Page 26 of The Arrogant One

“You know I’d never say no.”

“Well, you need to know what you’re getting into. You might just rethink that answer.”

“Okay …”

I moved back to my desk and took a seat. “I don’t have areservation. We could be waiting there all night and still not get in.”

“Nonsense. We’ll get in. I’ll pull out some sorcery if I have to.”

I shook my mouse, watching my inbox refresh with brand deals and social media notifications. “I’m afraid to ask what kind of sorcery you’re talking about.”

“Just make sure you have cash on you. Like a hundred-dollar bill. You know, in case we have to tuck it into the hostess’s hand.”

“Good thinking.” I smiled. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re still in?”

“Babe, I was never out.”

I danced in my chair. “I’ll pick you up at five. Mwah.”

Is Horned worth the three-month waiting list to get in? Is their signature filet, served Pittsburgh-style with a charred exterior and a medium rare interior, worth twelve dollars an ounce? Is the old-fashioned as sinful as I’ve heard?

Yes, yes, and absolutely yes.

Sinful on the tongue and heavenly all the way down. And I’m not just speaking about the old-fashioned. That’s the way I would describe Horned.

An exquisite meal, flawlessly executed and wickedly satisfying.

Make your reservation, Foodies.

I’d written the two-hundred-word article and let it simmer on the screen while I went into my en suite and got ready for bed, returning to my computer to make sure the last few paragraphs were as strong as they needed to be. I was always hyper-fixated on the conclusion of every piece. Since it was the summary that mattered most—the wrap-up of my final thoughts and whether I believed my readers should take the chance—I normally rewrote it several times before I submitted it to my boss.

I read it one last time and emailed it to my boss, relieved that I’d made things right and this whole incident would be behind us.

Before I could go to bed, I had to confirm that tomorrow’s video was scheduled for the morning across each of my channels. Pleased with everything I saw, I returned to Instagram and loaded a new post, choosing one of the photos I’d taken tonight that showed my fingers wrapped around an old-fashioned. My followers knew I tested out the restaurant at least a week before I posted about it, so no one would suspect I was just there this evening; most importantly, Horned’s staff wouldn’t try to piece anything together. My anonymity was as important to me as the authenticity of my reviews.

I stared at the picture until a caption came to me, and I began to type.

Horned: Is it sinfully delicious? Or overpriced and overhyped? My full review will be in Friday’s edition of Seen. See you there, Foodies.

Within seconds, hundreds of likes began to flutter in and the comment section exploded. The hype was already there, and come Friday, the readers would be too.

I hoped to hell this made my boss a happy man.

FIVE

Hart

When Walker started blowing up the family group chat at six this morning, before I even opened my eyes to head to the gym, I knew Dear Foodie had reviewed Horned inSeen, and the feedback—based on the tone of Walker’s texts—had to be stellar. He requested we all be in the office by eight when our normal hours started at nine. And there was no question in my mind what this meeting was going to look like.

Everyone in my family followed Dear Foodie online. In this business, specifically in Southern California, she could make or break you. That was the power this one woman held, that was how well she was trusted, and that was how honest she was in her reviews. If she gave your restaurant full praise, your reservations would double, even triple, overnight, which made me fear that Horned was about to take over our title as not only the best, but the most popular steak house in Laguna Beach.

Since Beck had practice, that left Eden, Colson, and me sitting around the conference room table, twiddling ourgoddamn thumbs as we waited for Walker to join us. By the sound of everyone’s exhales, the deepness of our sighs, and the size of our to-go coffee cups, we knew this was going to be one hell of a start to an already-shitty day.

“Have you guys checked out Dear Foodie’s Instagram this morning?” Eden asked, looking at Colson and then me.

I nodded.

“Sure have,” Colson replied.