9. Booth
CHAPTER NINE
booth
The sharp underside of the pass digs into my palms as I clutch the edge of the stainless steel.
Gloria was the only chef I ever worked for, and for a woman who reminded me of my grandmother, she had a bite like a rottweiler if you didn’t do what she said.
When promoted, I promised myself I wouldn’t be your typical jackass of a head chef who threw his weight around and demanded respect rather than earning it.
That’s why, despite Kyle’s tremendous fuckup, I remain calm.
Even though this is the third serving of crab cakes he’s overcooked tonight.
“Kyle.” My voice carries over the clatter of pans.
“ A word?”
From the other end of the kitchen, his resounding sigh has my jaw twitching in annoyance.
The cracking noise isn’t from my knuckles, but my molars grinding together as my last ounce of patience wears thin.
We’re too slammed for you to lose your cool now, Booth .
“Today, please, Kyle .” My words are pinched as I prompt him .
The sound of his shoes slapping against the linoleum floor lets me know he’s taking his sweet-ass time.
He sidles up next to me, bristling, his tone bored.
“ What ?”
Breathe.
Breathe . Breathe .
“Ten minutes ago I told you this ”— I slide the entrée in front of him—“is not acceptable. The first time you said it was a mistake. The second you blamed the fryer. What’s the excuse this time?”
We stare each other down.
His white chef jacket is stained already.
Has it been cleaned since his last shift?
An arrogant twitch of his lips leaves my calm exterior crumbling.
“ Maybe the crab cakes were made poorly, Chef . ”
He knows I prepped those crab cakes this morning.
After he forgot to do it last night.
Service continues around us, and Simon covers me as I stand off with Kyle .
My sous is equally as tired as I am with our line cook’s attitude.
The sound of the door swinging on its hinges has Kyle’s attention redirected, and his expression shifts to confusion.
I may not be a hotheaded boss who rules his kitchen by screaming and smashing plates in a tantrum, but I’m also not a pushover.
Stiffly, I say, “ If you’re not serious about being here, we can have a talk in my office.”
“ Your office?”
My mood instantly changes.
That velvet-wrapped voice has the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention.
A grin spreads across my lips slowly as I turn to the woman whose gaze is ready to flambé me.
God, she’s sexy when mad.
“Hello, Silver ,” I drawl.
Kyle’s mistake is quickly forgotten, along with the endless row of tickets we have.
Alessandra doesn’t budge when a server walks in with an armful of dirty dishes.
Unlike me, they have some sense, because they retreat slowly when they see her expression.
“Who do you think you are?” she snaps, the ringlets resting over her chest vibrating with her quick breathing.
Laughing is not wise.
“ Is this a trap? It feels like a trap.”
“I don’t think it’s a trap,” Simon whispers behind me.
“ Maybe take this outside. And protect your family jewels.”
“Nah. That’s no fun.” I nudge his shoulder, still partaking in a staring contest with Silver .
“ I won’t be long. Don’t forget, eighty-six on the tuna.”
I can hear the smile in Simon’s voice.
“ That was really flying out today. Good call. It’s going to be a house favorite, for sure.”
For whatever reason, that angers my little temptress even more.
I break eye contact long enough to look at my sous.
“ Keep me in your thoughts.”
He signs the cross.
Alessandra storms out as soon as I round the pass, and I narrowly avoid getting my nose busted by the door swinging back at me.
She walks toward the office confidently, like she owns the place.
Confused, I turn toward Jo and Pat , who look on at the scene with equal perplexity from behind the bar.
“Do either of you know what the hell is going on?” I ask.
“Nope. But I can’t wait to find out.” Johanna gently shoves Patrick .
“ Go and get some popcorn. This is gonna be good.”
My older brother crosses his arms and narrows his eyes.
“ What did you do?”
“Nothing. I swear.” I raise my hands, then catch the angry glare of Alessandra as she waits for me to follow.
“ Tell Mom I love her.”
I follow my executioner, certain I’m walking toward my own funeral, and keep my eyes trained on the back of her head.
Not daring to watch the amorous sway of her hips .
When we’re both inside the office, I’m smirking like a madman, thinking about the last time we were in here.
If she catches the look on my face, she may well murder me, so I keep my back to her as I close the door.
“ Did you want to finish what we started last week?”
“I want you to tell me why you find it so difficult to follow orders.” The sound of the desk chair rolling over the hardwood floor follows her accusation, and now I’m really drawing a blank.
I turn, and frown when I find her perched behind the desk.
With her arms folded on top of the other, she levels me with a look so cold, my balls shrivel.
“Umm, that’s my desk.”
“No. It isn’t.”
“You got me.” I chuckle half-heartedly.
“ I share it with Patrick and Jo .”
She leans forward, waves a hand over the room, and shakes her head.
“ You’re misunderstanding me. Nothing in here is yours. It’s mine.”
Deciding to go along with this little game, I settle into the chair opposite her.
“ Okay , I’ll play ball. Everything here is yours. Now what is it I’ve supposedly done that’s got your panties in a twist?”
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth.
Smoke might as well be blowing out of her nostrils.
She rises gracefully, plucks a menu from the filing tray beside her, and slaps it down on the desk.
“This.” She jabs at the paper.
“ Who said you could do this?”
“I did?” My eyes bounce between the menu and her fiery glare until I’m dizzy.
“ Listen , it’s been a long week, but if you’re pissed we changed the menu, leave a review on Yelp or email in your complaint.”
“I didn’t take you for an idiot, Booth Sadler .” She sits behind the desk again, one leg crossing elegantly over the other.
“ I’m sorry you’ve had a hard week. Good news, though, it’s ending before you can mark off Sunday in your calendar.”
I raise my hand, because apparently I’m back in middle school.
I’ll admit, I was a little shit back in the day—always pulling pranks and messing around, but I usually knew what I was in trouble for.
Not today.
“Can I ask why my week is being cut short?” Concern trickles into my voice.
“You just did.” Her eyes drill into mine as she points at the door. “ You’re fired.”