“The ones you’ve already cleaned and chopped? Bag them and throw them in the freezer. I’ve got a mousse recipe they’ll be perfect for,” I reply.
He gives me a wry smirk. “No wonder they didn’t like you at The Kane.”
“You have no idea why I left The Kane, Matty. It had nothing to do with my job performance or my ability to work with the team.”
Matty scoffs and goes back to the work table and bags the chopped onions before he puts them in a freezer drawer, then stashes the others back in their chilled basket in the pantry.
“You’re mad that Chef Matisse left,” I conclude.
“I just think he’s irreplaceable. I’ve worked under him for long enough to deliver under his signature, but the bosses wanted a new head chef, so… here we are.”
It makes sense now. Matty had hoped that he might get full charge of this kitchen, then I came along and ruined everything. No wonder he’s miffed and cranky, and trying so hard to be unimpressed while simultaneously being adverse to any kind of change. But it’s fine. I can work with this.
I’ve dealt with worse.
“Soundslike you’ve got your hands full over there,” Vivian says, when I call her as I walk around the estate, admiring and observing the architectural details while I listen to her words of encouragement.
During trying times, it usually takes a phone chat with my best friend to get my head back in the game, especially when uncertainty and self-doubt sneak up on me.
“But you’ve handled yourself well in environments more hostile than that,” she adds. “I mean, remember the internship at Maison LeFevre?”
“Oh, that was culinary hell on earth,” I groan softly, almost rolling my eyes at the deluge of unpleasant memories her words make me recall. “I think I gained about ten pounds from the stress alone.”
“But you pulled through. By the time you were done with that place, you got glowing reviews and a letter of recommendation that got you into Studio Palate, right?”
“The pot of gold at the end of my rainbow,” I say with a laugh.
The east wing of the estate is private and off-limits to Haus of Sin’s elite guests. They have the west wing all to themselves. But the east wing isn’t the staff quarters either. Our rooms are on the top floor on the north side of the building, which makes me all the more curious about this part.
All I see are sprawling hallways with decorative side tables and portraits of famous theater artists. The lighting casts a golden glow over the oil paintings, almost bringing them to life. Peonies overflow out of every stylish vase in sight; their scent brings a smile to my face.
There’s a library up here, as well as private offices and a few other rooms I’ve yet to look into. Since I have this evening off, a little self-guided tour is just the ticket. The better I know this place, the more I understand what Haus of Sin is all about.
“Tell me about it,” Vivian says. I can hear her computer keyboard clacking in the background. She’s pulling another late one at the office. “I thought the place was some snazzy urban myth or something.”
“Oh, it’s real,” I reply, “and probably more than anything either of us expected. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, to be honest. It’s invitation-only, insanely exclusive, and the pricing is… let’s just say there are way too many zeros on their invoices.”
“Well, okay, but what do people do there?”
“The filthy rich? They come in, eat fancy foods, and drink rare wines and liquors. They each get assigned a host of their choosing, who caters to their whims and pleasures.”
“Pleasures?”
“The whole package, Viv. It gets sexual; they have private playrooms, saunas, hot baths, sensory massages, and all that jazz. I think they spring for a minimum of orgasms per day or something.” I laugh lightly. “Like a quota.”
Vivian chuckles. “Oh, like dominance and submission, right?”
“From what I’ve heard, yes. The hosts are identified by their choice of forest animal: Deanna, the Fox; Delia, the Deer; Alicia, the She-Wolf… wait, there were two more.”
I pause in front of a beautifully sculpted wooden door at the very end of the hallway. A hint of jasmine reaches my nose. It’s coming from inside. “Elise, the Nightingale, and Ruby, the Red Cardinal.”
“They sound pretty cool, actually.”
“Most of them are. I mean, we don’t interact much. I try to keep some distance. They seem like they’re always… I don’t know, turned on, ready to seduce. It’s a little weird.”
“Or they’re simply uninhibited by nature, which is not something you can relate to.”
I can always count on Vivian for her truth bombs. She’s right.
