“Because it’s filthy.”
“I washed it last night.”
“Did you?”
“Yes…” she mumbles sheepishly.
“I expect my chefs to look the part. You look like you stepped off the line of a burger chain.”
Eden glares at him. “So what?
Alexander sets down his mug of coffee and tosses a plastic bag to her. Eden hadn’t noticed the package sitting behind him because his wide shoulders and large chest obscured the view. Inside is a brand-new black chef jacket, much like his own.
It’s the prettiest thing Eden’s ever seen. La Rouge’s logo is custom stitched beautifully into the front pen pocket in bright crimson thread. It has an asymmetrical collar with three- quarter length sleeves, made from a polyester and cotton blend. The fabric is soft beneath her fingers, and it smells like it was bought straight from the store. A bit like plastic, but miles better than her own questionable jacket.
“How much did this cost?” she asks, hoping that her voice comes out even.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says casually. “It’ll come out of your first paycheck.”
Eden swallows. She can’t have that. She knows it’s stupid to count her eggs before they’ve hatched, but as far as she’s concerned, all of her paychecks are spoken for. She’s calculated for every last penny.
Rent, utilities, bus and train fare, groceries.
The rest goes to her coffee tin. She should be able to save five thousand in a little over three months provided she doesn’t have any unnecessary expenses crop up.
Like this new jacket, for instance. Even though it’s lovely and she knows her old one is disgusting and ill-fitting and stained an unfortunate yellow in certain areas, she can’t afford it. Custom, high-quality jackets like this one can be a couple hundred dollars. That’s money she’d rather use elsewhere.
Eden has long since made peace with the fact that she quite literally can’t have nice things.
She holds it back out to Alexander and glances at her shoes, which are also depressing to look at. “I can’t accept this,” she says. “My jacket’s plenty fine.”
When Alexander doesn’t say anything, Eden glances up. She expects anger to be written all over his face. Instead, she finds bemused curiosity.
He takes it back with a shrug. “Fine. Let’s get started, then.”
Eden takes a deep breath, relieved to finally get to work. “Are you going to walk me through tonight’s specials?”
Alexander shakes his head. “No. You’re going to make me another dish.”
“Did you like my risotto that much?”
“Don’t get cocky, Monroe.”
“You never told me what you thought about it.”
“It was… satisfactory.”
“You licked the plate clean,” she counters with a smirk.
Alexander scoffs. “I did no such thing.”
“Come on, admit it.”
“Do you normally talk this much?”
Eden puts her hands on her hips, defiant. “Yes, because I’m friendly. Do you know what that is? Or should I explain it to you?”
He holds her gaze for a few seconds, his hand dwarfing his coffee mug. “I gave you an instruction, chef. Don’t make me tell you again.”
