I made my way into the kitchen, where Koji, the chef in charge of non-sushi dishes, should have been. But he was nowhere in sight. Toward the rear of the kitchen stood Akiko, her back to me, motionless at the sink. Water ran over her hands.
“Akiko?” I asked gently as I approached.
She didn’t answer.
Her fingers were clenched around a paring knife, tight. Too tight.
“Hey,” I said again, slower this time, my voice barely above a whisper. I reached out and carefully pried the knife from her fingers.
Akiko blinked, like waking from a dream. She looked down, confused. “I… I didn’t even realize I was holding that.”
Her hands trembled. Her eyes were vacant.
“Where’s Koji?”
Suddenly her eyes snapped up to me. “I fired him,” she said, almost in a growl.
“Wait, what? Why?”
“He wasn’t working at the level I expect. So I fired him.”
Akiko shoulder-checked me as she passed. She grabbed a few radishes from the produce box, then snatched the paring knife from my hand and started carving roses.
I didn’t bother to stop her. I just left her alone.
Akiko’s moodiness was nothing new. Every night she snapped at staff, her usual smile nowhere to be seen. I tried to keep a happy front for the team and our guests, but her mood drained the life out of the room. Diners left unhappy. Worse, the quality of her omakase was slipping.
Ono Omakase had been on the rise. Critics hailed it as the next big thing, reservations stretched months out, and Akiko had been flooded with media requests and offers from top chefs to collaborate. I couldn’t have been happier, certain nothing could stop her.
Then she came back, the spark that started everything—Reina Sakamoto.
I headed over to the small office where Jiro was holed up. He was sitting at the desk, the ceiling lights off, just the glow of the laptop reflecting off his strained face. His phone was pressed to his ear. I caught the tail end of a voice on the other side—loud and unmistakably pissed.
“I understand, and I promise we’ll have the payment soon,” Jiro said, trying to keep his tone calm. He looked up at me and motioned for me to sit.
I dropped into the chair beside the desk.
Jiro rubbed his temple. “I’m asking for one more week. That’s it. We’ve got a few big reservations coming in?—”
The voice barked something back, louder this time. Jiro winced and pulled the phone slightly away from his ear.
“Yes, I understand,” he said quietly. “Yes. I know what it means if we don’t.”
A few seconds later, the line went dead. Jiro stared at the phone before setting it face down on the desk.
I let out a long breath and stretched my legs.
“How is it out there?” he asked, voice flat, eyes still on the dark screen.
“Empty. The last diners just left.”
“It’s only nine o’clock. And it’s Saturday.”
“Tell me about it. Who was that on the phone?”
“Nothing to worry about.”
Jiro and I hadn’t always been this friendly. I was Akiko’s bestie since college, so I knew him all too well—the ups, the downs, all of it. And while I accepted their return to being a couple in love—Akiko’s words, not mine—there was still a tiny part of me that questioned his true intent. Yeah, he turned his back on his rich family and his trust fund to be with Akiko, but so what? I was supposed to give him a cookie for that?
