Plus,that was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. My career and ambitionmade me who I was. It would be one of the first things I talked about. To knowwhat I wanted in life was to know me. At least in part.
AndI knew that to be true for Dillon too. She acted like she didn’t care, but shewas a shark in the kitchen. She didn’t put up with bullshit, she was thefastest learner I had ever met, and I knew she was doing whatever it took toearn one of Ezra’s kitchens by rightful skill, and not only because she was hissister.
Butthis also put her late-night activities into new perspective for me. I had beenworried about her approach to dating because I thought she was worth more thanrandom one-night stands. But maybe there was a deeper issue at work. Maybe itwas harder for her to find someone than I realized.
Whichsucked for me. If gorgeous, perfect Dillon struggled to find someone, I wasscrewed.
Andnot in the fun way.
“Areyou looking for a date, Kaya? I’ll go out with you, chica,” Endo called fromacross the kitchen.
WhenI turned to look at him, he made kissy noises at me.
Irolled my eyes at him but laughed anyway. “Thank you, Endo. But I’m terrifiedof Maria, so I’m politely declining.”
Endo’stwinkling brown eyes turned serious. “As you should be. That woman ismuy loco. I love her, you know, but shewould probably take a baseball bat to your car.”
“Haveyou seen her car?” Dillon asked Endo. “I don’t think you’d be able to tell thedifference.”
I punchedher in the shoulder. “We can’t all drive a Lexus, richy-rich.”
Shewas unapologetic. “No, I guess we can’t.”
Wyattwalked in the kitchen and the joking stopped. We stood up straighter, we straightenedour chef coats, we stopped throwing barbs. It was a switch that was thrown thesecond the title of executive chef showed up.
Evenif we didn’t all respect Wyatt the way we did Killian, the title would forevercommand our better behavior and obedience. When Wyatt stepped up as executivechef, we swallowed our protests and hurt feelings. We forgot about the timeswe’d seen Wyatt screw up and the years of growth we’d spent alongside him. Hewas chef now. And we worked for him and to please him.
Hewalked to the center of the kitchen and clapped his hands together. We gatheredaround him, as was our daily routine, and waited for instructions.
UsuallyI tolerated his pep talks and suffered through his reprimands. He didn’t detaileverything that was expected of us tonight, but he also took the opportunity tocritique our previous night’s performance. And Wyatt could come across harshly.
Killiantoo. But Killian was also such a legend that it somehow made it more tolerable.Wyatt brought out the worst in me—which was probably why we clashed so often. Also,because he was nitpicky and severe. The rational side of my brain argued thathe was still making a name for himself and therefore had to be those things. Hewas still trying to prove himself.
ButI rarely listened to the rational part of my brain. Mostly, I told her to shutup so the bitchy side of me could play.
Todaywas different though. Wyatt stood in the middle of us and I could see howexhausted he was, the toll the job had started to take on him. His eyes werebloodshot and sunken. His face seemed thinner and haunted. His hands had a tremorthat I hadn’t noticed until after he’d confessed his insomnia and I’d lookedcloser at him.
Myheart lurched in sympathy. I was literally always annoyed with how hard he wastrying. I found his efforts to live up to Killian obnoxious and tedious,especially when he blamed mistakes on me. But maybe my criticism of him wasn’tfair.
Wyattwas given the chance of a lifetime. He ran one of the best kitchens in theregion, an award-winning kitchen that he’d earned by right of being Killian’ssecond in command. Of course, the weight of his burden would be heavy, ofcourse he would struggle to hold it and carry it and live up to it.
Iresolved to treat him with more grace in the future. He had a hard job, andsomeday, hopefully when I stepped into a similar position in my own kitchen, mystaff would treat me with grace as well.
Sevenhours later during the middle of service, I felt differently.
“Whatis this?” he demanded in the same tone I imagined the devil used when his evilminions disappointed him. “This is crap, Kaya! You’re better than this. Do itagain.”
“It’sfucking perfect, Wyatt. You’re wrong.”
“It’stoo dark. It looks burned to hell. I’m not sending it out.”
Iswallowed thirty synonyms for asshole and decided this was not the fight Iwanted to lose my career over. But hewasan asshole!
“That’sgolden brown,” I argued, waving my hand at the duck breast I’d pan seared toperfection.
“It’sovercooked,” he growled. “Our tables deserve better. Do it again.”
Cognizantof the entire kitchen watching our exchange, I leaned forward and dropped myvoice. “You asked for my help tonight. Remember?”
