“Explain it to me, then.”
My heart began to pound, or maybe pound harder—I couldn’t tell at this point. “Why is that any of your business?”
“Answer the question.”
A knot was moving its way into my throat.
I didn’t want to go there with him.
Or anyone.
“Is this one of those situations where you don’t like to let it all out, in fear that once those words are spoken, you can’t take them back?”
He was using my words against me.
And I couldn’t breathe.
“Walker”—my head shook—“you’re an asshole.”
“Am I right?”
“Screw you.” My head dropped. I couldn’t even hold it up anymore. “You want to know the truth? Fine. I grew up poor. Not the kind of poor that could somehow make ends meet. I mean the kind of poor who lived with her mother in her car for long periods of time. Who bathed in the sinks of public restrooms.”
I finally looked at him, and his eyes were justas hard as before. “We didn’t have money for anything, including food.” I swallowed, trying to lodge the knot out of my throat, and when that didn’t work, I tried again. “But you know … food would have helped us back then. I truly believe that. There were so many times when a meal would have made Mom and me feel better. Going to bed with a full stomach would have been like a wool blanket—something else we didn’t have on the cold nights we slept in parking lots.” I wrapped my arms around my stomach, where there was such a deep ache inside.
“Because I think food would have healed us a bit, I want to heal people with my food.” My voice went to a whisper. “I want my cooking to be their warm blanket.”
“Are you saying you want to be a chef?”
“Do I want to? Yes. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be that. I don’t have money for culinary school. I don’t have real experience in the kitchen. Some of the places we lived didn’t even have appliances. I’m just … taking in and learning as much as I can, and sometimes, I get to practice at the assisted living facility.”
“Practice?”
My fingers rubbed across my ribs. “I get there extra early, and I help prep the food for the day. When time allows for it, the chef lets me cook with him. I’ve learned all about allergies and different diets and how our residents’ health affects what they can eat. And sometimes, when the chef goes on vacation or calls in sick, they allow me to fill in.”
“Is that why you’re here?” He rocked in his chair. “To try to slide in somewhere in my kitchen?”
“No. I’m here to learn. The assisted living facility isn’t exactly an unforgettable culinary experience, but what it has done is give me a tiny foundation. Here, I want to see how some of the best accomplish the level of excellence that this restaurant,and ones like it, reach. To be around a quality of food I can’t get unless I’m working here.”
I didn’t know if I wanted to admit this part, but I let it fall from my lips. “If I had known the famous Walker Weston was the executive chef here, I would have applied years ago.” I held up my hand as his mouth parted and it appeared like he was about to say something. “Let it be known, I expect nothing from you. I’m not looking for special treatment. I’m not looking for your time. I’m not asking you to ever pull me into the kitchen. I will be a water girl and a food runner, and I will watch from afar.”
His chair stilled. “And you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
It felt like the entire room shifted in temperature, and where his temperament before had caused steam, now the air was ice cold. “Excuse me?”
“If a single person in this establishment found out we’d fucked, that would set things on fire.” His hand landed on top of his desk with a thud. “I don’t need that drama, Alivia. There’s enough drama here already.”
“You have my word.”
He leaned in closer, but there was still a large distance between us. “I should make you sign an NDA.”
“If that’s what you want, I’ll sign it.” My fingers clenched. “If you want me to leave and never come back, I’ll do that too. It’s your business. I respect whatever decision you make. But I hope you don’t want me to go. I really need this job.”
He went silent as he stared at me. I couldn’t even begin to guess what was running through his mind.
“Have you eaten tonight?”
I rolled my eyes. “Stop.”
