The kitchen was abuzz with activity as cooks hurried around in their professional attire—toques bobbing between stations. Another difference between Lilou and Bianca was the way service ran. At Lilou, with Wyatt in charge, everything flowed directly from him. Maybe it wasn’t always smooth or easy-going, but Wyatt was the source and the kitchen moved in a kind of synchronized chaos around him. Like the mouth of a mighty river.
Bianca wasn’t a steady-pathed stream. Or even a turbulent current. At least not tonight. She was the ocean in the middle of a hurricane. Chefs were shouting demands back and forth at each other, cursing furiously. The air was tight with tension and panic. Dishes clanked on messy surfaces and orders were bellowed from one side of the room to the other. I related in a way I never thought I would.
Several of the kitchen and wait staff paused in their frantic activity to watch me as I slinked along the edges, trying not to draw attention. Too late.
“I’m just here for Ezra,” I muttered, doubting any of them heard me anyway.
I had only been back here once and it was not during dinner service. It was on one of the Saturday mornings I had painted. Ezra had given me a little tour and then we’d made out in the cooler.
There hadn’t been anyone here then. The kitchen had seemed huge and empty and void of life. Now it was the opposite. Crammed with people running in every direction, the space no longer appeared big enough to accommodate all of Ezra’s staff. It was all madness and mayhem and delicious food, and I loved it.
I loved every part of it.
Any other day I would have grabbed my phone and taken video of the flurry of activity to post online. I would have captioned it #workvibes and watched social media go crazy over the interesting aspects of how a five-star plate of food is made.
Not that it mattered now. My future at STS looked grim. Instead of one-minute videos and interesting hashtags, I was going to be busking portraits on a busy street corner instead. Excuse me, ma’am, can I interest you in a caricature? I promise to make your boobs and head look ginormous.
That was my life now, a big-boob drawing chalk artist. #lifegoals.
Thankfully, Ezra was in his office when I finally scuttled back there. Nerves assaulted my already weak heart as I realized I should have texted or called first, or at least let him meet me out front. He wasn’t expecting me. He probably wasn’t ready to see me…
“Molly.” He looked up at me from behind his desk, his tie tugged loose and his fingers poised on a keyboard mid-email. His mouth split open in a warm smile and I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. “I was just sending a note to ask if you wanted to do dinner.”
Seeing him there, behind his desk, tired from a long day but happy to see me, did something permanent to my shaky spirit. My chin trembled and I pressed my lips together in a valiant effort to hold back hot tears.
He noticed my emotional state, pushed back in his chair and leaped to standing. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head, unable to speak for fear of sobbing again.
“Come here,” he demanded.
This time I didn’t have a single problem doing what he asked. I threw my body into his and let his arms tighten around me, holding me to him. I didn’t wail, sob, or scream like I thought I would, but I couldn’t help the few rogue tears that slipped out.
I crushed my body against his, relishing the warmth and safety of his arms. As far as hugs went, this one was an A-plus, perfect in every way. He held me tightly against him without asking me for details. He simply held me, giving me the sanctuary and healing I needed so badly.
And I gratefully clung to him, soaking up every second of this man that had come to mean so much to me over the last few months.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice low and soft, but edgy too—prepared to fight. For me, I hoped. I didn’t have it in me to fight with him tonight.
My arms tightened around him. “I was at work…” I sniffled, feeling pathetic all over again. “My boss… We were working on a project and he came onto me.”
Ezra’s entire body stiffened, tightened, and readied for battle. “He did what?”
“But not in a nice way,” I hiccupped. I pulled back, drying my eyes with the back of my hand and getting a grip on my wild emotions. I bravely met Ezra’s hard glare and confessed what happened. “He’s been harassing me for a while. Always saying inappropriate things or accidentally touching me. But he’s the CEO’s son. When I complained to HR, they accused me of making something out of nothing. They made it seem like I was a drama queen. And before maybe it wasn’t anything… I wasn’t afraid of Henry at that point, he was more obnoxious than dangerous. He irritated me and disgusted me, but he didn’t scare me. Then this afternoon, he called me into his office to discuss the client we’re working together on, and that’s when he took things too far.”
I told Ezra everything, the horrible things he’d said to me, how he felt entitled to me because of the project, how he threatened to fire me. Ezra listened attentively, his body coiling with his reaction the longer my story went on. His jaw ticked with every mention of Henry, and he never once let go of me. Not once.
“I don’t know what to do,” I told him. “I don’t know how to go back into that office and deal with those people… with Henry.”
“You’re not going to do it alone,” he growled. “I’ll go with you in the morning.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Enough, Molly. You are not an inconvenience to me. This is not something I’m going to make you do alone. I am going with you because I’m going to let those assholes in your office have it, and it’s going to be my privilege to stand up for you.” He reached for his phone. “I’m going to call my lawyer, Brent. He should go with us.” His gaze snapped back to mine. “You will be suing, won’t you? Brent is the best in the city. He’ll know exactly what to do.”
“I-I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’m just really still trying to get through today.”
His expression softened and he tossed his phone back on his desk, forgetting about it. “I’m sorry,” he murmured sincerely. “My default is action. Especially when I feel helpless. We’ll get through today and you can think about what you want to do.”
I tilted my head at him, staring up at this gorgeous man that cared so deeply for me. It still seemed crazy. “Why do you feel helpless?” He wasn’t the one that had been attacked. He wasn’t the vulnerable female fleeing her own job.
He gently pressed the back of his hand against my cheek, rubbing a slow, sweet path. “Do you really not know? Molly, I want to murder the asshole that touched you… talked to you that way. I want to kill him for making you feel this way, for expecting you to give him whatever his depraved mind came up with. He’s a scumbag and he tried to touch you. How can I feel anything but helpless? This asshole deserves my fist in his fucking face, and I’m going to have to settle for destroying him legally. It’s killing me.”
I shivered. Nobody had ever stuck up for me like this. Nobody had ever needed to. I had spent twenty-seven years of my life blending in.