“What do you mean?”
“I went to Killian. I asked him to evaluate you. I interrogated Wyatt and Kaya until they blocked my number. Hell, I cross-examined the entire kitchen at Lilou. I made Vera go on secret spy missions and test your skills. This wasn’t a whim, Dillon. This was a well-researched, high-level vetting process that you passed.”
My procession line of excuses dropped to my stomach like a stone. I caught myself on the table, barely comprehending his words. “What?”
He gave me that look, the one he’d been giving me my entire adult life. The one that said he knew better and I should just believe him because we both knew he was right and I was wrong.
“You’re saving me, Dillon. Not the other way around.” He leaned forward, dropping his voice. “And just in the nick of time too.” Giving the dining room a furtive look, he cleared his voice and admitted, “Between the two of us, things have been getting bad enough here that I have been considering closing her doors.”
I gasped for air, feeling the weight and pressure of exactly what he’d brought me in to do. “Are you serious?”
“She’s hemorrhaging cash. I’ve had to dip into the other restaurants’ profits to keep her afloat. And the reviews that have been coming out about her lately have been bad. I’ve done what damage control I can. I’ve put off as many critics as possible. But I’m risking her reputation and the publics’ interest.” He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I need you, Dillon. I know it’s not fair to ask so much from you. But it has to be you. Not just because you’re my sister, but because you’re the exact profile I need to rescue Bianca’s reputation. Fresh, new to the scene, up and coming. If anybody can save her, it’s you. I know it.” His smile was self-deprecating, apologetic, “I’m betting everything on you.”
I tried to smile, but it fell flat. How could I walk away after a rousing speech like that? Plus, he’d brought Dad into it. If there was ever a challenge I loved to win, it was one where my asshole dad was involved.
“Say something,” he pleaded, his eyes as scared and nervous as the first day I met him.
“I was just thinking,” I started softly, struggling to put strength into my voice, “how Vera’s odd pregnancy cravings now make sense. She wasn’t craving deviled eggs with foie gras and lemongrass. Or candy stripe beets with stone-ground mustard aioli. She was testing me.”
His head tipped back and the sound of his rich, full laugh was enough to bolster my courage—at least for tonight.
“She’s kind of an evil genius, isn’t she?”
“Totally.”
“Want to go over the menu?”
I nodded, not knowing what else to say. I couldn’t exactly walk out after all of that. I had to say, it was nice to hear that he actually believed in me and that I hadn’t gotten the job based on blood relation alone.
Now if only I could believe in myself.
Ezra and I spent the next hour going over the menu and the consistently top-selling dishes. He talked to me briefly about his vision for future menus and invited me to share my opinions.
By the time I walked back to the kitchen, my spirits were momentarily boosted thanks to his utterly genuine faith in me.
But that was where my hope crashed and burned. Because behind those swinging in and out doors, the kitchen was practically mutinous. Blaze and Ashlynn had spread their bad attitude to the rest of the small staff.
Or maybe they hadn’t needed to spread it. Maybe it came naturally to these people.
Either way, it was the worst night I had ever spent in a kitchen. It was worse than my first night at Lilou. It was worse than my finals at school. It was worse than the first time I’d taken over for Wyatt and happened to have a period migraine and a blister on my heel the size of a fist.
Nobody listened to me. I might as well have just kept my mouth shut the entire night, because it didn’t matter what I said or who I said it to. Orders came in and the kitchen filled them. Without acknowledging me. Without taking my suggestions. Without accepting my criticisms.
By the end of the night I was so utterly defeated, I didn’t even bother to go over cleaning projects. I let them leave and did what I could myself.
I stumbled into bed close to 3:00 a.m. and cried myself to sleep, still wearing my tank and white work pants. I promised myself tomorrow would be better, but not even my usually gullible heart could believe the lie.
This was the hardest thing I would ever do.
But I would do it for Ezra.
Even if it killed my reputation.
Even if he had to close the restaurant anyway.
I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t walk away. I wouldn’t let his dreams die because I was too afraid of some hard work.
Six
I parked Veronica in Lilou’s front lot and made sure she was locked before hurrying around to the side door. I pulled on the handle, expecting it to cooperate. It didn’t. I frowned at the time on my cellphone.
Where was Wyatt?
He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to solve all my problems. He was supposed to listen to them too. Admittedly, I was an hour earlier than usual open, but I had wanted to talk to him before I had to be at Bianca.
I should have texted him to let him know I was stopping by. Argh. Why didn’t I text him?
And why hadn’t I reached out to Kaya first? Or Vera? Or Killian?
Oh, I knew that answer. I didn’t want them to give me false hope. They were my actual friends—which meant they wanted to see me succeed. And that made them awesome.
But right now, I needed truth. And Wyatt was the most honest person I had ever met.
Granted, his honesty was of the brutal variety. But I had girded my loins and readied my abused heart for this conversation.
Also, after a full week of emotional, verbal and that one-time physical abuse when I’d gotten in the way of a service tray on its way out of the kitchen, I was pretty sure I could handle anything at this point.
Wyatt’s open criticism might even feel wonderful right now. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.
My attempts at taking complete control of Bianca had crashed and burned every single night. And not for lack of trying.
I’d been firm. I’d been tough. I’d been a downright asshole. I’d been kind and sweet and gentle. I’d been professional. I’d been a raving lunatic. I’d even thrown in a night of being a complete basket case, hoping the rapidly switching back and forth between manic and sane would confuse them long enough to get them to listen.
Nothing had worked.
Just when I had started to make progress in some areas—for instance, I’d finally convinced the servers to let me inspect the dishes before they left the kitchen—another problem would come up. The dishwashers would take ridiculously long breaks and our dishes piled up until I had to serve dessert on dinner plates and appetizers on dessert plates to keep food moving out of the kitchen. Or when I’d finally convinced the cook in charge of risotto to let me show him my technique, the cook in charge of protein had decided to overcook every single thing.
Ezra had forgotten to mention that I needed to order desserts every few days from our pastry chef. And not one member of the staff had offered the information when we’d started to run low. Consequently, we’d gone one entire night of service with only vanilla bean ice cream available.
God, I was fucking this up so badly.
I needed advice. Or a mentor. Or goddamn Mr. Miyagi.
And the worst part, the very worst part, was how proud Ezra was of me. He texted me often to say it. He would stop in the kitchen during dinner service just to give me a smile and a thumbs up. He thought because I hadn’t burned the place to the ground yet, I was doing a phenomenal job.
The truth was I was going prematurely gray and currently growing a boat-sized ulcer.
Jogging to the front of the building, I tried those doors. They didn’t open. I jogged back to the side door and tried it again. Then I kicked it when it didn�
�t budge.
Momentarily losing my mind, I grabbed the handle and violently tugged on it. It wouldn’t move, but that didn’t stop me from trying.
“Just freaking open!” I shouted at it as I lost my grip completely and flew backwards, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to catch myself from landing on my ass.
Bracing myself for impact, I lost my breath in surprise as strong hands managed to catch me around the waist before I bit it on the concrete.
“Whoa,” a rumbly, masculine voice breathed into my ear, sounding as though he were settling a frightened horse. “Careful.”
Vann.
Vann Delane.
Only upon hearing his whispered voice as it ran across my bare skin did it occur to me how completely crazy I had been acting. I managed to get my feet underneath me and stand up straight, pulling away from his saving grasp.
I tugged my fitted white tee down at my waist where it had ridden up when he caught me. Putting on my most sophisticated air of professionalism, I turned around to face him. “Thank you,” I told him evenly.
“Are you okay?” He was amused, like he couldn’t believe I was trying to pull this off without admitting my looney behavior.
I glanced at the side door to Lilou again. God, what I wouldn’t give to get in there right now. I realized it wasn’t even about Wyatt anymore. I just wanted to be inside Lilou’s safe, familiar doors. I wanted to smell that kitchen again, stand inside her, run my fingers over the smooth stainless steel and be home again.
Tears brimmed against my bottom lashes. I kept my attention on the door so Vann couldn’t see. “Not really,” I admitted, knowing it was futile to try to play this off. “I, uh, I need to talk to Wyatt.”
“Is it an emergency?” Vann asked rationally. “I could call him for you.”
“I have his number,” I snapped, brushing away a stray tear with the back of my hand. “I just… argh.” I cleared my throat. “To be honest, I’m kind of desperate to get inside Lilou. I’ve been working at Bianca all week and it’s been… difficult. I just wanted to be somewhere familiar.”
“I thought you were a robber.”
The laughter in his voice immediately dried up my tears. “What?”
“I saw this crazed lunatic yanking on the doors from across the street and I honestly thought you were trying to break in. I ran over here ready to…”
He had put his hand over his mouth and looked away, prompting me to ask, “Ready to what?”
“Detain you,” he confessed on shaky breath. He was clearly trying not to lose it. “I was going to tackle you to the ground citizen’s arrest style and call the cops.”
A laugh bubbled up inside me at the ridiculousness of this moment. My emotional instability got the best of me and I pictured Vann launching into a tackle to keep me from breaking the heavy metal door down with my bare fists and another laugh exploded out of me. “Oh, my god,” I gasped. “You must have thought I was a total psycho!”
“Deranged homeless person to be exact.” His laughter rumbled in the air, like thunder before a spring storm. “I was prepared to buy you a meal if you needed it. But I was definitely going to call the police.”
I wiped away tears that were from laughter this time. “I am deranged. This is so embarrassing.”
“I’m just glad I don’t have to wrestle a crazy person and call the cops at the same time. On the way over, I realized I should have called them first and then tried to stop the intruder.”
Giving him an exasperated look, I said, “Thank God you didn’t! That’s all I need. The staff at Lilou arriving just in time to witness me getting shoved into the back of a squad car.”
He snickered again, unable to stop himself. “And then your brother would have had to come bail you out.”
We laughed hysterically all over again. I doubled over, barely making sound as I imagined explaining to Ezra that I wasn’t trying to break in, I just wanted to smell Lilou one last time. He would have had me committed for sure.
“Ugh,” I groaned, remembering my beef with Vann and sobering some. “You were right. I’m not cut out for executive chef. Look what it’s done to me! Total strangers are having to tackle me in alleys to keep me from breaking and entering. Oh, my god, what am I even doing with my life?”
“I’m not a total stranger,” he reminded me, sounding offended. There was a beat of silence where I didn’t know what to say after I’d blurted so much and he clearly didn’t know what to say in response to any of my issues. But then he asked, “So you took the job at Bianca?”
I gestured at my white shirt and wide-leg pants, as if he would know the difference between Ezra’s restaurants and their uniforms. “Against my better judgment… yep. I did.” His gray eyes were intense this morning, lasering into me with that penetrating focus of his. I turned to stare at his shop across the street. “But I’m in way over my head. My brother thinks I can save his sinking ship, but I’m pretty confident I’m just drowning us faster.”
“Are you not a good chef?” I flinched at his bluntness. “I’m sure Vera could help—”
“It’s not that,” I snapped, bristling at his assumption. I wasn’t great at bragging about myself, but there was something about this guy that forced my fighting spirit to surface. “I’m a fine chef. I was top of my class. Wyatt promoted me to sous chef the second Kaya left. My friends all gave extremely high recommendations for Ezra to hire me at Bianca.”
“Okay, then what’s the problem?”
He irritated me with how unruffled he was by me. He wasn’t at all charmed by my looks or money or car. I didn’t know if he knew how much money I had, but I was Ezra’s sister, so that should tell him something. And he didn’t seem to notice when I grumped at him. It was like nothing phased this guy. He was completely unfazed.
Which only bugged me even more.
“The staff,” I blurted, questioning my sanity all over again for confiding in this guy. “They hate me.”
He weighed my words. I could feel his analytical energy from where I stood. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to shy away from a challenge. If they hate you, make them like you.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” I pouted. I’d tried that already. And about a hundred other tactics. “They don’t listen to me. I’m there in the kitchen, telling them what to do and they just… collectively ignore me. It’s like I’m a ghost they can’t see.” I cleared my throat of the bitterness burning hot. “They don’t want to see.”
“Hmm…”
“And I don’t want to go to my brother,” I explained, answering the question he hadn’t asked. “I don’t want to be that person. The girl that can’t fight her battles, so I run to my brother every time someone does something I don’t like. They already don’t think I’m qualified for the position and that Ezra gave me the job out of pity. If I get him involved, that’s just proving their point. I will never get their approval then.”
I knew he’d heard everything I’d said, but he was quiet for so long that I turned to look at him, curious of his expression. He stood there in fitted khaki pants and an army green short-sleeved button up, his arms folded across his chest, showing off his toned biceps. His hair had been recently trimmed short, just barely longer on top. His temple had lines shaved into the side. Trendy, but edgy for his usually polished look. His angular face was scrunched in thought and his eyebrows were drawn together over his nose.
I lost my breath, suddenly realizing how striking this man was. I mean, I’d always known he wasn’t an ugly guy, but this feeling of… attraction was new. He’d been this familiar stranger until this moment, this very one. I’d recognized his face before. I didn’t hate looking at him. But he was a guy I had never cared to get to know before now.
Not that I necessarily wanted to get to know him now… it was just different. I kind of, sort of, knew him. Or if I didn’t know him, he wasn’t a total stranger anymore, as he’d just pointed out.
He’d convinced me to take the Bianca job.
He’d started my car for me the other night. And now he was listening to my job problems.
We weren’t friends. But we weren’t…acquaintances only either.
“They don’t listen to you at all?” he asked thoughtfully.
“No. None of them. I’ve barely convinced the servers I’m the one in charge. The kitchen staff is completely feral.”
He lifted his gaze and gave me the full force of his stormy gray eyes. If I was a lesser woman I would have fainted. Or at least had to fan my face.
“Fire someone,” he said.
I shook my hair out, afraid I’d been so distracted by his face I’d misheard him. “What?”
“Fire someone. Tonight. The first time someone doesn’t listen to you or talks back or ignores you, fire them.”
His advice was so completely out of left field to me that I had trouble processing it. It was like he’d spoken a foreign language. “Your solution to getting the staff to respect and listen to me, is to fire someone? Just like that? Just walk in the door and make someone leave?”
“These aren’t your people, right?” At my look of continued confusion, he clarified, “You didn’t hire them? They came with the restaurant?”
“Right. Ezra hired them. Or the chef before me. I just stepped into the position with the current staff in place.”
“Okay, so they have no reason to be loyal to you. You’re the outsider, not them. And my guess is that you’re younger than all of them too?” I nodded, hating every second of his honest assessment. “Less experienced?”
I shrugged, not wanting to admit this part. “It’s impossible to say.” His gaze hardened, expecting the truth. “But most likely, yeah. I’m relatively new to the game.”
“And even though you have the chops for this job, they likely assume you only got it because of your brother.” When I started to protest, he reminded me, “You said so yourself.”
“Okay, yeah.”
“Fire someone. The first time someone talks shit, cut their ass loose.”
The Something about Her: Opposites Attract book four Page 7
