Life Through a Lense

Chapter Eight

In typical Mitchell fashion, he didn't stick around to deal with the aftermath, leaving me and Paul to deal with it. Are we going to keep our jobs? Who was the new owner? Was the restaurant going to change? Heaven forbid our beloved restaurant turn into a hipster coffee shop.

"Did you know about this?" Michelle asked me.

I shook my head vehemently. "I didn't even know he was coming home, how was I supposed to know he was fucking selling the restaurant?"

"Sorry, I was just asking," she defended.

"No, I'm sorry, this is just catching me off guard."

I had so many more questions. Who was he selling it to? Was I still going to have a job? What made Mitchell decide to sell so suddenly? If I was out of a job after it sold, where was I going to get a job that paid a twenty-two-year-old an actual salary with benefits? My stomach dropped with the uncertainty.

I felt more uncertain about my future than I had since my mom died.

***

Mitchell had given us the night off with pay, figuring that morale was going to be low after the announcement. Too dazed to go to drinks with Michelle and some other coworkers, I headed home so I could brainstorm and try to figure some stuff out about the future. When I got home, though, I heard voices coming from the living room that definitely wasn't the T.V.

"Ivy?" I called. "Is someone over?"

A figure turned the corner into the kitchen, causing me to lurch backward, almost tripping.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

Tristan smirked, holding up my purse that I had left at the hotel. "Forget something?"

I grabbed my purse from him. "You didn't go through it, did you?"

He put his hand over his heart, feigning hurt. "I'm shocked that you would think I'm capable of snooping. But seriously, no I didn't."

"How'd you get in?"

The guilty part, Ivy, appeared behind him, wiggling her eyebrows up and down in a suggestive gesture. Every day I was getting closer to grounding her. Which, knowing she wouldn't take it seriously, would probably consist of me actually canceling her phone service.

"Thanks," I muttered, remembering that he had actually returned it himself instead of sending his assistant or whatever person to do it like he easily could have done.

"Well...I'm going to go over to Anastasia's house," Ivy announced, grabbing my purse and fishing out the keys of my car.

"Be home by midnight," I told her. "You have a little thing called school, remember?"