Chapter Two
Elijah Stone
She stormed out, and her scent still hung in the air long after she’d gone. She smelled like a mix of peaches and melted brown sugar with a hint of lavender. As good as she smelled and as beautiful and professional as she was, she was still just another reporter in my eyes. They were all the same. People like her loved to put others’ demons on display. It was all about clickbait and what soundbite would make their platform go viral. I didn’t trust any of them. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood to spill my heart out to someone who would ultimately print what she wanted anyway. She knew the basics of my backstory just like everyone else, but I had no intentions of giving her the chance to peel my layers back and get to know the real me.
“Yeah?” I answered for my publicist, Stacey.
“I have good news.”
“What is it?”
“The bank has agreed to push your purchase closing to tomorrow morning. That way, after the grand opening of Seven Stone this weekend, you don’t have to try to fly back out here to get it done.”
I expelled a sigh of relief. “That’s great news. What time in the morning?”
“Earliest they can do is ten o’clock.”
“That should work.”
I was only in Seven Pines for a week, and my schedule had already been compressed to fit a million things into seven days. I was stressed and tired and hadn’t been in a good headspace since I touched down.
“Good. Now, onto the not-so-good news. Before I got off the phone with the bank, I had a phone call with the editor of The Muse Monthly. What happened with your interview, Eli?”
I groaned before running my hand over my head. “Yeah, I know. I fucked that up.”
“The name of the game right now is GOOD PRESS. Say it with me, Eli–GOOD PRESS!”
“I know, I know. Today’s just been a shitty day.”
“I can’t stress this enough; we need this feature article to go over well. It may not be Food & Wine or Southern Living, but the people living in your hometown read this magazine. These are the people who are going to make or break your restaurant. Yeah, the people who remember you will come, but we need new, fresh faces if we want this to be as successful as we know it can be.”
“Damn, you’re right.Maybe reach out and see if we can reschedule for another day this week? I’m willing to push some things around on my schedule.”
“It was told to me that you were extremely rude.”
I bobbed my head. “I was. I’ll admit that. I told you, shitty day. Fuck it; I’m man enough to apologize. What’s her number? I’ll reach out directly.”
“I don’t think that’s the wisest idea.”
“Do you have her number or not?”
“Yeah, I do. I’ll text it to you.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“And remember, play nice with this journalist. Good press, good press, good, press,” she chanted.
“I got you. Bye.”
I ended the call and waited for Stacey to text me Isa’s number. The moment I got it, I called.
“Hello?” she answered with hesitation in her voice on the third ring.
“Isa?”
“Who is this?”
“Chef Elijah Stone, y’know, from earlier.”