Page 53 of Best Served Hot

And my name was in it.

I didn’t touch the paper, because that would be prying, but I did tilt my head nearly forty-five degrees so that I could read it. I mean, it was sitting right there, out in the open. As my eyes traveled down the bullet points, they blinked longer and longer in shock, as if they might be mistaken about what they were seeing.

What I learned about restaurant-review influencers during my time with Julie Z.

Reviews on social media lack depth and nuance. Influencers don’t have the breadth of knowledge or even the interest in food that a traditional reviewer has.

Influencers spend more time trying to get a pretty photo than actually dissecting how the food tastes. The dishes Julie Z. spotlights are not the best ones, just the best-looking ones.

And so it went, a list of points all in the same vein. Things Bennett had learned from me.

I backed away, feeling sick. No, not just sick. Full of sick. I actually thought I might vomit all over Bennett’s impeccably laid out desk.

Those were all things I’d secretly worried were true, but Bennett had helped me realize they weren’t. Except he didn’t think that at all, did he? Not if he was busy writing an article for the Scroll about how I was trash. About how what I did, what I was passionate about, what I lived for, was something to denigrate and mock in a major newspaper.

So much for keeping things professional. Or unprofessional.

I didn’t realize I was crying until I reached up to investigate why my vision was suddenly so very blurry and found my fingertips wet.

Up in the loft, something rustled. “Julie?” Bennett called sleepily.

I wished I could turn back time. Not see that email draft to his editor. Settle for the second book in the Dark Avengers series.

But I couldn’t. And I also couldn’t just climb back up there and pretend nothing was wrong. And it was for the best, wasn’t it? Better to find out now that Bennett was even more of a dick than I’d thought he was at first than later on when I would be even more attached.

Fortunately, all of my clothes and other things were still down here from when we’d frantically shed them last night. Tears stinging my eyes, I shrugged off Bennett’s cozy T-shirt and changed back into my own clothes from last night, which were now rumpled and chilly from their time on the floor. I gathered my stuff.

“Julie?” Bennett called again, sounding slightly more alert. Any moment now, he’d roll out of bed and come find me.

So I ran out of there before he could.

18

My phone buzzed the entire subway ride home, even deep underground where I really shouldn’t have had a signal. All texts from Bennett. They started out confused. Where are you? Did you leave? Then got concerned. Is everything okay? What happened? Then got upset. Did I do something? He tried calling multiple times, too, but I hung up on him each time. Didn’t bother listening to the voice mails. Who still left voice mails, anyway?

Marcus wasn’t home, which was good, because I didn’t like bursting into tears in front of people. I collapsed onto the couch sobbing, shoving my face into my hands. Which still smelled like Bennett. Damn it.

I wanted to scream into the void, but I couldn’t do that in my apartment. My walls were too thin, and the chances were too high that my landlord downstairs would think I was being murdered and barge inside to check on me. So I did the next best thing: I called Alice.

“Julie, what’s up?”

Spilling the whole story felt like vomiting. Only unlike vomiting, my stomach didn’t feel any better once it was all out. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, fuck him,” Alice said immediately. “How dare he? You’re great. What you do is great. You’re better off without any guy who would put you down.”

Really? Because I’d felt better with him.

I said that to Alice, and she told me, “Everybody feels that way after a bad breakup. You’ll cry for a while and then you’ll get over it. And maybe you should start looking for a new job, get out of that circle. You’re too good for the Deckers, too. Hey, we can job hunt together!”

I could look for a new job, though it would cut into my reviewing time, and I’d be risking finding something with worse hours that would cut into my reviewing time even more. But was she right that I always felt that way after a bad breakup?

I’d certainly mourned the breakup I’d had with my college ex, but I’d known the whole time that he’d made me into a worse person while I was with him: jealous, suspicious, possessive (and rightfully so, considering he spent months cheating on and off with his ex-girlfriend). I hadn’t mourned the person I’d been with him. But I felt like that was what I was doing now. I really liked Bennett, but I also really liked the person I’d become with him. The person who wasn’t afraid to be honest and authentic. The person who felt joy about being an influencer, something that used to make me insecure. The person who felt respected and encouraged.

That’s not the real him, I told myself, which only made me feel worse. That was all a facade.

I faked a laugh for Alice. “Yeah, I hope you’re right.”

I didn’t think she was.