I wondered if that was why Ezra had never promoted from within, if he’d known she was a total headcase from the start.
Taking in the rest of the staff, now still as corpses and just as quiet, I raised challenging eyebrows and spoke to the entire staff, “Unless you’re willing to follow my lead and respect my position, leave now. If you want to continue cooking in this kitchen, you better turn it around. You better learn to listen to me. If not? This is your opportunity to walk out. I’ll even write you a letter of recommendation as long as you don’t insult me on the way out.” A snicker broke through the silence, but I didn’t catch who it originated from. “I’m serious,” I assured them. “If you don’t want to cook for me, if you’re offended by my age or my family or my looks or whatever the hell else, leave. Save me the headache and go now. Because understand that if I have to listen to any more of that ‘She doesn’t deserve to be here’ shit, I will toss you. I don’t care what you think. I don’t care if you have an opinion on how I got here or if you don’t know how I got here or even if you know who I am right now. The point is, I’m here to cook good food—really good food. I’m tired of Lilou and Sarita getting all the glory. I’m over losing to them. And the Chophouse. And the May Bistro. And whoever else. This is one of the best kitchen’s in the city. We’re going to start acting like it.”
I clamped my mouth shut and waited. Running through my speech, I realized there were probably ten other things I should have said, but it was too late now. They either stuck with me or left.
There was a good chance there would be a mutiny.
God, how desperately I wanted to chew my bottom lip until it was raw and bloody, but I refrained. It was more important to maintain the illusion of control than to snap and let them all know I was out of my damn mind for taking advice from a bike shop owner I didn’t even like.
Oh, my god, what had I done?
To my surprise nobody moved. In fact, they seemed to settle into more permanent postures. Blaze spread his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest—the universal signal for, you can’t make me leave.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t universal, but I read his intention clearly.
The rest of the kitchen followed suit, nobody even acknowledging Ashlynn anymore.
She picked up the message too. “Are you serious?” she demanded. “After all we’ve been through?” She turned to her fellow sous chef. “I expected this behavior from you,” she snarled at him. “You’ve wanted my job for three years. You can fucking have it. Good luck to you.”
He didn’t turn his head or look at her, but I felt his attention shift to her for just long enough to say, “Don’t forget why you’re leaving, Ashlynn. This wasn’t your choice. She fired you.”
I glanced to my left and watched the line of men nod their heads in agreement. Same thing was happening on my right.
“I was going to Red Oak. You know that,” she argued weakly.
I nearly laughed at her lateral move to the city’s oldest steak house. If she thought that was going to be an easier work environment, she was in for a rude awakening. The head chef there, Trent Shepherd, was one of the meanest chefs by reputation. Total and complete egomaniac and asshole.
Nobody else moved to help her or walk her out. They just stood and waited for her to leave.
The better side of my humanity kicked in and I started to worry about her. Had I screwed her from getting another job? Had I taken away her hopes and dreams completely and ensured she wouldn’t get another position as respectable as Bianca? Had I ruined her career completely?
But then she leaned forward and spit on the ground in front of my feet. The gloopy mucous dripped through the no-slip mats between the quarter-size holes.
“Classy,” I murmured in a poisonous tone.
She stepped back, grabbing her roll of knives from the countertop behind her. Taking a step toward the door, she lifted her chin in the air and said, “I can’t wait to watch you drown.”
I didn’t have a comeback for that. She might be right. I didn’t know if asking her to leave would expedite that coming to fruition, but I knew it wouldn’t help. She was a good chef most days, but possessed a venomous attitude that was corroding her from the inside out.
“Your coat,” a steely voice demanded from behind me.
My shoulders instantly rose at the sound of Ezra’s voice. He was pissed. Beyond pissed. This calm, cold voice was his most angry.
And I didn’t know if it was directed at me or at Ashlynn.
Ashlynn had the insight to look cowed. “M-my coat?”
“From what I understand, you don’t work here anymore,” Ezra deadpanned, his chilling tone sending an icy wind through the kitchen. “Leave your coat.”
Her teeth ground together as she considered her options. Ezra wasn’t just siding with me, he was sticking up for me, taking her down off her high horse and reminding her who she used to work for.
Her jaw clenched so hard, I thought she might break a tooth. Then she slammed her knives down and started to rip open the buttons.
I couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever been proud to work here. By her attitude and total negligence for authority, I would assume no. But she’d been here since Bianca opened five years ago. She’d survived under Marcel, who had been a total nightmare to work for from what I had heard. She’d run the ship after Marcel had left and she’d tried to transition under me.
Did she start with this attitude? Or had the volatility of her time here broken her down?
Would it break me down too?
