Lackluster lackluster du.., p.1
Lackluster (Lackluster Duet Book 1), page 1
Lackluster
LACKLUSTER DUET
PAMELA BELLISTON
Copyright © 2022 by Pamela Belliston
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by: LM Designs
Edits by: Stormy Edits
Contents
Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Warning
This book is an adult romance and is intended for those over the legal age of adulthood. Although this book is more on the lighthearted side, there is content that some may find triggering.
The content includes:
Uninformed Consent
Dubious Consent
Loss of a family member
Secrets and lies
Manipulation
Fake identity
Explicit sexual scenes
Vulgar language
Profanity
Alcohol use
Anxiety
Cancer
Terminal Illness
This is a work of fiction, but please take this warning seriously and be sure to always take care of yourself first. If you have any questions about the details of any of these warnings, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I’d be happy to elaborate for you.
To the younger version of myself that spent her days playing alone dreaming of other worlds than this one. I hope this story is one you’d be proud of. (Even though you wouldn’t be allowed to read it.)
To all the people who have a story they’re too shy to tell. Do it. Write the words, get it out there. You don’t need a fancy education to write the book you always wanted. I believe in you, now just believe in yourself.
Lackluster
People take food very seriously. That may seem obvious because we have to eat to live, but for some it’s even more than that. As a food blogger and critic, it’s literally my job to tell people if a cook’s food is good or bad. Well, news flash: They never take it well when I say it’s less than spectacular.
I had to grow a tough skin in this industry. You expect to receive backlash no matter what you do; the power of a person’s words is enormous.
I reminisce about the first time I posted a bad review, as I put the final touches on my hair before my little sister Eden shows up. It was for a local Greek restaurant.
I’d only ever heard good things about The Greek Grill of downtown Dallas. I don’t know what happened the night I arrived, because it was anything but. The service was slow, it needed a good deep cleaning, and the food was cold by the time it arrived to our table. When I complained to the manager, I was met with attitude and ended up leaving without getting a fair taste of what they had to offer.
When I got home that night, I wrote about my honest experience. There was no point in sugar coating it. If I have a follower going in expecting a wonderful experience, only to find it lacking, I‘d lose my credibility.
I stand by that review. I do. But damn it was rough. I woke the next morning to a hate post bashing everything about me. The manager who had come to talk to me lied to the owner, making me look like a total Karen.
I shudder as the anxiety from that awful week washes back over me like it just happened yesterday. I step into my closet to grab my black pumps before checking the time on my charging phone, I find a text from my sister waiting for me.
On my way! Boss made me stay late. Fucking ass. Need to borrow shoes.
Of course she does. Eden’s closet is double the size of mine, and triple packed but for some reason she always likes my stuff better.
I pull on my black thigh-high tights before stepping into my heels, I then stand in front of the mirror to get a good look at myself. I don’t normally dress this nicely, but The Hudson has a strict dress code; as well as a three-month waiting list for reservations, if you know someone. Thankfully, Eden works with some very rich and powerful men who were able to get us on the books.
My floor-length mirror is intimidating most days, showing too much of my thick frame, but today… Today I can’t take my eyes off the deep blue of the fabric hugging my every curve. A slit stops mid-thigh giving a sexy peek of the tights.
Back in the bathroom, I dust highlighter on my shoulders and collarbones. Go big or go home, right? My light-blue eyes meet my reflection in the mirror. Something is missing, but I can’t put my finger on it. Five musical knocks sound from my door, and before I can even leave the bathroom, Eden has let herself in.
“Hello? Sister dear, I have arrived.” Her bright voice drifts to me from the living room.
“I’m in here.” Looking myself over one last time, I still can’t put my finger on what the outfit is missing.
Screw it.
Moving back into my bedroom, I’m met by my gorgeous little sister in an olive green midi-length bodycon dress. We have the same light-blue eyes but that’s where our similarities stop. Where she has long, white-blonde hair, mine falls in honey-brown curls around me.
“Gwen!” she exclaims. “You look amazing. You’re just missing one little thing.”
I watch as she heads toward the bathroom. I’m glad she seems to have figured it out. I do a final walk through my apartment, making sure everything is good to go, while Eden tries on every pair of heels in my closet.
After what feels like half an hour, she finally emerges, heels on, stepping straight for me with something in her hands.
“Here.” She holds out two dainty gold chains. “You’re missing jewelry.”
I try to take them from her, but she moves her hands away.
“Turn around. I’ll do it.”
I do as she says and lift my hair out of the way. She makes quick work of latching them both into place, and when I turn around, she has a beaming smile plastered on her face, and that’s when I notice something else.
“Are you wearing my lipstick? You bitch!” I frown at her playfully. “I said you could wear my shoes, not make yourself at home in my bathroom.” It takes every fiber of my being not to wipe it off her face. Sisters are the worst.
“Oh come on, Gwenny. It looks so good on me!” She gives me the same smile she’s used since we were kids to get out of the rant that’s resting on the tip of my tongue.
Pursing my lips, I huff out an annoyed, “Fine,” and roll my eyes as I go find us both a clutch for dinner. Checking the time, I see we are cutting it close.
I shout out to her, “Hey! Call us a car. We gotta get going ASAP.”
“I’m on it!”
I can hear the tapping of her acrylics from here. I’ll give her one thing… the girl is efficient.
We pull up to the restaurant with three minutes to spare. There is a thin layer of sweat coating different parts of my body. If we miss this reservation, I’m fucked. The Hudson has been open for a few months already.
I never go to a place when it first debuts. That’s when they’re at their best. It’s not a fair test.
Our heels make soft clacks on the stone sidewalk as we move to the double glass door entrance. A man dressed in all black opens one, but no words are spoken. We both say a soft thank-you as we continue to the elevator. We glide up to the seventh floor, stepping out right into the restaurant.
Soft, melodious music fills the air, and I can truly imagine myself walking through the French square.
Standing behind the podium is a petite blonde woman also dressed in all black. She confirms our reservation and leads us to our table.
The overall ambiance is pleasant. The decor isn’t over-the-top or gaudy. The music is beautiful and just loud enough to cover others' conversation but not so loud it drowns out your own.
It’s not overcrowded to where you’re uncomfortable, and the staff dress code is kept up from the doorman to the busboy.
So far, I’m thoroughly impressed. I hope the food is just as good.
Our table is set off toward the windows, where we have a view of downtown. The city lights are quite nice from here. The hostess hands over the night’s menu, telling us our server will be with us shortly, before she returns to her station.
The menu is simple with just one choice in each category but the main course, which is great news for me. I’ll get to taste everything they offer without drawing too much attention to myself.
“So I’ll get one, and you get the other. We can get a good taste of both,” I explain to Eden.
She gives me a nod, and I look over the wine menu as we wait for our server.
As if he can read my mind, our waiter steps up and introduces himself as Steven. He goes over the options, and we make our selections along with the wine he suggests. After complimenting our choices, he takes our menus and steps away.
The appetizer is escargot, a French classic and one of our favorites. Although I’m working, this is still a sister date, so we have normal conversation.
“So are you still seeing uh…what’s his face?” I ask Eden, smirking from behind my wine glass.
“Oh, Jeremey? Lord no. Guy was a loser.” She scrunches her face like she smells something bad.
I can’t stop myself from laughing. “So do you have any new dates lined up this weekend?”
She lifts one eyebrow, giving me a mischievous expression. “I might, but we’ll see how it goes for a little while longer. You know I like the chase,” she says with a wink.
We’re both laughing when Steven returns to take away our dishes, checking if we’d like more wine. I politely decline, but of course, Eden says yes.
I like to loosen up during these meals, but I don’t indulge so much that I can no longer keep my wits about me.
Steven returns and places our entrees in front of us along with Eden’s wine. He tells us bon appétit before checking other tables.
Eden’s salmon meunière looks delicious, but the plate is very messy. The capers are all over, mixing with the blanched green beans. She picks them out, moving them back to the top of the fish.
My lobster thermidor looks beautiful, and it tastes great. My only note is that the sauce should have been cooked a little longer. The wine is still quite potent.
Steven returns to clear the dishes before bringing fresh waters and our individual crèmes brûlée. We both do a little happy dance. Crème brûlèe is our absolute weakness.
My favorite part is that first scoop, hearing the satisfying crack as you break through the layer of crystalized sugar. These pass the sound test, and as I bring the bite into my mouth, I practically melt. This is the best part of the meal without a doubt.
Once the car pulls up to my apartment, I step out, giving Eden a quick wave before walking up the steps and pushing through the urge to walk barefoot. Two more flights of stairs, and I’m regretting my choice of footwear ten-fold.
I let myself in and immediately kick the shoes off, making a beeline for my bathroom to fill the tub. Time for my writing routine.
Step one, a hot soak to loosen my muscles and go through the notes and photos on my phone. I take it a step further by lighting a relaxation candle before dipping my aching feet into the hot water.
After my muscles are thoroughly warmed, I move to step two. Get comfy. To me that means soft pajamas, fuzzy socks, and my heated throw.
The last step, and to me the most important. Drinks and snacks. Something with caffeine to keep me awake, iced water to cleanse my palette, and the snack is usually popcorn.
The ambiance is less important since I tend to do the same thing every time. I hit Play on my “Write that Review, Bitch” playlist that Eden made me and settle into my bed, ready to roll.
It takes me a couple hours to finally be happy with it. Even though it’s a blog post, I still treat it with the same writing tips we were taught in school. Outline, rough draft, proofread and suggest edits for myself, before I write my final draft, closing my process with reading the whole thing out loud to make sure it flows well.
Once I’ve done that, it’s ready to upload. I set the schedule to post at eight the following morning. That’s when the fun begins.
I am about to read the last couple lines out loud when my phone beeps. I glance down and see the “It’s bedtime” notification. How is it already after ten thirty?
Taking a deep breath, I finish reading.
“So what are my final thoughts on The Hudson? Overall, I would have to say I found it to be quite lackluster. 3 out of 5 stars. For a restaurant named after its head chef and owner, I can’t believe he would let plates so messy leave his kitchen.”
That last line sums it up nicely. Although the place was beautiful, the overall experience was inconsistent and the problems we had were all technical things that should be ingrained in their heads.
It came down to basic quality checks. Nothing should leave their hands that they’re not proud of. No matter what is going on in your personal life, you have to give each customer a wonderful experience.
Take it from me… Sometimes all it takes is one poor review and you’ll have to pack up your knives.
Heat
I slept surprisingly well for all the anxiety I felt after writing that review. I stretch out my body as I climb out of my warm bed. Saturday mornings for me are for farmers markets. I make quick work of my morning routine. After popping a coffee pod into the machine, I press start before changing into a yellow sundress and flip flops. My bright pink toenails on display.
Grabbing my grocery bags out of the top of my closet before snatching my coffee off the counter, I then make my way down to get started on the mile walk. I’m a creature of habit. Friday I go out to dinner for my review and then spend Saturday morning picking through fruits and vegetables till I find the perfect ones for the week.
I’m just stepping out of the front door of my complex when I hear my phone buzz over and over. Great. I must have forgotten to mute my DM notifications. Checking my watch, I see it's just a few minutes past eight.
Stepping out of the way, I dig for my phone and see the messages pouring in. I go to mute the notifications when a name catches my attention. TheFacelessChef. I click on their profile and find a grid full of nothing but photos and videos of cooking. With no face. The name makes sense.
I click on the most recent and see their technique is impressive. Their arms are covered in tattoos, but I don’t stare long enough to pick up on anything beyond splotches of color while he works.
Returning to my full inbox, I click on his messages.
TheFacelessChef:
Hey there Gwen,
My name is Kai, and I am the owner and head chef of The Hudson. I read the review you posted, and I was shocked to say the least. I am so sorry you had a poor experience and would like to ask for the opportunity to prove to you that we are more than “lackluster”, as you so kindly stated.
I was off my game due to some personal stuff, but that’s no excuse. I know as you have stated before in previous reviews, we should always be on our A game, giving each customer a consistent and delightful experience.
I would like to show you just how amazing we are here at The Hudson, if you would be so kind as to give me and my place a second chance.
I groan audibly. This has to be a joke. Kai Hudson has just slid into my DMs trying to get a second chance? The man has over three hundred thousand followers, and he’s worried about a three out of five star review?
He states that he’s a fan, but if he really was, he’d know I don’t do second chances. I would lose credibility if I gave a second chance to every place I’d given a less-than-stellar review. My whole platform was built on the premise of always doing your very best. Consistency.
Normally I wouldn’t even bother to give this guy a reply, but I’m a bit heated. Personal life has no business going to work with you. You leave that shit at the door.
GwenLuvesFood:
Hello Kai,
I’m not going to beat around the bush here. You say that you are a fan of mine, but I am curious about how much you know of my process. If you’ve been following me for any amount of time, you would know that I don’t do second chances. If I handed out a second chance to every place I gave a poor review, my words would no longer contain weight.
