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Jessica
Bye!
Emily
Later.
Samantha
Toodles.
I'm shoving my phone back into the apron pocket when the break room door swings open. It's Pete, one of the line cooks, all flour-dusted and harried.
"Hey, Avery," he pants, "slammed out there, need you."
"Coming." I push up from the sofa, snagging my tray off the table. The familiar clatter of dishes and hum of conversation filters through the walls, calling me back to the chaos of the lunch rush.
"Thanks, Ave, you're a lifesaver," Pete says, alreadyturning to hustle back to his battlefield of burners and pans.
"Tell me something I don't know," I quip, but he's gone.
I take a step towards the fray, then stop. My phone buzzes against my thigh, insistent. Who now? Probably Samantha with another last-minute quip.
I fish it out, thumb swiping the screen. But it's not Samantha. My heart does a weird little skip—Victor Stone lighting up my notifications.
Victor
Can we talk about the development over dinner? After practice maybe?
The text reads plain as day, but my head's spinning all fancy-like.
"Uh..." I mumble to myself. Is this a good sign or bad? A chance to plead my case, or another round of him being Mr. Corporate Ice King?
"Everything okay?" Pete’s voice drifts in, distant concern.
"Fine!" I holler back, more pep than I feel. "Just a sec!"
Dinner with Victor could swing things for us. It might give me more information on what he intends to present before the Board. But can I trust him?
His blue eyes flash in my mind—sharp, searching. My heart tries to convince my mind that maybe he'sstarting to thaw. Logically, though, I know that's a dangerous assumption.
Avery
Okay, but this time you're doing the talking.
Victor
As you wish.
Chapter Twenty-One
Avery
"You're just sitting here glaringat him," Samantha remarks, elbowing me gently as we perch on the cold metal bleachers. My gaze sticks to the ice below where Victor Stone glides effortlessly among a flock of children, his laughter echoing off the walls of the rink. It's disarming. I'm trying to fit this version of him into the cutthroat developer box he came in, but it's like trying to jam a square peg into a round hole.
I huff, crossing my arms tighter across my chest. "I can't help it. There's something about him that doesn't add up."
"Like what?" Emily chimes in, her brows knitting together in concern.