Frozen in place, every part of my body stiff with the effort of not screaming at him to fuck the fuck off, I didn't answer.
"Have you heard about the lawsuit? One of the contestants on Kitchen Fixer Uppers is suing him for emotional distress and defamation of character. What do you think about that?"
A stab of shock went through, my mind racing for a moment, and then I realized -
Not my problem anymore.
It never will be again.
He was shoving something in my face. A small digital recorder, I realized.
Finally, I found the strength to actually move. To turn around, and start walking the other way.
"Jillian! Wait! Don't you have a statement?" The man was so close, so hot on my heels, that I felt I had to say something.
"I have to go. I'm going to miss my train." Pushing forward, head down, I could sense he was still inches away, even before he spoke again.
"Jillian, Jill - please, just a quote. Just a soundbite. This is your chance to make your voice heard. You must have quit for a reason, don't you want to teach him a lesson?"
Balling my hands into fists inside my pockets, I repeated in my head: He's a fly. He's just a fly. Brush him off.
I took a deep breath, and then another. There was a hot stench of garbage creeping out from some alley, and I told myself that was why bile was rising in my throat.
"Come on. Jill! JILL!"
I whirled on him.
"Chef Maxwell Dylan gave me a chance when I had nothing left," I shouted, so loud that he actually stepped back from me. "You don't know him, and neither does anybody else who thinks they have the right to judge him. Go somewhere else to dig up your dirt. I'm not playing this game."
Hot tears leaked from my eyes as I ran for my train, crying, crying for me and for Max and for everything we could have had, until there was nothing left.#p#分页标题#e#
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Desosser
To desosser, or remove the bone, allows for meat to be more easily flattened for cooking - as in the case of roasting a butterflied chicken. Never let it be said that there aren't some instances where a lack of a backbone is best.
- Excerpt from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes
***
Max
***
And just like that, Jill was out of my life.
I had misjudged her terribly - and had been, I realized, since the moment we met. The job offer was supposed to be an olive branch. An apology. I'd taken advantage of her when she was vulnerable and I wanted her to know I was sorry, and that it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't change things between us.
It was only later, much later, that I realized she wanted things to change.
Here was someone who knew me, who'd endured me as a boss and as a human being, for longer than most people could stand. And she loved me for it. There was a time when I would have dismissed it as a schoolgirl crush, or even a coping mechanism. But I knew her better than that, by now. She knew exactly what she was about. She'd chosen to foster these feelings for me, knowing exactly who and what I was.
And I chose to throw it in the garbage, over a misplaced sense of chivalry.
Right. Well done.
My phone buzzed and buzzed. I'd been ignoring it for about half an hour, as calls intermittently came in from Lydia. I assumed it was about Jill, somehow. She'd probably called and told Lydia she was quitting. She certainly wasn't going to call me with the news, and there was no way in hell she'd be back to work tomorrow morning. I was sure of that.
Finally, I got tired of the noise and picked up. The alternative was throwing it against the wall, and I hated to be wasteful.
"What?" I snapped.
"Thank God!" Lydia sounded like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "I thought I'd never get through to you. The network just called. They've been served papers. You're named as a plaintiff. Jordan Harris. He's suing you, Max. He's suing you, and the network, and anyone he can get away with."
My blood ran cold.
"Jordan Harris? From that...that shithole restaurant? The Orange Slice? What the fuck is he suing for?"
"Emotional distress, mostly. He claims the show is staged, and he claims you got him wrongfully fired. It's a mess, Max - and what's this I hear about Jill? What on earth did you do to her?"
I ignored her question. "What the hell does he think he's doing? If his restaurant is still open, I'm the only reason."
"Max! Answer me! Is Jillian really gone?"
"If that's what she told you, then I suppose so," I snapped. "Look, can we focus on one thing at a time?"
"I'm sorry." Lydia sighed. "But you know, if she talks to the press -"
"She's got no reason to talk to the press," I cut in. "What the hell do you think I did to her?"