilled in with the other debris from last night’s dinner.

She barely had a voice. “Why did you do that?” She took a breath, found more of it. “I’ve given you five years of my life. I’ve catered to your every stupid whim, spent countless hours doing tedious work, cleaning and sanitizing, and—this is how you treat me?”

She might be shouting now, so she schooled her voice. Hated the tears that rimmed her eyes. “That was mine. You had no right.”

“Correction,” he snapped, stepping up to her. “You used company resources to create it, so it was actuallymine. And I decided I didn’t want it.” Oscar slid the garbage receptacle back into place. “Just like you, Ms. Hart. I don’t want you.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want you here anymore. As of this moment, you are no longer an employee of The Sullivan.”

Lily just stared at him, the words not quite landing. The silence buzzed loudly in her ears.

What—?

No, no, no. This is not how things were supposed to go. Lily pressed her lips together and blinked her eyes rapidly. She wouldnotcry. Crying hadn’t stopped her grandpa’s disappointment in her. Hadn’t stopped the Kelleys from accusing her, or Declan from turning away from her. Hadn’t stopped Professor Hamilton from failing her.

Oscar folded his arms over his chest. “Did you not hear me? You’re fired, Ms. Hart. And I won’t be giving you a reference, so don’t even ask.” He pointed toward the door. “Your chocolate-making days are over.”

Declan Kelley stepped off the Chicago “L” train—and straight into his new life.

Adjusting his tie, he made his way down the platform, relishing the tug of the crowd flowing around him. Everyone had somewhere to be, something to do.

Including, finally, him.

At seven thirty, the July humidity lay on his skin, his shirt sticky under his three-piece suit. But not even the oppressive heat could steal the pep in Declan’s step as he approached the skyscraper on The Loop where McGentry Food Company occupied the top four stories. Was his corner office visible from way down here? His neck craned upward, taking in the building’s seemingly endless rows of windows glinting off the rising sun—a gorgeous sight, given how cloudy the summer had been so far.

If Declan believed in omens of good luck, he might think the appearance of the sun on his first day as McGentry’s business operations manager portended good things.

But Declan just believed in the value of hard work. And goodness knew he’d worked his tail off—both in his career so far, and all throughout his MBA program—to get to this place. Add to that six months of job searching…

But that was then, this was now, and hello to a perfect future.

Cold air blasted him as he stepped inside, blowing so hard he smoothed his hand along his hair, but his new gel had seemed to hold things steady up top. Being inside muted the din of honking taxis but enveloped him into a sea of people in suits, many talking on their Bluetooth devices, dressy shoes echoing against the travertine and through the stories-tall lobby. Declan flashed his shiny new-as-of-yesterday badge at a security guard, who waved him in, and headed toward the bank of six elevators.

His phone vibrated. He pulled it out—Brandon, his cousin. Probably just calling to wish him good luck, but the doors to the elevator opened, so he declined the call and got on with a handful of others.

He’d text him back later.

Scanning his badge, Declan hit the button for the eighty-first floor.

Eighty-first. Which meant a view of the Windy City.Looks like we made it.A tune sang in his head as he flashed a grin at the pretty brunette in a pencil skirt across from him. She smiled back.

Oh—he didn’t want to get too friendly. He pulled out his phone, swiping open his email as an excuse to look somewhere else. Not that he wanted to be rude, but after Kim, the last thing on his mind was dating.

His phone vibrated in his hand. Brandon again. Weird. His cousin wasn’t the type to call twice.

Not unless something was wrong.

He glanced up at the numbers. Only at floor eighteen, with clearly five more to go.

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