Iwasn’t this nervous on my first day at The Kane.
In fact, I had that kitchen under control the minute I stepped in there. The kitchen at Haus of Sin, however, feels different. It’s another world, with a different energy, and it feels like the only ones who were thrilled to see me here were Alex, Max, and Vincent. The others watch me closely through hooded eyes and whisper to one another with contempt and maybe a smidgen of pity. I’m the only curvy woman on the premises: Whether I like it or not, I stand out.
“Good morning,” I say as I greet Matthew, the sous chef. “I’m Raina Redford. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Only he and I will be working in this kitchen, along with two servers and a dishwasher. Given the small but exclusive crowd we’ll be serving, it made sense to keep it simple.
Matthew turns from one of the stainless-steel counters with a sour look on his face. “Hey.”
Silence follows—the awkward kind.
Matthew is the tall and lanky type, his white uniform hanging loosely over his wiry frame. His brown hair is cut short, and his nails are clean—which is something I always look for when I’m dealing with new people in the kitchen.
“You’re Matthew Benson, right? My sous chef.”
“Matty. Yeah.”
“Matty. You can call me Raina, of course,” I reply with a smile.
“Okay.”
He turns away and resumes his handiwork. There’s a basket of red onions that need to be chopped. At first glance, I notice he’s going for the julienne cut. His hands are quick and skilled, and in perfect control of the Japanese blade.
“We should go over the menu for tonight before you do any prep work,” I say, looking around.
The kitchen is superb, furnished and equipped to meet a chef’s exacting standards. It’s clean and spacious, and generously lit, with white marble and stainless-steel surfaces coming together like pieces of a harmonious puzzle. Every tool in the chef’s box is within my reach. There are giant refrigerators and cold and frozen storage rooms to my right, while the ovens and stoves occupy the wall to my left.
Whoever worked this kitchen before knew what they were doing. It’ll make my job and my adjustment here that much easier.
Matty keeps chopping.
“Excuse me,” I say, raising my voice a little. “Can you maybe press pause on the chopping while we talk about tonight’s menu?”
“Chef Matisse left a menu for tonight, in case the new hire couldn’t hack it,” Matty bluntly replies without even turning around. “We’re covered.”
My blood begins to boil. “Matty, stop.”
He sighs and sets the knife down, then fetches a printed menu from underneath a fridge magnet and hands it to me. “See? We’re covered.”
“Did I do something to upset you?” I ask, opting for the peaceful approach first.
“Listen, I know who you are,” Matty replies with a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve heard of you. And I’ve got more years in the kitchen than you. We’ve got a few weeks left of this winter season, and I just want to get to the end of it with full pay and five-star reviews for my service.”
I can’t help but chuckle dryly. This attitude is familiar to me. More than once, I’ve come across people who doubted me or my skills in the kitchen—which always struck me as ironic, since the kitchen is where most chauvinists say women belong. But if Matty wants to play this game, I can rise to the challenge.
“My professional history aside, allow me to ask you something,” I say. “What happened to Chef Matisse? Why did he leave?”
Matty gives me a hard look. “I don’t know. He said there were some personal issues he needed to deal with.”
“Well, I know. And I think you also know, but you’re too embarrassed to say it out loud. The man had a serious drinking and gambling problem, and it was beginning to affect his performance here. He left you to carry most of the workload until Alex noticed,” I reply.
His eyebrows pop up. “It wasn’t that?—”
“That bad?” I interrupt. “It was inappropriate for a kitchen of this caliber. Now I don’t care whom you worked for before, and I don’t care how many years you have over me either. I’m the head chef, and today is my first day on the job,” I tell him as I rip the printed menu to shreds. “Our new guests arrive tomorrow night. You and I will go over my menu proposals for the welcome dinner. Your input is more than welcome. I promise you I will always listen to what you have to say.”
Matty blinks a few times, somewhat dazed but also not convinced of my assertion. He can’t exactly fight me on it either. I just pointed out that he works under me. It’s not like he’s got any other choice.
“What about the onions?” Matty mutters.
