“No. I mean, yes. I actually heard the news that you lost your job.”

My mouth fell open as I winced. “Oh. Yeah.”

“I can’t stop thinking that it’s because of me. So . . .” He scratched at his neck and cleared his throat before raising an eyebrow. “I want to hire you?”

He said it like a question, as if he wasn’t completely sure of his statement.

I laughed because clearly, Oliver had lost his mind. The more I laughed, the more bewildered he appeared. “I’m sorry,” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Why are you really here?”

“I mean it, Emery. I want to hire you.”

“Hire me for what?”

His brows lowered and he pushed his thumb against his nose. “Well, what do you do?”

“What do I do?”

“Yes. Other than bartend.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“You were fired because of me.”

“Not directly because of you—”

“I made a scene. You were let go because of me.”

“It’s okay,” I lied.

“It’s not.” His guilt didn’t fade away as he looked up toward me and locked his eyes with mine. “I want to fix this mistake. Therefore, I want to hire you for . . . whatever it is you do. Or like to do. Or want to do.”

I laughed. “Oliver, that really isn’t necessary. You don’t have to—”

“Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Let me help.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

His eyes flashed back to mine, and every ounce of hurting that lived within that man was staring back my way. I didn’t know why it was so important for him to hire me, but I could tell it was deeper than anything he was going to tell me.

He stood as if he was trying to get his thoughts out. As if his mind was running faster than he could handle. His hands were stuffed into his jeans pockets, making his toned arms flex slightly. His eyes blinked a few times as he took in a deep breath, yet still, no words.

I nuzzled my bottom lip. “I’m a chef. Well, kind of. I went to culinary school for a few years but had to stop when Reese was born.”

A flash of hope hit his stare. “You’re a chef.”

“Using the word loosely, yes.”

“That’s perfect. I need a chef.”

I doubted he needed a chef. “You honestly want me to work for you?”

“Yes.”

“To . . . cook for you?”

“Yes.”

“Again, I didn’t finish my culinary degree.”

His brows knitted as he fell into deep thought. I wondered if he knew how cute he was when he seemed so far away from reality.

“Does every chef need an education in order to make great meals?” he asked.

“Well, no, but . . . how do you know if you’d even like what I make?”

“I’m not picky. I’ll eat anything.”

“Should I submit a résumé?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to do a test run? To make sure that I’m good enough.”

“Emery.”

“Yes?”

“You’re good enough.”

“Oh.” I bit my bottom lip. “I just think there might be someone more qualified.”

“I don’t want someone more qualified. I want you.”

When he said that, butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

Oliver didn’t realize how hard it was for me to simply exist within his space. He was painfully handsome, to the point that whenever he was in close proximity to me, my cheeks felt a flash of heat. He looked so much like his brother, but also different in many ways. Alex was always smiling, from the interviews I’d seen between the two of them. Oliver was always the quiet one, with a somber stare. He didn’t look rude or cold to me, as so many people had stated about him—he simply looked to be in thought. As if his mind was always wandering deeper than the surface level.

I liked that about him—how he seemed to take everything in before adding his own thoughts.

Oliver rolled his shoulders back and stood tall. He had to be well over six two, because when I stood beside him, I felt extremely small in my five-six frame.

He flicked his finger against his neck a few times. “It’s a five-day-a-week position. You can have weekends off, of course, unless there’s some kind of event. I know you’re a mother, and those responsibilities always come first. Therefore, if there is any kind of conflict, we’ll shift. The position pays a hundred and fifty thousand a year, and—”

“What?” I gasped.

Surely he couldn’t have been serious. Was he drunk again?

He repeated the number, and I was certain I’d become Alice and I’d fallen deep down the rabbit’s hole.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“What would make you think I was joking?”

“Uh, the one hundred and fifty thousand a year.”

“Is that not enough? Because we can work to find the right amount.”

I laughed. “Are you kidding? That’s more than enough. And I just have to prepare some meals for you and stuff?”

“That’s it.”

There was no way I could turn down an opportunity like that. That kind of money could change Reese’s and my life forever. I’d be able to provide for my daughter more than I’d ever been able to before. I could get her into a better school next year. We could move to a nicer apartment. I could start saving for her future and putting money toward mine.