Billionaires Dollar Series

“Please tell me yours is ready.”

“Oh, it’s more than ready.” Has been for weeks, ever since I decided to apply for the culinary fellowship Jason has his eyes set on. At the time, it had felt like revenge against his cheating ways.

Now it feels like a stepping-stone to launching my own culinary career as a chef.Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

“I can’t wait for you to go through to the next round,” Alma says. “Or the look on Jason’s face when you announce it.”

My own grin is wide, directed at the leeks I’m butchering. “That’s the idea,” I say. “It’ll be embarrassing if I don’t succeed, though.”

“He’ll never know,” Alma says, waving her knife in a move that’s dismissive and dangerous at the same time. “I’ll sure as hell never tell him. How would he find out?”

I shrug. The chef scene is small in Seattle, and most of us know each other, at least by name. “Here’s to hoping he won’t.”

We stand side by side as we pour the chopped vegetables into the giant stock pan. Prepping it for this evening’s dinner service, when the next round of chefs will use it to make risotto.

“Guess what,” Alma says, her voice dropping low. “I googled your mysterious friend from Cole Porter’s party.”

“Alma, you-”

“Do you know what his brother does?”

“Yeah,” I say, because who doesn’t? My parents kept sending pictures of news articles in our group email thread. They were almost as proud of Ethan as they were of me, that the boy who’d lived next door had become so successful.

“And you know them?” Alma asks, stirring the stock. It’s set to simmer for hours. “Madison, I thought you grew up in a tiny seaside town!”

“I did, but even tiny seaside towns have neighbors. Besides, I haven’t seen Liam since I was… sixteen?” I shake my head. “Long time ago.”

“He’s good-looking,” she says. “I know I’m married, but I can still look.”

I wipe my hands on the towel slung over my shoulder, moving to clear our chopping boards. “He’s also living in a different world from us. A world where he eats the salmon puffs, and we make them.”

She snorts, ignoring my comment. “Perhaps it was a sign, you bumping into him.”

“A sign? I don’t believe in signs.”

“Yes, I know, Miss Make-Your-Own-Luck. But I think things are looking up.” Alma puts her hands on her hips. “Culinary fellowship, hot new man in your life…”

“Your imagination is taking you places.” But I’m grinning as I reach up to undo the top button of my chef’s shirt. The door to the kitchen swings open and a waitress sticks her head in. “Maddie?”

“Yes?”

“You have a visitor.”

“I have a what?”

She shrugs, her smile wide. “There’s a man in a suit here asking for Madison Webb. He said to tell you that it’s about calling in a debt owed, and that you’d know what that means?”

My eyes must be the size of saucers, because she winks. “I’ve given him a glass of wine and told him to wait.”

“Thank you.” Liam’s here? Right when my shift ended?

“See?” Alma says. “I told you things were looking up. Now go out there and make your own luck.”

It takes me five minutes in the changing room to tangle my dark hair out of the braid. It’s not much better when I do, though, because it’s wavy and mussed. My bangs will not cooperate either, but I try to brush them to either side of my face and smooth the rest into a ponytail.

Liam’s getting me sweaty after a long shift, and he’ll just have to like it.

I head out of the kitchen and into the restaurant. After months of working here, Marco’s feels like home, the decor of beige and blue calming my senses.

I see Liam right away.

Leaning back in a chair like he owns it, an arm draped over the one next to him, his face turned down to his phone.

The glass of wine on the table looks half-drained.

I clear my throat. He looks up, charming smile at the ready. “Ah, Madison. Thank you for coming.”

“You came here,” I point out.

His smile curves. “So I did. Come, have a seat. Do you want something to drink?”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” I say, sliding into the seat opposite his. “So no.”

“Still judgmental, I see.”

My eyebrows rise and he laughs, leaning back in his chair again. “That’s the Maddie I remember,” he says. “Always quick to bite. There wasn’t a challenge you didn’t relish.”

I cross one leg over the other, wishing I’d worn something else to work today, anything that wasn’t my old hoodie. “I’m not sure you’re the Liam I remember,” I say, cocking my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit, and now you’re only ever in one.”

“I upgraded,” he says.

“How did you find me here?”

“I spoke to Cole to find out the name of the caterers,” he says, like that’s a casual thing. I suppose it is, for him. “It was easy to call Marco’s and ask when you were working.”

My eyebrows must be to my hairline, because he snorts. “Just a bit of casual detective work.”

Nothing about it sounded casual. I wish I’d ordered a drink so I’d have something to do with my hands. I fold them in my lap. “That seems like a lot of work for someone who could have just asked for my number on Saturday.”

Liam gives a nod, a thick tendril of his honey-brown hair falling over his forehead. “You’re right. It’s my lot in life to regret decisions, it seems.”

“That sounds ominous,” I say. “It seems to me like you’ve done well for yourself since you moved out of Fairfield.”

His square jaw tenses, but there’s nothing but ease in his voice. “Well enough,” he says. “I’m back in Seattle now, for work.”

“And you work in investment banking?”

“You sound surprised. Why?”