“Love you, Ez.”
“I hate it when you call me that.” He sighed and added, “Love you too, sis.”
We hung up and I tossed my phone on the bed, the sick feeling of panic curling through me once again. It was hard to say if Ezra had called as a big brother checking up on his little sister, or if he’d called as the boss protecting his investment.
He was like that. As much as I loved him and looked up to him, he was also a cutthroat restaurateur that wanted to be the best in the city.
I didn’t quite have such lofty goals.
Yes, I wanted to be good at what I did. But mostly I just loved to cook. I loved food. I loved creating. I loved turning something so simple into an artform. I loved getting lost in the focus it took. When I cooked, it was just me and the food. Nothing else mattered. Not who I was. Or where I came from. Or how much money I had in my bank accounts. All that mattered was that I had the ability to turn seemingly random ingredients into a beautiful, cherished experience for someone else.
I didn’t have lofty ambitions like the rest of my friends. I wasn’t even competitive. I just wanted purpose and redemption and the gift of toiling at something I so wholly loved.
My headache pulsed back to life at my temples.
This wasn’t going to end well.
By the time I got to Lilou four hours later for prep, I was a weepy, hysterical mess. I sniffled as I put my black chef jacket on for the last time and stepped into the already crowded kitchen.
The staff that was there turned around and started clapping for me. Their expressions were proud and sappy and so encouraging. They stood there cheering me on as I if I had won some great championship.
I lost it. Tears poured down my face and I hid behind my hands, embarrassed by my emotion.
“She’s sad to leave,” Wyatt announced to my peers, “because she knows the White Witch can never compete with us.”
He was partially right, but I couldn’t let him know that. Today I was his second in command. Tomorrow, we would be big competition.
Wiping my tears away with the back of my hands, I released a shaky laugh. “I’m cryingforyou,” I told him. “You’re never going to find someone dumb enough to replace me.”
He scowled at the laughter that followed. “It’s not funny,” he growled at them. “True, but not funny.”
“Poor Wyatt,” I empathized. “His sous chefs keep running away.”
A glint appeared in his dark eyes and he surveyed the kitchen. “They run away to run their own kitchens. Seems like this position is a pretty great stepping stone for those of you serious about your careers.”
His words were a crafty ploy disguised as a challenge. He might murder the next sous chef to abandon him.
Okay, maybe not murder, but at least kidnap and force to continue working for him under duress.
The kitchen avoided looking directly at him. I saw Benny back away into the pantry. Hiding my smile, I said, “Everybody don’t volunteer at once.”
He glared at me. “A competition then.”
Why was he looking at me?
“Dillon’s taking lead tonight.”
“Wait, what?”
“She needs some practice for her fancy new job and we’re going to give it to her. And at the end of the night, she’s going to pick one of you to step up.”
“Wyatt, you’re not serious.”
He winked at me. “That person will be sous. Final answer. Unless of course I don’t like her pick, then she’ll choose someone else.”
I punched him in the bicep. “Are you crazy?”
He rubbed his arm and looked totally affronted. I rolled my eyes because I didn’t realize he’d been hiding rocks for muscles under his jacket. My hand hurt way more than his arm.
