“No problem.” Zack stops beside us, barely out of breath from the six-block run. He holds out the keys, dropping them in Theo’s hand before turning a smug grin my way. “Sounds like Thermos stole your heart, man. You going to get a dog to take on tour? No rules against that in Europe, I don’t think. Not like that time in Australia when Colin tried to smuggle in the stray cat he picked up for Kirby in Singapore. You remember that nightmare? I thought we were all going to end up in jail.”
“Yeah,” I force out through a tight jaw. “That fucking sucked.”
“Speaking of suck,” Theo says, scrolling through something on her phone. “I just got a text from Gene. He wants me to come in early for a meeting.” She rolls her eyes and heaves a sigh. “Hopefully, it’s not about switching Hans to the lunch shift. I know Gene thinks the kitchen can’t survive a dinner service without Hans, but if Hans ignores my directions for plating again, I’m going to murder him. And then Hans will be dead, and we’ll all be sad.”
“Especially Hans,” Zach says, squeezing her arm before he lifts a hand to me. “See you guys later. Gotta get Gram to bingo before they give away her lucky spot at the front.”
“Bye!” Theo calls, waving to Zach before turning to me. “Sorry, looks like I can’t do whiskey or beer, after all. Rain check?”
“Sure,” I say with an easy shrug. “It’s probably for the best. I have some work in Portland later.”
Her brow furrows. “Really, you didn’t tell me that. What kind of work?”
“Just work. Nothing too interesting,” I lie, not wanting her to feel like she’s missing out on the fun. “I would have invited you to tag along, but I knew you’d be working.”
“I’m always working,” she grumbles. “Which I really wouldn’t mind if Gene weren’t constantly fighting me about every little thing. I love cooking and the kitchen and the rush of the dinner service. I just want those things without the dudes looking over my shoulder, acting like I don’t know what I’m doing. Is it wrong that I feel like I’m about to snap half the time?”
“I would have flipped them the double bird and walked out week one.”
Her lips twitch. “I gave you the double bird once. Do you remember?”
“Yeah,” I say, fondly. “That night at your parents’ restaurant.”
She laughs. “Did I ever tell you my mom caught me and grounded me for three days? Which was forever in my family. They hardly ever grounded me for anything.”
“No, you didn’t. But good for her. You needed someone to keep you in line.”
She nods, holding my gaze. “Yeah, I guess I did. Who knows, maybe I still do.”
Before I can make a case for coloring outside the lines as often as possible, she blows me a kiss and backs away. “See you later, Comstock. Don’t have too much fun in Portland without me.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
And I won’t.
Fun things aren’t as much fun without Theo anymore.
And I’m not sure what to think about that.
Chapter Thirteen
Theodora
I’m losing my mind.
No, worse—I’m losing my heart.
I have no idea what I would have said to Cutter if Zack hadn’t shown up, but no doubt it would have been a mortifying mistake.
He’s in love with Megan. He has been for years.
Yes, he’s physically attracted to me, but that has nothing to do with emotional attachment for him. For Cutter, sex is like an especially excellent bike ride—a lot of fun, but you’re not going to doodle your bike’s name on your grocery list with hearts around it while you’re at home alone, wishing your bike was there with you.
He’s the kind of guy who has fuck buddies in cities across the world and doesn’t get attached to any of them. I’m the kind of girl who’s slept with a grand total of five men and was positive I was in love with every single one. Looking back, I realize that most of my crushes were cases of chemistry shoplifting my emotions, but at the time, I was positive the feelings were real.
I’ve never slept with someone I didn’t care about. I don’t have a moral objection to it; I’m just not wired that way. In order for me to get naked with someone, it has to be about more than pleasure.
“Except when you went home with Cutter last fall,” I mumble as I push through the staff entrance to Claudio’s.
Cutter and I had a great time that night, but I was under no illusions that it was more than physical attraction. I didn’t think I was falling in love with him. I thought that he smelled good and tasted even better and that his hands on me felt nicer than anything I could remember feeling in way too long.
It was a carnally motivated decision.
Pure and simple.
But it’s not simple now, and as I open my locker and change into a pair of linen pants and my chef’s coat, I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to have Cutter’s lips pressed to the top of my head as he held me close, promising he was the kind of person who made friends for life.
For a moment, I’d felt so special.
But I’m not special—not as special as Megan is, anyway—and the sooner I accept that, the less I’m going to suffer. I have to put this stupid crush out of my head and focus on getting my ducks in a row to open the new restaurant.
It’s the only sensible thing to do.
Too bad hearts aren’t sensible creatures. They’re hopeful, romantic things that only see the silver lining, ignoring the raincloud full of lightning until it’s too late.
I’m torn about what to do next. Should I end the fake relationship? Confess that I might want a real one? Immerse myself in work even more so I have no time or energy to worry about my stupid feelings? I’m so deep into wrestling with myself that I don’t realize Gene isn’t alone at the bar until I’m halfway across the restaurant.
Which means I only have a few seconds to prepare for what I immediately know is going to be a bad scene.
Bad scenes are Trevor the Terrible’s specialty.
For over a decade, Trevor Jackson, Claudio’s former head chef, ruled this restaurant with a fist made slick by the tears of traumatized servers and mortified line cooks. The man regularly hurled pots of near-boiling water across the kitchen, smashed plates at the feet of servers who didn’t scrape them properly before depositing them at the wash station, and shouted enough obscenities that a cloud of of them is still lingering in space over the restaurant, waiting to terrify unsuspecting aliens.
Trevor seems to hate everyone aside from Gene, Gene’s wife, and a handful of rich assholes who come up from Portland to wax poetic about his cooking every summer, but he has a habit of picking on women more often than men.
Maybe he hates women for refusing to date his cranky, pinch-faced ass.
Maybe he had an overbearing mother who ruined his childhood.
Or maybe he’s just a bully, and picking on people smaller than him—most of whom are female, since he’s barely five feet four in his lifted sneakers—is how he gets his kicks.
Whatever the reason, the staff practically threw a party the day he announced his resignation. At the time, I’d hoped that things would turn around for all of us, and that even with the increased responsibility, my work life would start to feel less stressful.
But that hasn’t happened, and the fact that Trevor is here for my meeting with Gene can only mean bad news.
Still, I force a smile, doing my best to pretend to be delighted to see my old boss. “Hey, there, Chef, how are you? What a nice surprise.” I lean in for a one-armed hug that Trevor accepts with an affectionate grunt.
Strangely, he always seemed to like me better than most of the staff even though—or maybe because—I wasn’t afraid to stand up to him when one of his episodes threatened to cause physical harm to an unsuspecting victim. The dangers of boiling water and a lot of other things should have been self-evident to anyone who isn’t a tantrum-throwing toddler, but that’s where I found myself way too often with Trevor.
&
nbsp; “I’m fabulous, doll,” he says, smoothing one side of his creepily thin mustache. “The Portland scene is on fire right now. So many exciting things happening in the kitchens downtown. You should come see me some Friday night; let me show you around a few of my favorite spots.”
“That would be amazing. Thank you so much,” I say politely even though the thought of driving down to Portland to hang out with Trevor for an entire night sounds like about as much fun as death by a thousand paper cuts. “So what brings you to the coast? Up for a visit?”
“I asked him to swing by as a favor to us,” Gene says, his blue eyes going tight around the edges even as his lips stretch in a wide smile. “Trevor’s graciously agreed to plan the specials for the next few months. Isn’t that great?”
I blink, certain I must have misheard him.
Surely, he isn’t serious…
This is my kitchen. Mine. Asking another chef to come in and plan my menu is not only insulting, it’s in violation of my contract.
“Oh, pish, it’s my pleasure,” Trevor says, waving a breezy hand as my stomach turns to lead. “I have so many exciting ideas for this season that I’m happy to spare a few. Claudio’s will always be home to me, and you can’t let your home get a bad rep now, can you?”
“Bad rep?” I echo in a remarkably calm voice.
I must be in shock. It’s the only explanation for why I’m not demanding a private chat with Gene and insisting he make this right.
Right now.
After sending Terrible Trevor promptly on his way.
“That review was pretty rough, Theo,” Gene says, making my head feel like it’s about to explode.
How can he still be so fixated on one asshole’s opinion?!
“It wasn’t bad. It was mediocre,” I correct in my best upbeat, let’s-talk-sense-now tone. “And that was months ago, Gene. Since then, all the other reviews have been solid, and our online rating on YouEat has actually gone up by a half a star.” I turn my attention Trevor’s way with a grin. “The customers are loving the complimentary mini-appetizers that come with the special. It’s been a fun way to introduce them to dishes they might not be brave enough to order on their own.”
“Clever girl.” Trevor’s brows lift, but it’s clear he isn’t interested or even really listening. He’s too busy slipping on his reading glasses as he pulls a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of his suit coat. “See, Gene, she’ll get there. Have a little faith.”
“I do. Of course I do,” Gene says, bobbing his head with too much enthusiasm. “Theo’s doing a solid job, but there’s no shame in needing a little help getting over the hump.”
“What hump?” My pretense of pleasantness is wearing thin. “There is no hump, Gene. I have everything under control, and I don’t need or want help with the specials.”
“Oh, check your ego at the door, sweetheart,” Trevor says with a patronizing chuckle. “You should be down on your hands and knees thanking me for the brilliance I’m about to lay at your feet.”
“I’m sure you’ve brought some great things to share,” I say, fighting to stay calm, knowing I’ll lose them both if I show too much emotion. When Trevor threw plates, it was because he was a passionate artist. If I start tearing up, it will mean I’m a “hysterical female” who can’t stand the heat in the kitchen. “But I’ve been working to support sustainable agriculture in the area, which means using produce that’s ripe and in season and staying flexible with the specials menu until I know what fruits, vegetables, and freshly caught fish I’ll be working with, week to week.”
“And that’s great,” Gene says, impatience creeping into his tone. “I’m happy to support green initiatives, but first, I need to make sure I keep turning a profit. Lunch reservations are down twenty percent in the past two months.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, copping a tone of my own. “But since I don’t work the lunch shift, I fail to see how that’s my problem. I’d advise you to take that up with Peter and the management staff and see if there’s some aspect of customer service slipping through the cracks on their watch.”
“We’re serving your specials at lunch,” Gene says. “And they’re being sent back to the kitchen at least once a shift.”
“But those same specials are selling out every night at dinner without a single complaint,” I counter, my pulse beating in my throat and sweat beading on my upper lip. I’m not thrilled about fighting with my boss in front of my predecessor, but I’m not afraid to stand up for myself when I’m being blamed for something that isn’t my fault. “So clearly it’s an issue with Peter’s preparation when he’s running the kitchen. I’d be happy to meet with him at the start of each week and make sure he has the specials under control. He could even come shadow me in the kitchen on Sunday evenings and see what we’re doing firsthand. I’m sure that would solve the problem.”
I’m not sure that would solve the problem, actually, because Peter is a bad listener and not the best chef when it comes to branching out in new directions, but it’s worth a shot and will hopefully get Gene off my back for a few weeks.
“We’re going with Trevor’s recipes.” Gene’s expression stiffens. “It’s already been decided.”
“It hasn’t,” I say, my heart racing faster. “My contract specifically gives me control of the menu and ownership of any original recipes created during my tenure as head chef.”
“Your contract also gives me the right to terminate you with one month’s notice,” Gene shoots back, his words hitting me like a karate chop to the throat.
Trevor sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Someone needs to learn when to keep her mouth shut, sweetheart,” he mutters, as my stomach turns to stone.
Gene can’t seriously be prepared to fire me.
Not when I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.
“Gene, I’ve been working my butt off here,” I say, hating the quiver in my voice. “And as I said, our online star rating has gone up since I took over. And dinner is booked solid almost every night. Things are going well. I’m doing a good job. I don’t understand why you can’t see that.”
Gene’s jaw clenches. Trevor shakes his head back and forth, as if he can’t believe how grossly pathetic I am.
“I’m sorry, Theo,” Gene says. “But I have to do what’s best for my restaurant, and going back to something more familiar feels like the best choice for me.”
“Feels like the best choice,” I echo, the backs of my eyes beginning to sting. I should shut up, take Trevor’s stupid list of specials, and walk away before I talk myself out of a job. But I can’t seem to stop my lips from flapping. The injustice is too much for me to take it and stay quiet. “Well, you’ll have to excuse me, Gene, but I think that dealing with facts is a smarter choice when it comes to running a business. And feelings aren’t facts, no matter how much you might like them to be.”
Gene sits up straighter in his chair, peering down his broad nose at me in a way that says I’ve overstepped. “You’ve come a long way since I first hired you, Theodora, but you’ve still got a long way to go and a lot to learn. You can either accept that and do as you’re told moving forward, or we can end this relationship and I’ll wish you well in whatever comes next for you. I’ve already talked to Peter. He’s ready to step up to run the dinner shift while Hans takes over the lunch service if you can’t continue to fulfill your duties at Claudio’s.”
My jaw drops and a sound like air escaping a helium balloon squeaks out.
And then I stand there like an idiot, words failing me as I realize how far down the road to Fire-Theo-ville Gene has already gone.
After I’ve devoted my entire life to this job.
After I’ve gone without two days off in a row and time with my friends and visiting my parents in Florida and sleep in order to shine in my new position.
After I’ve improved our customer rating and injected life into a menu that had grown predictable under Trevor’s rule and actually made Claudio’s a better place
to eat. Anyone with a brain can see that I’m killing it. Gene should be giving me a raise, not showing me the door.
I’m being fired for being different.
That’s what this is.
I was doomed to fail from day one because I insist on bringing authenticity to my work. Because I would rather fail while being true to myself than succeed while trying to cook like Trevor the Terrible.
I know Gene is wrong. But this still hurts. It hurts so badly I can’t stop tears from filling my eyes. “All right,” I say in a soft, broken voice, “I’ll clean out my locker now.”
Trevor barks with laughter. “Oh, come on, honey. Don’t be so dramatic. Take your spanking like a good girl and get back in the kitchen. This isn’t a job for crybabies.”
I keep my gaze on Gene, refusing to give Trevor the satisfaction of getting a rise out of me. “You can mail my final check. Or keep it. Whatever. I’m done.”
“Now, hold on a second,” Gene says, a hint of panic creeping into his gaze. “You can’t quit without notice, Theo. That’s not how things are done. You have an obligation to ensure a smooth transition in the kitchen.”
“You violated our contract.” I flick open the button at the top of my coat, a mixture of terror and elation rushing through me as I realize that I’m truly about to take this job and shove it. “I don’t see that I have any further obligation to you or this restaurant. And I’m sure you’ll manage just fine without me.” I flip another button, a smile lifting the corner of my lips as I take a step back, and add, “Since you feel I was doing such a poor job of running things, and all.”
“But what about the vendor orders?” Gene calls after me as I turn and walk away. “I have no idea how that’s being handled.”
“Guess you shouldn’t have fired the back of house manager,” I toss over my shoulder, feeling lighter with every step I take away from the toxic douchebags behind me. “She was doing a great job, too, by the way.”
“You can’t do this, Theo!” Gene shouts. “It’s unprofessional. You walk out that door, and you won’t be getting a reference from me. I’ll tell everyone how you bailed on the people who depend on you. You won’t work in this town again.”
Bang on Loosely Page 12
