Billionaires Dollar Series

I’m not getting burned again.

“As long as we understand one another,” I say, raising my glass to his.

“We do.” He touches his crystal tumbler to mine, the deep green of his eyes almost black.

I’m on the line for dinner service, working fish, with Jason right beside me. It had once been my favorite station in the kitchen-the ability to see Jason’s work on the meat station, his skilled hands on the knife.

Now it’s torture, and every time our elbows bump, I have to stop myself from recoiling.

“Two more polenta sides, and I need them now!” Marco’s voice comes from the pass. “I have two sirloins that are dying out here!”

I glance down the line to where Alma is working sides, her hands flying across the handles of the pots. “One minute out, chef!”

“Make that thirty seconds!”

I wince at the command in Marco’s voice. The restaurant is filled to capacity, and he’s running the pass himself, which means there are several high-level VIPs out there.

An intense Saturday-night dinner service means there’s only one possible choice for the drinks after work.

Lots, and lots of shots.

We don’t speak about it during service, but I know the prospect of letting loose is fueling all the cooks in the kitchen. The anticipation of greener pastures at the end of this service, all of us up to our elbows in the spirit of teamwork.

“Scallops in two!” I call.

“Mashed ready in two!” Alma echoes.Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

Dinners like this feel like marathons and sprints at the same time, and my skin is clammy beneath the chef’s jacket. By the time we plate our last meal, the mood is electric.

“Can’t believe I had to ’86 the sirloin before the service was done,” Jason says at my side. He’s leaning on the counter, a towel slung over his shoulder. “Great job on fish tonight. You really held it together.”

“Thanks.” Anything less, and I would seem ungrateful. Anything more, and our within-earshot co-workers would know we’re not friends anymore. With the exception of Alma, they don’t know why we broke up.

“Tonight’ll be fun,” he continues. “We should be able to talk.”

I look around, at Marco’s back by the pass, but nobody’s paying attention.

“No,” I say. “There’s no point in that.”

Before he can say anything else, I head to the changing rooms. Irritation rushes through my veins like hot lava, mingled with emotions I know well by now.

Shame and anger. But if Jason hasn’t driven me away from Marco’s yet, he sure as hell won’t now, and especially not when Liam and I will rub his nose in it.

Alma is waiting for me when I emerge from the restaurant, already dressed in black jeans and boots, a cigarette in hand. She stubs it out when she sees me.

“Are we going to get something to eat before we join the others at the bar?”

“Yes,” I say. “And I have to brief you about what’s about to happen.”

Her eyebrows rise. “That sounds ominous.”

“It might be,” I say, pulling her toward our favorite late-night sandwich joint around the corner. “Do you remember my old childhood friend we met at Cole Porter’s? Who came here to meet me?”

“Yes! Oh, please tell me this is good.”

I give a shaky chuckle. “It’s insane, that’s what it is.”

Alma hardly believes the story, and hearing me tell it, I barely do either.

“So it’s all fake?” she asks for the tenth time.

“Yes, it’s just an act, the whole thing. We both get what we want from it.” I stop by the trash can, throwing away the hot dog wrapper.

“Mhm,” she says, looking like the Cheshire cat. “You know this is the start of a movie. You’re going to get married for real when this is all said and done.”

“We are not,” I say. “We couldn’t be more different. He’s a high-flier now, and all he cares about is money and status.”

“Sure,” she says.

“And the women he dates now are nothing like me, Alma.” My hand curls into a fist at my sides, thinking about the woman at the bar and the beautifully manicured ladies in the jewelry store. Most days I don’t even wear makeup, since the kitchen gets so hot.

“Right,” she says. “And he could have asked any of them to help him, but he asked you, because he wanted you to be his fake fiancée.”

I shake my head, intent on replying when my phone buzzes in my pocket. And because the Universe loves coincidences, it’s Liam.

Liam: I’ll be there in fifteen.

My steps lengthen. “Come on,” I tell Alma. “We should join the others.”

The run-down bar where Marco’s kitchen and wait staff party has a charm that only comes from heavy use. The place smells like beer and memories-in-the-making.

“Here they are!” calls Enrique, one of Marco’s waiters, when we enter. His wide smile enfolds us both. “The lost cooks!”

“What took you so long?” Maria asks, as people move around the high table to give us space. Her boyfriend is sitting next to her, a common fixture at these events.

My gaze snags on Jason. Sally is standing next to him. They’re ignoring one another, but I imagine I can see the tether between them like it was made out of shiny rope.

“Maddie, have you heard the news?” Enrique asks.

“No. What’s happened?”

“Jason just got shortlisted for the culinary institute’s fellowship!”

Beside him, Maria rolls her eyes. The crew’s opinion on Jason is divided-some think his arrogance is justified, others do not. I might be the only one who’s been a card-carrying member of both factions, though never at the same time.

Jason runs a hand over his neck, looking over at me. “I got the email just a few hours ago,” he says.

The words are like a bucket of cold water dumped over me. I’d checked my inbox after work, and it had been empty.