Thenumber of women executive chefs compared to men was abysmal. We were highlyunderrated throughout the entire world. In of the top four restaurants inDurham, did I even stand a chance?
Myhands shook as I set my phone down and started my car. They didn’t stop shakingthe entire way home. Or as I showered and washed my face and climbed into bed.This was it. This was my chance.
Ofcourse, I was going to take it. Of course, I was going to do whatever it tookto make that restaurant mine, to prove what a kickass, capable chef I was.Sarita was the perfect restaurant for me. The vibe, the food, the culinaryprofile? It was everything that I was.
Iwas made for that restaurant. And there was nothing anybody could do to stopme. I would throw myself into this wholeheartedly, dedicating all my resourcesand time to get this job. I would do whatever it took to land thisonce-in-a-lifetime position.
I merelyhad to stop thinking about Wyatt’s stupid half-smile first and the text he sentright before I drifted off to sleep.
Proteins are yours again, Swift.But only if you do them as well as you cleaned your station tonight.
He’dfinished the text with a winky face emoji just to be smartass. And Iaccidentally fell asleep smiling.
Chapter Three
Iwoke up the next morning later than I’d wanted. It was a little before eight inthe morning when I finally dragged my butt out of bed, but since I didn’t finallynod off until after three, I felt justified sleeping in.
Igrowled at my clock. Was this really considered sleeping in? Five hours ofsleep was overdoing it? God, I was a masochist. And the crazy thing was that Iknew I was asking for more. If I ever landed an executive chef position,whether it was Sarita or something completely different, I could forget aboutsleeping altogether.
Wyatt,for example, didn’t leave until after I did, and he would already be at Lilouthis morning accepting deliveries and taking care of the business side of hisjob. It wouldn’t be like that forever of course. Occasionally, Wyatt and Iaccepted deliveries for Killian to let him catch up on sleep. But it wasn’tlike Killian took vacations. Wyatt was the same. He would never be able toentrust Lilou to someone else.
Andif I managed to finally secure the job I wanted? I would follow suit.
Whathad Dillon said about Ezra? This was the first vacation he had ever taken.
Thiswas a special kind of club for people that would rather work than live.
Yes,this was my dream job and I loved it with every ounce of my being, from my verybones to the metaphysical pieces of me that didn’t even have a name. This waswhat I was born to do, this was my gift to the world, what I would give awayand give away until there was nothing left of me. But I also hated it sometimesand the payment it required from me.
Mysoul had been given purpose and my life had been gifted meaning, but the blessingof finding the thing I was meant to do required daily sacrifice. I wasconvinced I would live my life doing what I loved, but that what I loved wouldeventually kill me.
Itwas a morbid way to think about my job, but it was true. And it was true forall of us. Food was art for us. And we poured ourselves into it, into thecreation, perfection, reputation, and also the branding and legacy. Working inthe culinary field took everything from us and we welcomed it willingly.
Becausewe loved it. I loved it. I had never loved anything more than this… cooking…creating… working with food. Cooking defined me. It was my sum total. And all Iwanted to do was grow. I wanted to get better and better and level up in bigways in my career, but those felt like natural progressions as my love for thisthing got deeper, consumed more of me, as we moved together through this littlelife of mine.
Icouldn’t continue as Wyatt’s sous chef forever. Not only because we had themost dysfunctional relationship in the history of culinary arts, but I wantedmore than second in command. There was more to me than working for Wyatt. I wasas good as him if not better. I needed my own kitchen. I would do anything forit.
Ontop of that reason, there was this thing inside me that would never besatisfied living in another man’s shadow. Maybe especially Wyatt’s. Call itpride or drive or a greedy fucking monster, but I could not spend my lifeworking as hard as I did just to hand the credit to someone else.
Iwanted the glory. I wanted the fame. I wanted the massive responsibility thatcould go up in flames in any given second. I wanted it.
AndI was going to get it.
Saritawas the perfect dining experience for me. We were made for each other. She wasEzra’s most eclectic restaurant, specializing in tapas and craft cocktails. Shehad flamenco nights, live bands, and a chef’s table that featured afifteen-course meal. Sarita had personality and a gypsy vibe that made my heartache with solidarity.
I’dgrown up in rural North Carolina, a little town called Hamilton. My parents andtwo younger sisters, Claire and Cameron, still resided there, living thesmall-town life and surviving on local gossip and small mindedness. I’d fled thetown at the first opportunity.
Iwas the total cliché. The bad girl that never fit in. The rebel without acause. The goth/hipster/emo chic that struggled to find her place in a societythat didn’t even acknowledge her.
I was desperate to be anything but the highschool cheerleader that married her quarterback boyfriend and never left town.I couldn’t stomach the idea of not doing anything with my life. I didn’t liveexpecting to get pregnant, hoping to breed future cheerleaders andquarterbacks, surviving on all the happenings around town— who was sleepingwith who, and what little punk was selling drugs, and oh my God, did you knowthat so-and-so filed for bankruptcy?
Icould not do it. I couldn’t even pretend to approve of that pathway for anyoneelse.
Myrebellion made me a huge disappointment to my parents, who wanted nothing morethan a prom queen daughter and future prom royalty grandchildren.
Inprotest, I’d spent middle school smoking under the bleachers and high schoolditching class and avoiding team sports. And I’d almost made it out unscathed.
Itwas junior year and I was at my wit’s end with my parents and my shining starsisters that were happy to drink the Hamilton Kool-Aid. I met someone who gotme in a way that nobody ever had. He listened to me and thought it was cool Iliked to read instead of cheer. He liked the boho way I dressed and that I dyedmy hair every color of the rainbow. He even liked that I wanted to leaveHamilton, that I saw my life bigger and better, and more purposeful than what thattown had to offer. Because he wanted to leave too. Or, at least that’s whathe’d told me when we talked about the future.
