We sat in silence until Antonio brought out the next dish. It was a slight alteration of another standard tapas dish: patatas bravas. Instead of using Tabasco sauce, he’d swapped in a chipotle mayo for us to dip the potatoes into. The dish was good. Was it worthy of being on our menu? No. Every food critic in New York would pan us.
And that’s how the tasting went. Antonio’s dishes fell flat every single time. The ingredients were expected. The flavors were standard. There was nothing unique about his presentation and I doubted Antonio had even spent more than five minutes coming up with recipes for our restaurant. Either he was lazy, or he was purposely sabotaging our menu.
I shook my head. “This dish is served in every tapas restaurant in America,” I said, pointing at the short ribs in front of me. “Where’s the creativity? Where’s the effort?”
“Excuse me?” Antonio asked, rearing back as if I’d struck him. For twenty minutes, he’d brought out dishes for us to sample, and for twenty minutes I’d held my tongue as best as possible.
“Lily that’s enough,” Dean spoke up with a sharp tongue.
I flinched. “Are you serious?”
Dean tossed his napkin onto the table and shook his head. “Let’s go. You’re excused from the rest of the meeting.”
My cheeks flamed as he pushed his chair back and crossed around to escort me from the room. I saw red as I reached down for my bag. He was being taken advantage of and now he was punishing me for standing up for him?
Dean pushed the ballroom door open so hard that it swung back and hit the wall.
“That was completely unprofessional. What were you thinking?” he hissed, reaching up to grip my arm so I couldn’t storm off.
“You’re delusional. That man is taking advantage of you, and if you don’t see that, you’re blind.”
“He’s one of the most influential chefs in America. If his dishes are bad, you eat them and discuss the rest with me after the meeting is over. This is my business, my name you’re tarnishing by acting like a picky toddler.”
I stepped closer. “He just served us glorified french fries. How much did you pay him for that meeting, Dean? Ten thousand dollars? Fifteen?”
“I don’t care if he scraped the gunk off his shoe and passed it off as escargot. You have to understand how this world works. Until you do, you can head home. Pack your bags. I don’t need you in Vegas any more.”
I could feel the flush spread from my cheeks, down across my chest. He could have stabbed me in the heart and it would have hurt less than those eight words. I don’t need you in Vegas any more.
I’d slept with him less than forty-eight hours earlier and since then he’d ignored me, chastised me, and now he was dismissing me like I was last week’s trash.
“Fuck you, Dean,” I hissed, shoving my finger into his chest. “Fire me if you think that’s what’s best, but don't think you can just tuck me away when it’s convenient for your ego.”
“Don’t test me Lily,” he said, bending low so that his lips were aligned with mine.
I flashed him a dark, sardonic smile, scraping together my last bit of self-confidence. “Have a great rest of your meeting. I’ll see you at the meet and greet later.”
“Lily!”
I ignored him and walked away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lily
My confidence broke down somewhere in the middle of the Bellagio lobby. I had tears streaking down my cheeks and everyone was subtly getting the hell out of my way, pulling their children away from me like I was deranged. I’m not going to attack your kid just because I’m crying. Jeez.
I walked past the pool, remembering how naive I’d been the day before. I’d lounged on those chairs and assured myself that Dean had brought me to Vegas because he respected me and valued my opinion, no matter how strong it might be. Perhaps I’d overstepped my bounds in that meeting, but that was no reason to send me home. He’d just treated me like scum and he thought I was going to go hide away and lick my wounds? If he thought that was a possibility, then he really didn’t know me at all.
I pushed through the door to our private villa and thanked all the gods of awkward moments that it was empty. I hated having to be there. If I could have, I would have grabbed my bags and found my own room, but the hotel was completely booked, and let’s face it, I couldn’t have afforded my own room anyway. The living room, with the sectional Dean had slept on the night before, was quiet and empty. The courtyard with its fruit trees and ivy vines remained untouched.
I bypassed the mini bar, the giant kitchen, and the gym. Who needs a gym? I’m not working out on a work trip. The same rules of vacation apply. I shut myself in my room and sneered at the opulent decor. I’d appreciated it the day before, but now it just made me want to barf. This was Dean’s villa, and I hated it.
I reached for the phone beside my bed and dialed Jo’s number, praying she’d answer.
“Are you calling to gossip? What happened to ‘blah blah blah stays in Vegas’?” she asked as soon as the call connected.
I smiled, though it felt wrong. “How’d you know it was me?”