He held up his hands. “And I can respect that. But like I said, trial period. Prove you can do this, and once you do a good job, you’ll be the reason you’re here. Not your name.”
I nodded. That was something I could live with.
He pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. It was a sea of stainless steel. They had two huge commercial refrigerators, a stove that was double the size of a normal one, and a huge restaurant-style griddle. There was more equipment than I could catalog quite yet, but I was excited to figure it all out.
One wall was an open-concept pantry, metal shelves lined with anything and everything I might need. It looked well-stocked, though I had a feeling I’d need to order more.
All in all, this kitchen, between the sheer size, the equipment, and the fact that almost all of it was brand new, was every chef’s wet dream.
“What do you need from us to make all this happen?” he asked.
“I’ll definitely need to talk to the doctors, or at least get a report from them about what they find most important for me to focus on. Of course, I’ll need basic things like allergies, but more than that, I want things they like and are willing to try.This won’t work out if I’m making dishes that one of the players consistently hates,” I explained.
“I’ll send notice out to the team and the doctors and make sure you get that.”
“Perfect.”
“How do you feel about starting right now?” he questioned.
“Right now?” I was shocked, but not against it. “Well, it’s not like I have other plans.”
He chuckled and gestured to the room around us. “Then I suppose the floor is yours.”
“Actually, can I speak to the doctors first?” I asked.
“Of course. I think your brother is already there. I’ll show you the way,” he said.
He led me down the hallway to the other end. There was a simple red cross above the door, marking it as the medical unit. He pushed the door open, then froze in the doorway, blocking my view.
“We’ve got a girl,” he announced.
“Does that mean my sister got the job?” Conrad called out.
“Trial basis,” Coach called back, turning around to give me a grin.
“You won’t be disappointed. She’s going to have all the old men in the team offices eating well too,” Conrad grinned.
I hadn’t considered I might be feeding them too, but that was fine with me.
Coach stepped out of the way, ushering me inside.
The doctor who greeted me was older with silver hair. The scrub shirt he wore was stretched tight over broad muscles, his beard short and trimmed. Everything about him screamed perfection, like he needed to be certain everything was in its place.
Even the room around him, while clinical, was organized and perfectly symmetrical, almost to the point of OCD.
The man himself walked forward, hand outstretched. “Dr. Diaz. It’s nice to have a new face around here. I hear we’ll be working on improving the players’ diets.”
“I hope so,” I said, shaking his hand firmly.
“Flynn—”
“Okay, no. That will get confusing,” Conrad argued the moment my last name left the Doctor’s mouth. “She has a first name.”
“Just Lana will work,” I said. “I actually wanted to talk to you, if you have a moment. When you’re finished with Conrad, of course.”
“No problem,” Dr. Diaz said. “We just finished.” He nodded toward the hall. “We’ll go back to my office. I actually already printed off some notes for you when Conrad mentioned you were coming. This is what I give all of the nutritionists, though I think it’ll be far more effective with you, seeing as you’ll be consistent.”
He looked exasperated. Apparently, he wasn’t a fan of relying on the local hospital.
