Ironically, he caught me with the arm that had trapped me. Otherwise, I would’ve fallen directly on my butt.
He didn’t acknowledge my moment of klutziness and I was grateful for his small kindness.
When he was satisfied I wasn’t going to topple over again, he dropped his arm and moved out of the way to let me pass. “Okay.”
I waited a beat longer, but he turned back to the shelves again. Conversation over. He had work to do and no more time for me.
Okay, fine. I didn’t need more time with him. He’d given me his blessing to have Sunday night off. That was the whole reason I’d gone in there to begin with. That was a win.
So why did it feel like I’d somehow lost?
I pushed through the rubber curtains hanging in front of the cooler entrance and rubbed my forearms in an effort to cool down. Or heat up. Or stop the hairs on my arms from standing straight up. Or maybe I was doing all three.
God, Wyatt. What the hell?
The shocking part of the whole exchange was that I had been expecting to hear Wyatt step back from his question. I expected him to assure me my dating life was none of his business. Or that I could date whoever I wanted.
But he hadn’t said any of that.
Now I was overanalyzing every single word and looking for hidden meaning, and I hated him even more for making me obsessed with thinking about him.
But at the same time I also hated him less. And that was even more confusing.
I rubbed my temples feeling a headache start to take hold. Sunday night couldn’t come fast enough. I needed time away from this kitchen. I needed to clear my head.
And my libido.
Six
My hands trembled as I reached for the door. This was it, the moment of truth. Or at least one of them.
An early one. Probably a baby one.
This was like a prologue to the moment of truth.
But, goddamn, it felt scary as hell.
One of my mentors from school had always said, if you’re not scared as shit, it’s not hard enough.
This was plenty hard enough.
The door pushed open before I could find the courage to touch it. A guy and a girl walked out carrying empty boxes that needed to be broken down and thrown away. They were both wearing black chef coats with red flowers on the lapel and their hair was hidden behind bandanas, although the girl’s springy black curls exploded out the back of hers. They checked me out but didn’t stop to chat.
I let out a slow breath and straightened my black chef coat with a flower on the lapel. Mine was a lily though. Not the Spanish rose of Sarita.
Normal people might not notice the difference, but we did.
I slipped inside the kitchen and the exterior door slammed shut behind me. Leaning back against it, I steadied my breathing and took a minute to get my bearings.
Even though I’d worked for Ezra for several years, I’d never seen the inside of the kitchen at Sarita before. I’d eaten here several times and gotten drinks with friends often. But the kitchen had been off limits.
I’d met a few of the chefs at Bianca and Sarita before now, but there was always this unspoken hostility between us. We would never admit it out loud, but we were in fierce competition with each other. We wanted to be the best of the harem. We wanted to be best bitch.
But aside from that, we wanted to be best in the city. And up until recently, when Bianca’s leadership failed, we had all been in steady competition for the title.
The constant rivalry made Ezra Baptiste infinitely happy and plenty rich. Because that meant he owned three of the best restaurants in the region. On the other hand, the constant contention made us feral.
Once, when the city had an arugula shortage, Lilou had run out and Killian made me call Bianca to see if they had any extra. The girl on the other end had laughed like a hyena and hung up on me.
There was a rumor floating around that some of the chefs from Sarita had broken into Bianca and stolen all their immersion blenders because they thought Bianca had better ones.
Basically, I was willingly walking into shark-infested waters.
And the Lilou lily was bleeding all over me.
“Hey, you made it!” Vera called across the kitchen that was eerily similar to Lilou’s. There was a significant size difference because Lilou was a much bigger restaurant, but the layout was the same. Good.
That made this an easier battle to fight.
Vera felt like safety, so I moved toward her. “Are you kidding? This is amazing.” I met her eyes. “You’re amazing.”
She waved her hand, dismissing the compliment. “I’m doing this for purely selfish reasons.” Leaning in, she dropped her voice and whispered, “Get me the hell out of here.”
I snorted a laugh. “Is it that bad?”
She looked down at her hands, seeming unsure what to say. Finally, she lifted her head and pierced me with a totally open stare. “It’s not mine. That’s the issue. It’s not mine and I feel it in my bones.”
Her words kicked me in the chest and my body started absorbing this moment before my mind could catch up. At the same time, a tingle started in my toes and rose through my body like an electrical current.
This wasn’t her kitchen. This kitchen was mine. It belonged to me. Or it would soon.
I smiled at Vera, feeling a change take root in the core of me, a hope and dream that I had never known existed until this moment.
The idea of it had been there for a long time. Even the strong idea of it. But it wasn’t until this moment, with the gleaming stainless steel surrounding me and the buzz of voices and chopping and hiss of fry pans and clank of dishes that I fully understood what it meant to wholly, totally, completely want something so badly I would work as hard as it took and for as long as it took until it was mine.
And then I would work harder and longer and tougher and smarter to keep the dream alive.
When I hadn’t said anything for long enough that I could tell Vera felt awkward, she clapped her hands together and asked, “Ready to get to work?”
“Hell, yes.”
She smiled back. I didn’t know if she recognized the hunger I felt for this place or if she didn’t know what else to do, but her smile solidified the still shaky parts of me and whispered to be brave.
“Tour first, don’t you think?”
I nodded and followed her as she began walking around the kitchen pointing out equipment and people. I continued to nod and smile, desperately but uselessly clinging to names I had no chance of remembering. There were just too many of them and I was still overwhelmed with the unfamiliar electricity rushing through me.
I took deep breaths and settled on figuring out how to get whatever I wanted without having to use names. “Hey, there, champ…” seemed my best option.
She took me back to the office and I blanched at the sight of it. “What happened in here?”
“Right? And Ezra was surprised when he quit. The jackass was a total slob. Killian and I have had a hell of a time getting her right again. This was what the kitchen looked like too.”
My hand landed beneath my jaw, supporting my head from falling off my body in shock. “The kitchen looked like this?”
She rolled her eyes. “It was worse if you can believe it. It was amazing this place hadn’t burned to the ground from a grease fire yet.”
“What about bugs? Mice?”
Her nose wrinkled. “Both. We’ve had exterminators come out, but we’re still working on it.”
Bile rose in my throat and real anger settled in my fists. I had worked in plenty of kitchens with bugs and mice problems. I had even worked in one with rats before. It was a difficult problem to solve once they invaded. And if you didn’t keep the kitchen in tip-top shape constantly, they invaded quickly.
That was why we were so absolutely anal about deep cleaning at Lilou. And why I would be a total slave driver about it when I ran my own kitchen.
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “How is the staff hand
ling the changes?” It was one thing to deal with the aftermath of a sloppy chef. But if the crew left behind was just as bad, it would be the fight of a lifetime to retrain them.
She glanced over my shoulder quickly before giving me a look. “They’re lazy and undisciplined, but not totally worthless. With the right leadership they could turn out to be something special. And I think they want a good leader. They’ve responded really well to Killian and me and our daily verbal whippings and chores. We have to spell things out for them… but they’re at least willing to try.”
“Are they talented?”
Making a sound in the back of her throat, she ran her hands through her hair. “Too talented. All they care about is the food. They don’t see the point of anything else.”
I rolled my eyes and let out a deep sigh. “So not the worst-case scenario.”
“I’d rather have chefs I could teach to cook better than filthy ones.”
My heart sank. “Would you hire any of them? For Salt?”
Her lips pressed together, and I could immediately see she didn’t want to tell me the truth. But she would. And I was grateful for it. I needed the truth. I needed the entire picture. “No. Not one of them.” She rolled her neck. “Maybe the dishwasher. He’s efficient. Maybe if I couldn’t find one I liked better.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. “This place is not at all what I imagined.”
She smiled. “You thought I was handing over a sexier version of Lilou, didn’t you?”
I threw my hands to the side. “Obviously!”
“Oh, young padawan. So much to learn. So much to teach you.”
“I only hope it’s worth it.” I leveled my serious face at her. “Listen, I’m willing to work as hard as I need to. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get this job and whip this place into shape. But there’s still the risk that Sarita won’t even go to me. That Ezra won’t hire me.”
She slapped her hand down on my shoulder. “Sure. That’s true. But risk is the best part, right? It keeps us on our toes. Keeps us sharp. If there’s no risk, there’s no reward.”
“Oh my God. You really are Yoda.”
She giggled, and using her best Yoda impersonation, she said, “Right, you are. Now, this way come. A shit ton of work we have.”
Laughing we finished the tour of the restaurant, taking our time to admire the dining room and how not in shambles it was. Ezra kept front of house spectacular. It would be my job to get the kitchen into fighting shape.
That new hope inside me bloomed with bigger blossoms. I couldn’t explain it exactly, but I wasn’t afraid of the work. It made me more determined, more desperate to make this place mine. Either way, we were bound together now. I wanted her. And crazily enough, I knew she wanted me too.
Sarita was all sultry reds and cool, hard blacks. While some restaurants with a similar color scheme gave a tawdry vibe or were just plain tacky, she had been designed to radiate passion and wild, uninhibited fun. But it was the passion for food and culture and not sex. Yes, she was a sexy restaurant, but because the ambiance couldn’t help but pull that emotion from you.
This was a space you didn’t just want to share a meal in, you wanted to stay here to drink, laugh, party, and make lifelong memories.
I loved Lilou more than anything, but her insides were stark and cold. The diners came for the food, not to feel comfortable or at home. Sarita’s dining room conveyed coming home and kicking off your shoes. Sarita was deep and open. Raw.
I loved her. I wanted her.
We walked back to the kitchen and I couldn’t remember being this excited to work. Ever. Not even when cooking was new to me and it was all I wanted to do.
I hadn’t known what I was doing back then. My adventure was purely discovery.
Today, I knew what I needed to do. So the adventure was in owning.
Vera stepped up to her spot in the very center of the kitchen. “Have you had a chance to study the menu?”
“Yes,” I answered simply, not admitting that studying the menu was the only thing I’d done since her phone call. I’d gone to work. I’d slept what little hours I could. And I’d gone over the menu again and again. I tried to replicate the combinations of ingredients at home to recreate the menu as it was described on the website.
It was hard to cook that blind, especially since menus only told a portion of the story. But I could say I was familiar with the concept of each of the dishes.
“Good,” she said simply. “Because tonight, I thought you could wait tables.”
All of my soaring aspirations came to a screeching halt inside my chest. “Wait, what?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve waited tables before, right?”
“Yes.” I hated my original response. I amended it. “No.” But I felt guilty for not telling the truth, so I added, “I mean, like my first year of culinary school I worked at this little Mexican restaurant, but I wouldn’t call that waitressing. There were all of ten tables to take care of and it was almost never busy.” Except for every night. I cleared my throat and let her see my desperation, “I can’t do it here. Ezra wants his servers to basically have college degrees in hospitality and I don’t even know how to—”
“Don’t worry about a thing. Currently, Ezra isn’t even in the country.” She grinned at me. “This will be fun. I brought a white shirt for you. It’s in the office. Why don’t you change clothes? After, find a guy named Christian out front. He’ll walk you through everything you need to know for tonight.”
Anger and fear flared to life inside me and I swallowed hateful words that burned my tongue. I’d given up a free Sunday night for this? “I thought you wanted me to work with you, Vera? In the kitchen? Wasn’t the plan for you to tutor me and mentor me and get me ready to take over as the amazingly qualified new head chef?”
She smirked. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“But how is that going to work if I’m not back here with you? Learning the kitchen? Learning how to lead it? Learning all the voodoo that you do so well?” I was not above quoting Salt-N-Pepa to get my way.
Her arms folded over her chest and she squared her shoulders, readying for the argument we were about to have. “I’m sure you studied the menu, but you don’t know it. And I’m sure you’ve eaten here before, but you don’t know Sarita’s ins and outs, or her deep, dark secrets. I’m sure you can cook the hell out of tapas, but you’ve never cooked anything off this menu. If you want Sarita, you need to get intimate with her, go down the rabbit hole, find out every single thing there is to know about her. Start with waiting tables and learning about the people that eat here, what walks of life they’re from, what they want, what they need from you. Sell the hell out of this menu, be able to recite the dishes from memory, get acquainted with all the dishes. Smell them. Touch them. Taste them. Do whatever the hell possible to become this fucking restaurant. I’m temporary, Kaya. A temporary chef in a kitchen I want nothing to do with. I barely know the menu and I barely care about it enough to make sure it’s done right. Don’t be me. Don’t be temporary. Be the miracle that will save this tragedy of a restaurant. Do everything you need to do tonight to become permanent. Then come back next Sunday and we’ll try something else out.”
Some of the panic drained from my chest to slosh around in my stomach. I hated the idea of not working back here with Vera. Front of house felt like a missed opportunity. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to hurry up and be amazing. As soon as Ezra got back from his trip, he would start searching to fill this position and if I wasn’t game ready by then, I wouldn’t get it. “This is some serious Mr. Miyagi shit, Vera.”
She smiled again. “You’re welcome.”
I wrinkled my nose but accepted my fate. I hated to admit that she was right, but she was. I needed to learn this restaurant. I needed to familiarize myself with this restaurant gorilla-style, quickly. I needed to work my ass off and do whatever it took to claim her as mine.
“Goodbye, Kaya,” Vera said
in a serious tone. “And good luck.”
I couldn’t help but snicker as I walked back to her office to change into the white shirt she’d brought for me. Vera and I had a similar shape except that she was taller than me. Her shirt fit fine even if it was a little tight over my chest—but I had been fighting the big boobs versus button-up shirts battle my entire life.
Pulling out my compact from my purse, I checked out my appearance. I hadn’t wrapped my head in a bandana yet. My bouncy pink curls were on full display. I’d used my amazing, deep rinse conditioner last night, so the pink was fresh and vibrant.
And my curls. They were everywhere. When I first started working in a kitchen full-time, I’d impulsively chopped all my hair off in an effort to survive the heat and chaotic schedule. But recently I’d wanted a different look. The only problem was my hair took forever to grow out. I was currently somewhere between the edgy pixie cut that had been so easy to maintain and a chin-length bob. Unlike when my hair had been short, blue, and styled straight, my natural curls were growing in with a vengeance.
Fishing for bobby pins in the bottom of my purse, I pinned some of the front ones back to give me a softer, 1920s look—something more customer friendly. It was no use terrifying the diners because I looked like I’d just touched a live wire.
Adding colored Chapstick and cute tassel earrings I found at the bottom of my purse, I finally felt presentable. My pants were still kitchen quality and my shoes were still my clunky Doc Martens, but for the most part, I could pass for every day society. At least I hoped so.
Fitting in wasn’t something I had ever cared about. Save for my brief hiatus from myself when I dated Nolan, I was way more comfortable in my own skin than trying to squeeze into someone else’s. I loved playing with the color of my hair and the shade of my nails and lipstick and eyeshadow—when I wore it. And when I dressed for places that weren’t Lilou, I enjoyed taking style risks. I didn’t set out to be edgy, I just didn’t squeeze into a cookie cutter mold.
Opposites Attract: The complete box set Page 69
