The Enemy (It Happened in Charleston #2) - Sarah Adams Page 0,4
that same little girl from high school who let you push her around and didn’t push back.”
Ryan interrupts my epic monologue with a chuckle, trying to steal my thunder. “In what world did you not push back?”
I ignore him, resisting the urge to settle the sharp point of my heel on the top of his shoe and press down, and instead, continue on, thunder unstolen. “I might’ve tipped my chin up for you back then, but not anymore. I am a grown woman who has scraped and worked my tail off to open my own bakery and establish a brand that is recognized across all of South Carolina. I am a force of nature, so don’t mess with me this week unless you want me to cancel your birth certificate.” I take a step back and finally let a smirk touch my lips. “But who knows? Maybe if you’re nice enough, I can give you a position scrubbing dishes in my kitchen.”
I’m on fire right now. Somewhere in the world, Taylor Swift is feeling a tingle down her spine because of this Bad Blood reenactment. I feel like I could run a marathon or lift a truck from all the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
That is, until Alex, one of Logan’s other groomsmen, walks up and claps Ryan on the shoulder and says the words that make my blood run cold. “There you are, Mr. Big-time Chef! I’m surprised to see you here. Thought you’d be too much of a hot shot now to give us common folk a week of your time.”
I’m sorry, what?
My rapid breathing leftover from my heroic speech is dying out now and is being replaced with a ringing in my ears. I hesitantly meet Ryan’s gaze. There’s a quiet smile on his lips. A knowing smile. “It’s no big deal. I was due a little time off.”
“Ha!” Alex looks at me with a big dopey smile like I’m in on the joke. “Since when is becoming a Michelin chef not a big deal?”
Ryan still hasn’t looked at Alex. His eyes are locked on me, a predatory glint sparking in his dark-chocolate orbs.
“Michelin chef?” I ask, feeling my legs start to wobble.
Alex squeezes Ryan’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you, man! Logan was just telling us how you’re the youngest chef to earn three stars. That’s ridiculous.”
Just bury me now.
Ryan is a chef?! Of course he is. I just made a complete fool of myself telling the man how successful I am, and here he is, brazen with three of the most prestigious culinary stars in the industry. Isn’t that fun? How do I always seem to come in second place to this man?
Alex’s smile dies when he notices the homicidal look I’m giving Ryan, and without saying a word, he just starts backing away. Smart man. It’s high school all over again where Ryan and I stuck to our own sides of the hallway, and people stared anytime we had to pass each other because there was always a chance of someone drawing blood when we got too close.
Except Ryan isn’t sticking to his side. He steps forward—invading my personal space—and leans in close to my ear while resting his hand on the side of my bicep, creating a romantic illusion to anyone looking on. Even though I don’t want to, I drag in a deep breath of his heady scent that is both cool and spicy. I stay frozen like an animal in the wild that knows it’s being hunted. His breath grazes the side of my face, and I hate the way I still feel affected by him.
I will not tip my chin up.
“Thanks for the job offer, June Bug, but I think I’m good. Oh, and by the way”—his voice drops into a gentle whisper—“you have toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your heel.”
I cut my gaze down just in time to see Ryan use his fancy leather dress shoe to pull the toilet paper out from beneath the stiletto I was supposed to crush him under.
Chapter Three
Ryan
“What did you say?” asks Noah Prescott, the restaurateur on the other end of my phone who’s trying to get me to sell my soul for the next three years. “I can’t hear you over all that noise. Where are you?”
“Hold on. Goin’ outside.” It’s amazing and frightening how fast an accent rushes back to a person when they go home.
I push my way through the crowded sports bar to the front door, disliking how