Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 150

Abby

My body feels as though it doesn’t belong to me as I stalk to the breakroom. I feel like a puppet on strings that have been cut, like my limbs are made of lead and my body might give out from beneath me at any moment.

When I’m alone in the breakroom once again, though, I can’t contain my fury any longer.

“Dammit!” The word explodes out of my mouth, and without thinking, I whirl around and let my shoe connect with the wall. There’s a faint but satisfying crack, and when I pull away, there’s a slight dent where I unleashed my rage.

It’s almost laughable, seeing how small the dent is. It’s like my own body won’t even do what I want, let alone the ingredients on that stage out there.

My mind is whirling with so many thoughts that I barely even register the door creaking open. But then that venomous voice, that voice that I’ll hear in my nightmares for years to come, slices through the air like an arrow whizzing past my ear.

“Oh, Abby,” Daniel says, the sneer audible in his voice without me even having to look at him. I can picture him without even turning around, that horrendous smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Having a little tantrum, are we?”

“Don’t even start, Daniel,” I hiss, leaning on the counter, still not turning to face him.

But he just chuckles. “What?” he says, coming closer now. “I’m allowed to be concerned, aren’t I?”

I decide not to respond, but it seems as though that doesn’t satisfy Daniel. He tuts, and I can feel my resolve beginning to crumble. “Boy, that sure was a mess out there. You know, maybe it really should’ve been you dropping out, not Bryan. It would have saved you the embarrassment.”

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms despite the sting of where they dug in earlier. The pain anchors me, if only a little. I can’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see me crumble.

But he continues, relentless as ever, his words dripping with condescension. “But then again, it’s fitting, isn’t it? You never belonged here. You’re nothing but a—”

I whirl around to face him, my eyes ablaze, my heart pounding in my chest. The word he spits out next is vile, demeaning, and sexist.

“You’re nothing but a stupid little slut who belongs in the bedroom, not the culinary world,” he hisses.

It’s as though something shatters inside of me. My resolve has crumbled; he has won. I close the distance between us, my eyes shooting daggers at him. “You,” I hiss, my voice trembling with the force of my anger, “are a disgusting excuse for a chef. And an even worse excuse for a human being.”

His smile only widens, that infuriating, cocky smirk of a man who believes he has already won. “Struck a nerve, have I?”

The muscles in my arm tense. Before I can stop myself, I’m stepping closer, my arm raised, my hand poised to slap him across the face.

I know he deserves it. He’s a rat, a cockroach, a stain on this entire competition. He not only sabotaged me and Karl, but he laughed while doing it, and now he has the nerve to spit slurs in my face like it’s nothing.

Daniel’s eyes flick down. He quickly glances at my raised hand, and that’s finally when I see it—the flicker of doubt in his gaze, the realization that he may have finally pushed too far.

His smirk falters, if only for a moment, and in that fraction of a second, I can finally see him for what he really is—nothing more than a scared little boy in a man’s body, hiding behind a loud mouth and a grating personality.

But then his calculated veneer reasserts itself, and he steps a little closer to me, tilting his head to expose his cheek to me.

“Go ahead,” he goads, a wry chuckle escaping his lips. “Make my day, Abby. You hit me, and I’ll love pressing charges. It’ll be a fun story to tell, how you and your ‘sous chef’ are just a pair of violent criminals.”

The words are like a slap in the face, because he’s right.

“And then,” he leans in closer, “your precious little restaurant will be nothing but a memory, shut down for good. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

My arm suddenly feels heavier than it should. Slowly, I lower my hand, letting it fall back to my side, the weight of it grounding me just in time before I potentially ruined everything I’ve worked so hard for.

I look away, my eyes stinging with tears that threaten to spill.

Daniel chuckles. “Ah, but she’s all bark and no bite, I see,” he teases, folding his arms across his chest.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I murmur. “To be so cruel to a fellow chef, in a field in which we all struggle to make it work, day in and day out. We should be friends, allies, not… whatever this is.”

Daniel’s smirk doesn’t falter; instead, it’s as if my words only fueled his fire.

“Friends? Allies?” He laughs out loud, throwing his head back. “Do you even hear yourself, Abby? This isn’t Barbie’s Dream House. You can’t ‘save the day’ with friendship and ponies and rainbows. Maybe that’s how it works in your little female brain, but here? The kitchen is a battlefield. And you, Abby, aren’t wearing any armor.”

I shake my head, choosing to take the higher road now, to dismiss his vile words. “Just you wait and see,” I say, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. “Once everyone finds out that you sabotaged me, it’ll be you who loses your restaurant. And what will they call you then, hm?”

For a fleeting moment, there’s a flicker in his eyes, a crack in the facade that he quickly plasters over with more of his cruel humor.

“Sabotage?” He leans back a little, clamping his hand over his chest as though I’ve just shot him, although I know that it’s all an act. “Why, that’s a serious accusation, Abby. You’d better be sure if you’re going to throw around words like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I say. “And I’m not throwing around anything. I’m going to find the proof. And when I do, it’ll be more than words that come down on you.”

Daniel crosses his arms, the perfect picture of arrogance. “Find proof, then. I’d like to see you try. But let me remind you,” he says, his voice dropping to almost a growl, “that in this game, everyone’s trying to get ahead. Sometimes, they even cross lines they shouldn’t. You, of all people, should know.”

“What are you implying?”

Daniel just smiles, but it’s cold, not reaching his eyes. “Oh, you mean you don’t know? How interesting…”

I frown. “Spit it out, Daniel,” I hiss, taking another step forward, my hand curling into a fist again. For a split second, I see his eyes flicker to my hand, and I think I might even see him flinch just the tiniest bit. He takes a step back, opening the distance between us once more.

“Fine,” he says, inspecting his nails, the smirk returning to his lips a moment later. “You see, your sous chef… I saw him trying to bribe the judges earlier.”