“This steak’s so rare, it tried to moo at me.”
Don’t chuckle. Don’t giggle. Don’t even breathe. Don’t.A tickle niggles the back of my throat.
Don’t you dare!I try hard to swallow down the giggle bubbling up. I end up choking and wheezing, then turn it into a snort.
"Is that funny, Ms. Richie?" My boss glowers at me. His gray eyes, which resemble the icy expanse of the tundra, grow so stony, it feels like the temperature drops by a few degrees. I shiver.
His jaw hardens. His thick eyebrows knit.
That thin upper lip of his firms. His pouty lower lip, so plush it should look out of place on his austere face, juts out in a way that sends a weird tremor up my spine. It’s hate. That’s what it is. I have never hated anyone in my life as much as I hate this man. So what, if he’s my best friend’s brother? He never gives me any concessions because of this. He has never once acknowledged that we know someone in common. InThe Edge,he’s the owner and the chef. I’m his slave. Sorry, sous chef.
"No, sir." I resist the urge to snap to attention and toss off a mock salute.
His eyes gleam. Apparently, he likes it when I call him sir. What a surprise!Not.
When I got the chance to work here, I was over the moon. Years of hard work and climbing my way up through the ranks was finally paying off. Not only did I get to work with the Michelin-starred, world-renowned Chef James Hamilton, but I was alsogetting a substantial raise in my earnings. Enough to help my sister take care of her daughter. Jenny means the world to me.
My ten-year-old niece is the love of my life, and I’ll do anything to ensure her future is assured. Including putting up with the whims, notorious mood swings, and mercurial temper of my brilliant but volatile boss. Thoughts of my niece sober me, and I wipe the mirth from my features. But I know he caught it.
Nothing slips past James Hamilton. He didn’t get to be at the pinnacle of the culinary world by allowing people around him to get away with anything that he doesn’t deem as fitting his standard. Which, sadly, includes my finding his comment funny. Which it was, to be fair. Also, I have a sense of humor, which flares up at the most inappropriate moments.
"Your demeanor indicates otherwise." He stares down his hooked nose from his superior six-foot, three-inch height of brooding surliness.
"Five times."
"What?"
"You will cook this steak at least five more times before you leave today."
"We’re in the middle of service." As if to punctuate my point, there’s a crash from somewhere behind me. I recognize the swearing as coming from our line cook, Leo.
My boss’s gaze doesn’t flicker. It’s too much to hope he’ll let this pass. His next words confirm, he noticed the transgression.
"If you can’t keep the team under control then, perhaps, you shouldn’t be sous chef."
The blood drains from my face. What an absolute knobhead. How dare he hold my job over me like this? How dare he threaten to fire me? How dare he use every little mistake I, and the rest of the staff, make against us? Grr!
I hate that I’m at this twat’s mercy. That I have to depend on him for my job. And since the day I joined, he’s been relentless.
He’s found fault with me, put me down, and made sure to rub in the fact that my fate depends on satisfying his demands—his very unreasonable, outrageous, unrealistic, over-the-top demands, I mightadd. This man has pushed me, and prodded at me, and tried to diminish me and belittle me, and make me feel like I’m the most stupid person in the world and… No more. Perhaps, it’s the fact that I’m sick with apprehension about paying my debts.
About how I’m going to find the money for my niece’s ballet classes—something she’s amazing at. About how I’m going to pay the rent on my place.
Or it might be the late nights I’ve had this entire week which have left me feeling lightheaded for lack of sleep. Or maybe, I’m sick of this man’s superior attitude and the fact that he wears his condescension like it’s his birthright. Or that I’m tired of being so aware of him, I can pick out the spicy notes of his burnt sugar and sea salt scent. It’s raw and masculine. Unadulterated. It’s not from a bottle.
Like most chefs, he doesn’t wear a cologne, to protect his sense of smell. Yet, I have learned to recognize the unique scent of his body from the plethora of food smells in the kitchen. Must be survival instinct. The way an animal in the forest knows when a predator is nearby so it can protect itself.
And I’m exhausted from the effort of putting up a front. Keeping my emotions in check. And being civil. Because he’s my boss. And I need this job. But there’s a limit to how much I can be pushed.
I might be only five feet, four inches, and he might think, because I don’t answer back, I’m some kind of docile person, but he doesn’t realize I have a mind of my own. That he’s pushed me too far. And that my patience has run out.
I square my shoulders and thrust my forefinger into that massive chest of his which—gulp—doesn’t give. Is he made of steel? Or granite? Or some material that crashed to Earth on a comet. That’s how unforgiving he feels. Almost as forbidding as the expression on his face.Mistake. Mistake.My senses blare. I ignore them.
"Don’t you dare hold the threat of my job over me. I’ve earned my title here, and you know it. I’ve worked eighteen-hour days since I joined this restaurant. I’ve barely slept four hours each night. I’m the first in here and the last out. I’ve given my life to this job."
Around me, I’m aware people have stopped what they’re doing and are watching. In fact, I see the junior chef pull out a phone andaim it at us. It’s against the rules to have a phone in the kitchen. But it’s not like I can talk about rules, considering I’ve broken the most cardinal of them all: don’t talk back the boss. I’ve started now. Best to keep going.
"I forfeited holidays." I stick out my chin. "Missed seeing my family. I’ve dedicated myself to perfecting the dishes. I’ve accommodated all your"—I wave my hand in the air—"ridiculously over-the-top changes to the menu. And listened as you've constantly berated me and never provided a single word of praise."
