Page 5 of Between Love and Loathing

Dominic: More important plans than your bakery?

Clara: Noah’s hockey game is tonight, and I promised I’d be there.

Dominic: So a boyfriend’s game is more important.

Clara: That’s not what I’m saying. But it’s important to him. And he’s a good friend.

Dominic: Sounds to me like you’re putting your boyfriend before the resort.

Clara: Dominic, I’m trying my best.

Dominic: Right, but do you think that’s good enough?

* * *

~Seven months later~

Clara: I think the pastel pink leather seating will work well with a signature truffle I’ll be making.

Dominic: No pink. Need I remind you Rita has been commissioned as the lead designer to bring modernism and a sleek look to the resort?

Clara: But I’m going to be the head baker. You should want me happy in there.

Dominic: You have to learn to be comfortable anywhere when you’re working with others.

Clara: Is that what you do?

Dominic: No. I’m the boss of this resort. I don’t bend to other’s tastes, Clara. You bend to mine.

Clara: I’ll be flying to California tomorrow to start testing the kitchen. Maybe we could meet then.

Dominic: You sure your friend doesn’t need you in the stands for his Stanley Cup bid?

Clara: If you’re insinuating I did something wrong by supporting my friend in the past, you’re wrong.

Dominic: If you say so.

DOMINIC

Clara Milton wasn’t going to discuss a thing with my interior designer. She instead was hoping I would just hand it to her.

I wouldn’t. When a person wanted something in life, they had to fight for it.

And Clara didn’t know how to fight. At all.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, thinking back to how her mother had treated her when I’d dropped her off that day. Clara had been ready to walk right into that messed-up situation just to save her family’s reputation.

She didn’t fight it at all. And it had fucking bothered me more than it should have.

Now, she was ruining my resort and wasn't even really fighting me for her changes either.

Every text was a question, an idea, a “maybe.” If someone was going to come in and change all my plans, they better believe in their vision. White-hot rage filled my blood just thinking about it. The only time she’d put her foot down was a half of a year ago to go look cute on her hockey player boyfriend’s arm to placate him.

No one said no to a meeting with me in this industry to placate someone else, especially not another man. So, now, I didn’t have time for nuancing Clara’s idea for matching pink seating with her pink truffles or whatever the hell she said.

She needed to listen to me. I’d designed numerous buildings for the brand, and the Pacific Coast Resort was especially important to me. It wasmine. The one I’d spent years perfecting, and the one I was most proud of. I’d designed how the cobblestone streets paved an ideal walkway to our restaurants, how they wove around the gardens and landscaping to the golf course, to the pools, to the beach, to the vineyards. Meticulously and tirelessly, I’d built it from the ground up. I’d sweated over every minute detail. I’d made sure to avoid any distractions so that I could present a damn masterpiece to the world that no one would question.

Never again would I be questioned.