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Lola stood straighter. “Yeah.” She looked down at her smart watch.

“Oh man, I loved her on Chef Match! I’ve never managed to get a reservation.”

“I can get a table,” she replied with absolute confidence, wanting more of Carmen’s admiration. Wanting to show her she wasn’t just some chump. Dizzy from the contact high of Carmen’s unwavering smile, Lola pulled herself down to earth. “If we go somewhere I know, you’ll be less likely to put Visine in my drink and—”

“First of all.” Carmen walked around the back of her desk and grabbed her bag. “That’s an urban legend. It doesn’t make people shit their pants—”

“Why do you know that?” Lola crossed her arms, following Carmen while she walked toward her. “Did you torment a lot of victims in high school? Had a lot of opportunity to try to fail?”

Carmen laughed, her expression making it obvious she thought Lola was absurd instead of being annoyed at having been called out. “Who exactly do you think I was in high school?”

An image came to mind, strong and clear even though she’d never considered the question before. Not with her conscious mind, anyway. “A mean girl head cheerleader,” Lola replied like it was a foregone conclusion.

Carmen’s energy was so light it was blinding. With her purse on her shoulder, she motioned for Lola to walk out of the office first. “Try again.”

Lola didn’t try again. Her brain was stalled, wheels spinning and trapped in the mud. All she had was the intense desire to know what Carmen was like. To imagine her as she was in whatever fancy private school she’d attended.

Carmen made her wait until they were at the elevator to alleviate her curiosity. “I didn’t play a single sport.” She smiled, hazel eyes alive with olive green strands and copper flecks. “I did, however, serve as president of Latin Club for two years.” Her cheeks flushed with a pink so pink it shouldn’t be possible. “And spent all of my free time translating my Rosalie-Bella Twilight fanfic into Latin.” She chuckled, a foundation-cracking sound.

The elevator doors opened, and Lola’s limbs struggled to follow her signal — to follow her inside.

“You’re so full of shit,” Lola decided. It was a death rattle. A last ditch effort to hang on to some preconceived notion she needed to be true.

“AmissaSolis007 is still shockingly popular online.” Carmen hit the button for her parking deck, her smile widening. “See for yourself. I posted it in English too.”

Something stirred in Lola’s core, foreign but undeniable. A flicker of dangerous curiosity at this glimpse of Carmen armor-less and unguarded. It gripped Lola by the scruff, nearly pushed her to ask more questions, before she forced it down. She didn’t have time to deal with the confusing pang in her gut.

“Whatever,” Lola muttered, at a loss for what else to say. Not trusting what else she might say. Pulling out her phone, she sent Leonie a text and prayed she’d come through.

CHAPTER29

Even though theyhadn’t been able to get a table, Carmen was impressed that they’d snagged seats at the rooftop bar. Perched high above the city in the cloudless mid-August night, the salty breeze made being outside bearable. Almost pleasant.

In a ponytail, instead of her usual slicked back bun, and a loose dress, Lola looked almost relaxed. Relaxed for Lola, anyway. She was still on high-alert, aware of her surroundings like a feral cat brought inside for a storm, but her deadly edge had been dulled.

They’d only just sat down on stools at the end of the bar when a woman with wild curly hair shoved under a chef’s cap slipped quietly behind the bartender. The notion that she could slip in unnoticed in her own restaurant was a stretch. If the uniform didn’t single her out, the anatomical heart tattooed on her throat, flanked by red and blue flames seared up the sides, would give her away.

“Hey!” Chef Leonie whisper-shouted, obviously hoping to get only Lola’s attention and not the other guests on the noisy rooftop.

A sight Carmen had never seen nearly knocked her off her stool. Lola smiled. Smiled with her lips and eyes and teeth. Even more shocking, Lola used the foot rail mounted on the bar to propel herself over the top of the bar and embrace Leonie with one arm.

“Lola, you look stunning as always,” Leonie said, leaning across the bar to kiss both of Lola’s cheeks in greeting. Her eyes glanced at Carmen. “And who is this?”

“This is my…” Lola’s voice trailed off into uncertainty.

“I’m Carmen,” she answered for her, smile broader than she could control. “And I’ll do my best not to fangirl all over you. I’ve been a huge fan since you killed it on Chef Match.” She slipped her hand in Leonie’s. “That gold leaf, raspberry, chocolate molten lava cake.” Carmen bit her bottom lip like she’d tasted the decadent dessert through her TV. “Incredible.”

Leonie laughed, hands on her hips. “Who would have thought that under-baking a cake and pretending it was on purpose would win that much money?”

“And now people come from all over the country to try Quarter Million Dollar cake.” Lola beamed.

“All thanks to this one.” Leonie tipped her head toward Lola. “She’s the reason I got on that show at all. Convinced the producers to take a chance on me when I was working in other people’s kitchens with no hope of finding investors for my own restaurant.”

“Did she?” Carmen’s eyes darted between Lola and Leonie, hoping Leonie would tell the story.

Laughing, Leonie moved out of the bartender’s way while he reached for something under the bar.

“They sent back a note saying something about my look. I can’t remember—”