“I did, Dad. Thanks. I just flushed the sim card from the other phone and took the battery out. The car is parked with the keys in it.” I plopped down on the bed and began to sobbed.
“What’s the matter, Son?” He and I had never been really close, but he was there for me when I needed him most.
“I’m almost free.”
We went over the plans for that afternoon. I would sleep for a while this morning. After one, I would get in an Uber, scheduled by my dad, and they would drive me to the airport.
Once I was on the plane, I would feel better.
The curtains were closed, but I got up and pulled them back to look outside. I’d parked the car on the opposite end of the parking lot from my room, to give me some time in case they somehow tracked me here.
It wouldn’t surprise me if they put some kind of tracker on my phone.
I tried to sleep, but I was too wired. Maybe I could get some sleep on the plane.
This was my chance to have a life again. I hoped I could get through this fear enough to actually live it this time.
Chapter Three
Evander
My conversation with Talon, and the ones that followed with all the other owners of Cuffed and now Crowned, answered all the questions I had about what they wanted from a chef. And I answered theirs about what I needed to get out of the whole deal. Mostly, those things aligned. They wanted someone to take full charge of the kitchen, to hire, fire, develop menus, supervise staff, everything. At Cuffed, I understood one of the owners was in charge of ordering for the kitchen, but that would also be one of my duties should I decide to accept the position.
And I really only had one requirement: complete charge of everything once past that kitchen door. Salary I was prepared to negotiate, but not worried because I trusted these males to be fair. And when the contract came to my email, that faith was more than upheld.
Of course, I had to give notice at French Corner, and Simon tried to talk me into staying. He offered more money, but it wasn’t about that. Crowned would be an excellent opportunity to stretch my creativity. To help build something new. Among people I had a lot in common with. Simon could find another chef to turn out his culinary vision.
From that point, things moved very fast. Crowned was already open and without a chef in the kitchen, no food was being served at all. They refused to use pre-prepared foods. So, every day I delayed cost them a lot of money. Yet, no one rushed me or tried to get me not to work my notice. I did half hope Simon would just say go ahead and leave, but he wasn’t stupid enough to do that. Not until he had someone else hired, which he did not manage to do before I left.
Talon and company might not actually need someone like me long-term, and if they chose to go another way down the line, I would understand. But I was going in with my whole heart. Obviously, I had not been the first chef at French Corner, and things had already been in place when I arrived. The other chef had been at Crowned such a short time, I felt confident I would be able to put my own stamp on it.
Although honor made me stick out those two weeks, I worked on autopilot, a big portion of my mind planning the new menu and remembering all the things I needed to do in order to move the day after my last one at the Corner. Accomplishing all those things meant very little sleep, but I didn’t care.
Liam knew a landscape designer who was moving to town and looking for a place to live. I rented him my townhouse, and after a year, if he liked it and I was still out of town, he could make an offer on it. That was a big worry off my shoulders.
My bosses had found me a similar place to rent near Crowned, and as part of my signing bonus had paid the rent for the first full year. I was pleased and grateful, but not as shocked as if almost any other employer had made this move. The contract I’d signed had been for 150 percent of what I made at the restaurant. I determined never to make Talon and the others regret their generosity. If they had paid that other chef the same, he must really have hated kink to leave it. I didn’t know of any other chefs who did not have a couple of Michelin stars in their past who earned anything like that amount.
I watched the moving truck trundling away, my car stuffed to the roof liner with things I didn’t want to chance losing or having broken and that I needed to have on hand for my first night in my new home. Experience had taught me how difficult it could be getting comfortable with everything boxed up, so bedding, towels, shower necessities, and an air mattress—as wellas my coffeepot and the pods for it—would make my life way better.
Walking the townhouse one last time, I reflected on how my life had changed since I moved in. I’d purchased it right after starting at French Corner, the full purchase price coming from a small legacy from a beloved aunt. It had seemed like heaven to move from the studio apartment where I’d lived, stashing away every spare dollar toward the business I planned to open one day.
On the front passenger seat lay the stack of ring binders and legal pads where I’d worked on my ideas. Recipes, business plans, cut-out articles from magazines. Most of what I’d worked on in the past several years was in my iPad. Was I making a mistake, moving to take on this project? I’d committed to a three-year contract, and either party could request an extension. Somehow, I’d anticipated being situated in that dream business one day. I had a very good chunk stashed away for the purpose.
But something about this opportunity had rung a bell for me. It seemed right. The money was great, and I’d still be young in three years—especially as a shifter. With the excellent salary, a year with rental income coming in and the eventual sale of my townhome, I’d be able to buy a new place and start my restaurant. Being in charge of my destiny mattered.
But this was good. I’d sent my initial menu to the other owners, and instead of suggestions for change, I got:We trust you.
Gatlin, the manager and an owner, and his omega, Shaw, were waiting for me when I arrived at Crowned. Although he was technically my boss, our conversations had been similar to those with his partners. The kitchen was mine. As long as I didn’t kill anyone or burn it down, I had carte blanche.
“Wow. Pictures of the kitchen, even the video you sent, did not do it justice.” I moved around, taking in the spacious roomwith all its stations. “Whoever designed it has a real vision.” Not that I didn’t have changes in mind, but they were mostly my style and preferences, not because things were bad. “It wasn’t the chef who left, was it?”
“No.” Gatlin grimaced. “He functioned in it, but he came with higher recommendations than perhaps he deserved.”
“I hope you never think that about me.” Letting them down would be terrible.
“We’ve all eaten your food. And spoken to people you worked with. And we’ve known you awhile. I’m not worried.” He opened the big walk-in freezer. “I hope you can use most of this. Your predecessor had me order a lot of things he somehow never used.”
Taking in the contents, I felt my cheeks stretch in a smile. “He had expensive taste. I’ll make sure none of it goes to waste. Anything not on the regular menu will become a weekly special or something similar.”
