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The kind of place I hate.
Course access is limited to having a very expensive membership, according to their website. The restaurant and bar, however, are luckily more open to the public.
That’s all I need.
Inside, it’s just as old-fashioned. The restaurant offers expansive views across the whole golf course, including the lake sparkling in the light. The scenery can make even the least golf-friendly person relax.
I have to admit, it’s effective.
But that’s not why I’m here, so I switch my focus from the surroundings and ambience—good ambience, damn him—to the menu. I want to see exactly what they’re doing with Junie’s pastries and if they’re luring more guests in like Haute promised.
I peruse today’s menu several times and stop.
What the fuck?
The pastries aren’t there. None of her desserts are, save for the muffins on the breakfast menu.
I know half her offerings by heart. They’re all missing.
The deliveries have been going for a solid week. More than enough time to change the menu over. I can’t believe they’re piling everything up in kitchen storage, especially when the place advertises a commitment to freshness.
Changing over the menu should’ve been the kitchen’s first order of business.
Haute knows what he’s doing when he’s been so personally invested in this, and what he’s doing now isnotshowcasing the pastries and confections he never shuts up about.
Which means he’s doing something else with them.
A cold sweat pricks my neck.
I beckon over the waitress, a pretty girl with a high ponytail and flawless skin. Something else I’m certain Haute insists on with his hiring managers—everything he owns must be visually appealing. His properties, his businesses, his waitstaff, even his fucking wife, who’s so pumped full of Botox she can hardly smile.
I smile up at the girl. “I’m curious, do you have another dessert menu? I’m looking for a smaller bite today.”
Confusion crosses her face.Weird.
“Oh, you mean different from the back page?”
“That’s right.”
She twists her lips. “I think there’s some summer gelato and sorbets we haven’t put on there yet. They’re normally weekend specials, but I can ask if you’d like…”
I wait for more. Anything.
But she just looks at me like she’s mentally counting down the seconds until I throw my hands up in surrender or just ask for a drink.
Shit, do the staff know about the deliveries? They happen midday, so someone must.
Or what if they’ve been told to keep their mouths shut? And if so,why?
The van only stopped unloading twenty minutes ago.
If I’m quick, I might be able to sneak through the back and see what’s going on for myself.
“No problem,” I say, handing her the menu. “On second thought, I’ll just have a coffee, then. Cold brew, black.”
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. Thanks.”
