These ridiculous menus were going to be the death of me. But I would be damned if I was going to fail. Or worse, go crawling to Eloise or Ari for help.
I licked my lips, forcing myself to focus on Rachel’s words. I’d cornered her in the kitchen when she brought my bedding down. “He said he was going to look out some of Grayson’s old cookbooks... something about them being put into storage last year.”
Grayson? Must be the chef or something.
“Thanks,” I said, the image of Eloise gloating over my failure still floating in my mind “Where did you say they were storage.”
She hefted the blankets in her arms, her look for me withering. Busted. She knew that I’d been barely paying attention. But she was good enough not to call me out on it. “It’s up in the attic space. Just keep going by yo
