Because Harper pivoted and walked out, down the short corridor and into the secondary refrigerator unit.
I need to go and check on her, but first, I glare at Ross.
"You're fired. Get out of my sight before I decide to make sure you never work in this city again."
He pales, opening his mouth to, I presume, protest.
I arch an eyebrow. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Then, he turns and flees.
I turn back to the phone screen. The number of views keeps ticking up. And further up.
We’re up to fifty thousand, in just a few minutes. Fuck.
I blow out a breath and look around the kitchen at the curious faces of my team. Instantly, they go back to their workstations. Good thing,I’ve trained them well. I nod at Mark to take over my counter and Harper’s.
Then stalk out of the kitchen.
I head past the walk-in refrigerator I saw Harper enter, then into my office. I shut the door, just as the mobile phone on my desk buzzes.
I reach my desk, place Ross’s phone down and pick up mine.
It’s Alfie Whittington III. Chairman of the board of directors of my restaurant, and a good friend of Margot’s.
Looks like the board already spotted the video. I’m not surprised. They’re a bunch of old farts but they run a tight ship.
"Hamilton," I answer the call.
"Hullo, ol’ chap. It seems we’re in a bit of a pickle here." Good ol’ Alfie. Comes straight to the point.
"If you mean the video uploaded a few minutes ago?—"
"—on your social media handles, and which is already at a hundred thousand, so my social media expert tells me." Someone speaks off camera. "What’s that?" he asks.
"Oh right, it’s already at a hundred twenty…no, a hundred and twenty-five thousand now. If my money could multiply as quickly, we’d all be trillionaires, har har."
My stomach tightens. This kind of publicity might be seen as a godsend for many. But for my board of directors, it carries the whiff of scandal. Something that is anathema to them.
"I’ll have it taken down."
"The damage is done ol’ chap. By the time you take it down, it’ll have gone viral—" He coughs. "As the kids would say."
"What do you want?"
"What I always want. Return on my investment.”
"Which you’ve got from day one, which is a rarity in the restaurant business," I growl.
"And protection of our reputation." He pauses to let that sink in.
I don’t react. I know there’s more to come.
"We invested in your business because you’re Margot’s grandson. We were confident our money was in good hands. Now we’re not so sure."
"What are you getting at?" I ask slowly.
"The video shows you and your assistant?—"
"Sous chef."
