Chapter 7: The Ex Factor

The high-end restaurant supply showroom felt like a temple to culinary perfection—all gleaming steel surfaces, spotless glass displays, and equipment that cost more than most people's cars. Julian stood beside a commercial ice machine that could produce twelve different types of ice, explaining its capabilities to Chloe with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store.

"The spherical ice melts 40% slower than standard cubes," he was saying, "which means less dilution in spirit-forward cocktails. And the clarity—"

"Is achieved through directional freezing that eliminates impurities," finished a crisp British accent from behind them.

Julian's entire body went rigid. Chloe watched his face transform from animated to carefully blank in the space of a heartbeat, professional mask sliding into place with practiced efficiency.

"Cassandra." His voice was perfectly neutral. "I wasn't expecting you."

The woman approaching them looked like she'd stepped out of a high-end lifestyle magazine. Tall, elegant, with platinum blonde hair pulled into a flawless chignon and wearing a white blazer that probably cost more than Chloe's monthly rent. Her smile was polished perfection, but her blue eyes were calculating as they swept over the scene.

"Julian, darling. When Victoria mentioned she'd hired consultants for the Metropolitan project, I knew I had to meet your... partner." Cassandra's gaze landed on Chloe with the kind of assessment usually reserved for livestock auctions. "You must be the infamous Anarchist."

Chloe bristled at both the tone and the nickname. "Chloe Martinez. And you are?"

"Cassandra Whitmore. I've been brought in to consult on your cocktail program." She extended a manicured hand that felt like ice when Chloe shook it. "I specialize in concept development for high-end hospitality ventures. My work has been featured in Food & Wine, Bon Appétit, and the Times."

The credentials were delivered with casual precision, designed to establish dominance in the conversation. Chloe caught the slight emphasis on "high-end" and felt her jaw clench.

"Cassandra is one of the most respected mixologists in the industry," Julian said, his tone carefully professional. "Her bar in London has been nominated for World's Best three years running."

"How wonderful," Chloe replied flatly. "Always nice to meet another... mixologist."

The pause before the word was slight but pointed. Cassandra's smile sharpened.

"Yes, I understand you prefer the more traditional approach. Very... authentic." The word dripped with barely concealed condescension. "I'm sure Julian has told you about the importance of evolving beyond basic service industry standards."

Heat flashed through Chloe's chest, but before she could respond, Julian stepped in. "Cassandra, what exactly does your consultation entail?"

"Oh, the usual. Menu development, staff training protocols, quality control standards. Victoria wants to ensure the cocktail program meets metropolitan-level expectations." She moved closer to Julian, her hand brushing his arm in a gesture that looked casual but felt territorial. "Remember that molecular gastronomy conference in Copenhagen? The techniques we developed there would be perfect for this concept."

We. The word hung in the air like a challenge. Chloe watched Julian's face carefully, noting the slight tightening around his eyes, the way his posture shifted almost imperceptibly away from Cassandra's touch.

"That was three years ago," Julian said neutrally.

"Time flies when you're building something meaningful." Cassandra's laugh was like crystal breaking. "Speaking of which, I've taken the liberty of drafting some preliminary menu concepts. Elevated classics with modern techniques—exactly the kind of sophistication this project needs."

She produced a tablet from her designer handbag, swiping to reveal beautifully photographed cocktails that looked more like art installations than drinks. Everything was garnished with elements that required tweezers to place, served in glassware that probably came with handling instructions.

"This is the 'Deconstructed Manhattan,'" Cassandra explained, her voice taking on the reverent tone Julian usually reserved for discussing rare spirits. "The vermouth is transformed into caviar spheres using sodium alginate, the cherry becomes a concentrated gel cube, and the whiskey is infused with smoke tableside using applewood chips."

Chloe stared at the photo. It was undeniably beautiful, but it looked like something that would take fifteen minutes to prepare and cost forty dollars to consume. "How long does it take to make?"

"Quality takes time, darling. This isn't a sports bar."

The dismissive tone was the last straw. "Right, because god forbid we make drinks that people actually want to drink instead of photograph for their Instagram."

Cassandra's perfect composure cracked slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. This—" Chloe gestured at the tablet "—is restaurant theater, not bartending. How many of these complicated productions can you make when you've got thirty people deep at the bar on a Friday night?"

"Our clientele doesn't typically involve... crowds." Cassandra's smile was arctic. "We cater to discerning customers who appreciate craftsmanship over volume."

"Discerning customers," Chloe repeated. "Is that what we're calling people who can afford fifty-dollar cocktails now?"

"Ladies." Julian's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Perhaps we should focus on finding a middle ground that incorporates both approaches."

Cassandra turned to him with an expression of wounded surprise. "Julian, surely you can see the importance of maintaining standards. We can't compromise the integrity of the program just to accommodate... populist preferences."

The careful way she said "populist" made it clear she meant something much less flattering. Chloe felt her temper spike, but Julian spoke before she could.

"The program needs to serve multiple customer segments," he said carefully. "That means offering options for different price points and complexity levels."

"Of course," Cassandra agreed smoothly. "We can certainly include some simpler offerings for the... less adventurous palate. Though I do think the core menu should reflect serious cocktail culture."

She moved closer to Julian again, her body language shifting to something more intimate. "Remember that bar in Barcelona? The one where we spent the entire night talking about the future of craft cocktails? You had such brilliant insights about molecular mixology."

Chloe watched this display of shared history with growing irritation. The way Cassandra touched Julian's arm, the inside jokes, the casual references to exotic locations—it was all designed to establish their connection and exclude Chloe from the conversation.

"That was a long time ago," Julian repeated, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Not so long that I've forgotten how perfectly we work together," Cassandra purred. "Our aesthetic sensibilities are so aligned. Unlike some... partnerships that force incompatible elements together."

The barb was aimed directly at Chloe, who had finally reached her breaking point.

"You know what?" Chloe stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the showroom floor. "I think I've heard enough about elevated this and sophisticated that for one day. Julian, when you're done reminiscing about Barcelona, we still have actual work to do on the floor plans."

She stalked toward the exit, but Cassandra's voice stopped her.

"How refreshingly direct. I can see why Julian finds you... amusing."

Chloe turned back slowly, her expression dangerous. "Amusing?"

"Well, yes. The contrast must be quite refreshing for someone with Julian's refined sensibilities. Like slumming it, I imagine—temporarily entertaining but ultimately limiting."

The silence that followed was deafening. Julian's face had gone completely white, and even the sales representative who'd been hovering nearby had found urgent business elsewhere in the showroom.

"Is that what you think?" Chloe asked Julian quietly. "That you're slumming it with me?"

"Chloe, that's not—"

"Because if that's the case, this whole partnership makes a lot more sense. The rich boy getting his hands dirty with the blue-collar bartender. How very daring of you."

"That's not what I think and you know it."

"Do I? Because your ex-girlfriend seems pretty confident about your true feelings."

Cassandra's smile was triumphant. "I simply know Julian well enough to recognize when he's... experimenting. It's admirable, really. Very democratic of him to explore different social strata."

The condescension in her voice was so thick it was practically visible. Chloe looked between them—Cassandra smug and possessive, Julian trapped between loyalty and honesty—and felt something crack inside her chest.

"Right. Well, thanks for the anthropology lesson." Chloe's voice was deadly calm. "Julian, when you decide whether you want to build something real or just play dress-up with the working class, you know where to find me."

She walked out of the showroom with her head high, leaving Julian standing between his past and his future, forced to choose which one meant more to him.

Behind her, she heard Cassandra's voice, sweet as poison: "Really, darling, I don't know what you see in her. She's so... common."

Chloe kept walking, but the word followed her out into the parking lot, settling into her chest like a splinter she couldn't extract. Common. As if everything she'd built, everything she was, could be dismissed with a single word.

As if she wasn't worth fighting for.