“The team’ll be here in five,” Magner tells me.
I nod, then remember something. “Hey, where can I find some ice in his crazy estate?” I ask him.
He chuckles. “The kitchen. It’s on the other side of the hall. There’s an entire staff of chefs that’ll help you with anything you need. But…” He gestures at my soiled right hand. “You might wanna wash up before you go in there. For the sake of hygiene, of course.”
“Of course,” I quip, then point a thumb towards the corpse. “And, sorry about that. I know it’s extra work, but it needed to be done.”
Magner shakes his head. “No problem at all. I’m sure he deserved it.”
I glance at Haroon for a brief moment, just to enjoy the aftermath of the art I just created, then look at Magner. “Oh, I assure you, hedid.”
13.
“Excuse me, sir. You are not allowed in here! Hello?Excuse me!”
Dorran breezes into the massive kitchen – my hand in his – with me mouthing “I’m sorry” to every confused chef who looks at me with a dumbfounded expression on their face.
We barely spent five minutes in the bathroom after leaving Haroon’s body with Magner. Dorran was more concerned about getting ice than ridding his hands and blade of Haroon’s blood. Sometimes it’s tough trying to figure out his priorities. It’s a chore, honestly – one I find myself incompetent of handling sometimes.
As I’m being tugged further into the room, I can’t help but admire its pristine, stainless-steel interior. It definitely feels more commercial than personal, with soft hints of wood and marble adding a unique touch to it.
The kitchen is divided into four sections: the storage space, the dishwashing area, the prepping tables, and then, of course, the main cooking station. Bright, CFL lights cover the ceiling, filling the room with crystal-clear brightness. The smell of rosemary and garlic wafts through the air, and the sound of spoons clattering, along with the muted chatter of the chefs in the back really make this kitchen feel welcoming. Well, except for a few glares that are currently following me around as Dorran continues to invade an obviously busy workspace.
“Can somebody give me some ice?” he asks out loud.
“GoodGod, Dorran,” I mumble. “Lower yourvoice.”
He ignores me, then repeats his question, making me flinch.
A chef walks over to us with a pack of ice cubes in hand. “Sir, entering this area is strictly prohibited. If you need something from the kitchen, all you have to do is ask the wait staff to get it for you.” He hands the pack of cubes to Dorran. “But now that you’re here, you can take these.” He gives off Jeff Bridges vibes, given the fact that he looks like him. Sorta. Also, the way he narrows his eyes at us makes things more uncanny.
“I’m a guest here. Am I not allowed to explore the estate?” Dorran says.
The chef – Samson, according to the name embroidered on his uniform – clicks his tongue as he gives Dorran a once over. “Unless you’re planning on helping us with the dishes after the gala, then I’d say no; no, you’re not allowed to explore the kitchen.”
Dorran grins. “I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”
Samson smirks. “Of course not,Mr. Ledger,” he muses. “You are our employer’s esteemed guest tonight. Notours, justhis.”
I hear a couple of chuckles behind me, and when Dorran sneers their way, they quickly quiet down and go back to their tasks.
“I could really use some time away from the crowd,” I tell Samson, then flash a smile at him. “Being around the upper-class folks for long periods of time can be too stuffy, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”
He studies me for a moment, then laughs around a shake of his head. “You’re smooth, kid, I’ll give ya that.” Pointing a finger at me, he returns my smile with one of his own. “But you also make a valid point, and so, I’ll let you stay, if only for a while.”
“Thank you.”
“And remember: don’t get in the way while my staff’s working, or else I’ll have to throw you out of here.”
I chuckle, then place a hand over Dorran’s mouth when he opens it to most likely narrate one of his lengthy threats to Samson.
“Noted,” I tell the chef. “Scout’s honor.”
Dorran mutters something under his breath, while Samson shakes his head at us yet again, before giving us a nod and heading back to the prep area that’s behind a swing door on the other side of the kitchen.
Once he’s out of sight, I sigh and pull my hand away from Dorran’s mouth.
“You have some seriousballs, don’t y–”
