Page 171 of With a Cherry On Top

“What? Send him to another client? See who he sleeps with there?”

“No, of course not.” Ian scratches at the stubble on his jaw.

Amelie crosses her arms, her expression hard. “Because I definitely don’t want him in my kitchen. Not when I don’t trust him. When I don’t evenlikehim.”

I stare at the floor as my hands begin to shake.

“You can’t even look at me, Aaron?” she demands.

I force myself to raise my chin, and the anger in her face twists into something worse. Her jaw quivers, and her eyes—fuck, her eyes—gleam with hurt so raw it almost knocks me back.

“You were my best friend,” she says. “I thought I could count on you. I wanted you by my side, wanted you to be my second. I thought you had my back.”

“I do,” I rasp, voice breaking.

“No, I was wrong.” She fights the tremor in her chin. “You’re not my best friend. YouknowBeatrice left me, and you couldn’t bother to tell me she was here? That you were sleeping with her daughter?”

Her daughter? Doesn’t she mean “my sister”?

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through my mouth, fighting the overwhelming urge to ask.

“So you’re fired,” she repeats. “And not that it matters to you, but we’re done. I never want to see you again.”

My mind scrambles for words, but nothing I could say would be enough to change her mind right now.

“Am I clear?”

I force myself to nod.

“Good. Now get out.”

I hesitate for a moment, looking to Ian, my boss, the one with actual authority to fire me. But he’s not looking at me—his gaze is locked on Amelie, forehead creased in concern.

He’s not thinking about his business, his company. He’s thinking about his wife, the woman standing before him who has endured so much pain in her life, and who I’ve now hurt too.

He finally meets my gaze, and after a long pause, nods. “I’ll figure out your papers and be in touch,” he says. Then, rolling his shoulders, he adds, “As of now, you’re no longer an employee of Chef & Tell.”

I stand and turn, and every step toward the door feels like another nail in the coffin of the life I’ve just lost. Through the open sliver, I see the kitchen, the place where I found purpose, where I became more than just some guy who blew up his whole life. I see the laughter, the late nights with Amelie, the hours of sweat and exhaustion that never felt like work because I loved it so much.

It’s all gone.

I grip the handle, heart hammering against my ribs. If this is the last conversation I’ll ever have with Amelie, I need to say something. I need to tell her that cooking changed my life. That I’ll never forget what she taught me. That she’s the best chef I’ve ever seen at work, and that she shouldn’t feel bad about this, because I know she will.

I turn back, meeting her gaze, and see nothing but ice and exhaustion staring back at me. She doesn’t want to hear anything I have to say.

So I say the only thing Ireallyneed to get out.

“She needs your help.”

Amelie’s brows draw together. “Excuse me?”

“Charlotte,” I clarify. “She’s not . . . she’s not doing well.”

“Unbelievable.” Her jaw ticks. “I’ve needed help more times than I can count, and nobody showed up for me.”

“So she should suffer the same way you did?” I counter.

She jabs a finger on her chest. “Iwas the one who was left behind, Aaron. Not her.”

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