Skinny Bitch Gets Hitched by Kim Barnouin Page A

hours about everything—our parents and their rules, school, the opposite sex (Harry always had girls chasing after him), each other, what we wanted to be and do with our lives. I loved that although Harry came froma family of meat eaters, he’d been so horrified by my stories of what happened to chickens and cows and goats at some farms that he’d become a committed vegan at age ten and had never veered—even though I had that one summer when I graduated from high school. When he’d gone to college in New York and then stayed there for graduate school and his first job, I missed him. Just six weeks ago, he’d finally come home to California and settled in Santa Monica. Zach had agreed to look at his résumé, and only if he had the chops would Zach hire him. Harry had the chops.
    While I ate my grilled seitan-and-veggie burrito, Zach and Harry bored me to death talking business. After fifteen minutes, though, Zach crumpled up his wrapper and three-point-shot it into a garbage can.
    â€œI’m sorry to have to cut lunch short, but I have a meeting I couldn’t change at one fifteen. Thanks for lunch, Harry.” Zach kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll call you later, Clem.”
    â€œLet’s see a movie tonight,” I said. “Harry, want to join us?”
    â€œOh, I can’t tonight,” Zach said. “But you two go ahead.” He nodded at Harry, gave me a brief smile, and walked away.
    â€œEverything okay?” Harry asked, looking at me pointedly.
    â€œEverything’s fine. He’s just incredibly busy. I’ve barely seen him the past couple of days.”
    â€œYou still mad at me for having to hire his stepsister?” Harry asked, taking a bite of his burrito. He knew it was a trade of sorts.
    â€œYes. I’ll be mad at you for that forever.”
    In just a few hours, Keira Huffington would start at Clementine’s No Crap Café as a trainee. I had no doubt her first night would be a total disaster.

    According to the big silver clock on the wall, it was 3:59 p.m., which meant I had exactly one minute left before Keira would arrive like a wrecking ball and destroy my kitchen.
    I’d told her to arrive at four, an hour later than normal, and there she was, coming through the swinging door of the kitchen exactly on time, which was a good sign. Her hair was in a low ponytail, she wore the white, skinny jeans and the Clementine’s No Crap Café T-shirt I’d told her to wear, and her usual blingfest was gone, except for a delicate silver chain around her neck with a dangling K . The necklace would have to go. No one wanted to be eating his or her French onion soup and find a silver initial in a spoonful.
    The kitchen staff were eyeballing the newcomer.
    â€œEveryone, this is Keira Huffington, our new trainee. She’s going to spend a few days at different stations, learning the ropes. She’ll start on vegetables tonight.”
    Gunnar perked up. He could use an extra pair of hands. Once he saw how she used a knife, though, he might go from his usual seething calm to screaming in her face. How she handled it would determine if she stayed or went. If she couldhandle Gunnar pissed and didn’t quit in twenty minutes, she might work out.
    â€œHi, everyone!” Keira said. “I’m really, really, really excited to be working with you all!”
    Okay, no one liked eagerness. But ten minutes from now, when she’d be racing around the kitchen, grabbing produce from the refrigerator or taking too long to deliver something one of the cooks wanted, sweat pooling on her forehead, she wouldn’t have the breath to talk so much.
    I went over the specials, detailing the ingredients. Burrito sampler—four-bean, grilled-veggie, and seitan-guacamole with a side of Spanish rice. Harvest pizza. Spicy potato curry. Every Wednesday night was the popular Souptopia, with five soup specials—chipotle split-pea, the