12. Lennon
12
LENNON
“V
egan order coming through,” I shouted. “Chimmichurri steak. Sub portobello and eggplant for the meat. Throw some extra veg on there. I want new pans and utensils. No cross-contamination.”
“Heard,” Julian shouted over the sizzle of the grill as he hustled to scrape and sanitize it as much as possible.
Echoes of ‘heard’ followed as everyone acknowledged the change-up. Pans, tongs, spoons, and ladles clattered as they were swapped out.
“Excellent,” I said as beautifully charred pieces of mushrooms and eggplant appeared in front of me a few minutes later. I made quick work of dressing the dish and sliding it onto the expo line. “Clear,” I called out.
The kitchen let out a collective heave as we returned to business as usual.
“Last reservation just checked in. Julian, cover for Zach. Zach, start closing and preparing for the staff meal. Let’s get home before one in the morning, alright?”
“Yes, Chef,” the men said in tandem.
“Javi, how are we looking on garde and pastry? You set?”
“Good to go, chef,” he hollered from the back.
“Great work tonight, team. Let’s keep it moving.”
The irony of my gym membership lifestyle was that I never used it to exercise. Working day in and day out in a restaurant kitchen was a workout in itself. On a slow day, I’d log fifteen thousand steps, lift fifty-pound boxes of meat and produce repeatedly, then sweat it out on the line instead of a cardio class.
The door to the dining room slammed open, rattling the glass-front cooler that sat beside it. I looked up, expecting to see Jessica with her ass on fire.
CJ stood in the doorway, braced in a wide stance as he tapped a file folder on his thigh.
“Out,” I barked as Jessica nearly ran straight into his back. “Unless you’re about to be fileted, grilled, and served, you don’t belong in my kitchen.”
He didn’t smile. There was no playful heat or disgust in his eyes. Just a cold stare that cut me to the bone. “Is that so, Eleanor ?”
The knife fell from my hand with a clatter and my blood ran cold.
Everyone in the kitchen went silent. The hiss of meat on the grill was a cymbal to the heavy thud of my heart.
I fought the urge to use my side towel to dab at the cold sweat on my neck.
He . . . he didn’t. I was hallucinating. I had to be.
But the file . . .
Cassandra had pulled it out earlier when we were in her office.
Protect me, my ass . . .
I was the only one who would protect me. And I wouldn’t forget it a second time.
CJ took a step into the kitchen, but paused when I lifted my knife.
“If you come near me, this will not end well for either of us. Leave .”
That asshole smile that he used to charm the pants—and panties—off of me at the bar was back. But this time I didn’t feel the sparks. I felt the flames.
We were both about to burn it all down.
“Pipe down, slugger. You sure you want to add another charge to your rap sheet?”
I dropped the knife and lunged before he could get another word out.
If I was going to catch another charge, it wouldn’t be for attempted murder. It would be premeditated, in the first degree.
I took a swing as someone yanked me back, arms banding around me before I could get my hands on him.
CJ never flinched. Asshole.
“Chef—” Julian grunted as he struggled to keep me from gouging CJ’s eyes out.
How fucking dare he go through my file .
I wasn’t sure if I was angrier that he had read through my file or used my unfortunately legal name. Eleanor.
I hadn’t heard that one in a long time.
Julian pulled me back a safe distance from CJ and let me go, returning to his station to flip the steaks.
We didn’t want to mess up the crosshatch, after all. Homicide could wait, but hungry guests couldn’t.
“You good, Chef?” Zach asked as he came up behind me.
I didn’t answer, because I wasn’t good. I wouldn’t be good as long as I was in CJ’s vicinity.
The kitchen had turned into a stand-off. Us versus him.
“That tattoo on your arm is accurate. Isn’t that right, jail bird?”
I swung before I could think better of it. CJ never saw it coming. My fist connected with his jaw, cracking in a swift punch.
Jessica shrieked. Shouts rose up.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning at the snap of pain in my hand. That was going to be a bitch to work through.
CJ jolted at the punch, swearing loud and bright as he stumbled back. Whether it was to come at me or to get his footing, he bolted forward. Julian and Zach wedged between us, Julian shoving CJ away and Zach yanking me deeper down the line.
I channeled every ounce of fury that boiled inside of me as my eyes locked on his.
CJ used the back of his arm to wipe the blood that trickled from the corner of his lip. “Looks like you live up to your name, slugger.”
“Fuck off!” I roared in anger.
I knew most of the Griffith family lived on the ranch, but the houses were seemingly separated by miles. The only one I passed on my way in and out was the main house at the very front of the property.
If I had any doubt how fast news traveled on a cattle ranch, I had my answer when Cassandra and Christian Griffith stepped into the doorway.
Cassandra sat at her desk wearing silk pajamas that somehow still resembled office attire. She rapped her nails across the top of my file.
I was right back where I had started this afternoon.
Christian stood behind her. I imagined it was partially as a show of force, but also to keep CJ and me from killing each other.
CJ stood in the far corner, holding an ice pack to his face. It matched the one I had discarded on the desk after pressing it on my knuckles during the walk from the restaurant to the ranch office.
Cassandra had been silent for far too long as she worked through measured breaths and flipping through incident reports.
“I’m not sure where to start with you two,” she said as she reached for a pen and scribbled a note to call Chef DeRossi on a scrap of paper.
My stomach sank.
As soon as the punch connected, I knew what my fate was going to be. There was no use arguing it.
“CJ,” Cassandra said. “Are you pressing charges?”
“I should,” he muttered.
“The correct answer is ‘no,’” Cassandra clipped without skipping a beat. “I have a restaurant full of witnesses that say you started it. You will take having your ass publicly handed to you as the consequence of your actions. Especially because we told you to get the fuck over it after your stunt with the cows this afternoon.”
At the mention of cattle, Mickey lifted his head and opened an eye.
“Now,” she said, turning to me. “Is this going to happen again?”
“Not if he pretends I don’t exist. Leave me alone and we won’t have a problem.”
That’s all I could ask for. I couldn’t rewind the clock and erase CJ outing my name and past to all my cooks, no matter how much I wanted to.
“Seriously?” CJ shouted. “She punched me in the fucking face and she gets off with a slap on the wrist?”
“Chef DeRossi and I will discuss Lennon’s consequences later,” Cassandra said.
I wished she would just fire me. I didn’t want to see the disappointment in Chef DeRossi’s face.
CJ let out a malefic laugh. “You’re seriously going to let a fucking murderer work for the ranch?”
“Your reading comprehension skills need work, dumbass,” I snapped.
“Shut up, Eleanor ,” CJ hissed.
“Watch your mouth,” Christian said as he turned on his brother.
“You’re defending her?” CJ shouted in disbelief.
Cassandra slammed her hands on the desk. “We’re here because you—” she pointed at CJ “—couldn’t keep your dick to yourself.”
I choked on a laugh.
Cassandra’s terrifying gaze turned to me. “And you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself and your temper in check.”
“How did he even get my file?” I said. “ You were the only one who was supposed to have access to it.”
She shut me up with a lifted finger. “You are on very thin ice. I suggest you change the tone you are currently using with me. Understood?”
I gritted my teeth.
“CJ,” Cassandra said. “Why did you go through the employee files in my office?”
He didn’t make a peep.
“No one’s going to talk? Fine.” Cassandra stood. “You both have two strikes. If you want to keep your jobs, don’t get a third.”
CJ’s jaw dropped, but he snapped it shut. “You can’t fire me.”
“No, but I can,” Christian said as his gaze hardened toward his brother. “I told you—the ranch is a choice. Either you straighten up your act or you find another job.”
He sided up to his wife and put his hands on her shoulders with a gentle squeeze.
“You both think your little spats are harmless. They’re not. You two picking at each other is the spark that will start a wildfire. It doesn’t seem like it’ll affect anything until it’s all burning down. You have to sacrifice something when you dig a fire line, but it’s necessary to keep the burn from spreading. It’s time to decide what’s worth saving: your pride or your longevity.”
“Fuck you,” CJ spat as he stormed out of the office. “Fuck all of you.”
I made the drive to the gym in silence.
No radio. No music. No humming or tapping.
I felt like a cat on its tenth life. At some point I would run out, and it should have happened a long time ago.
Christian’s words about digging a fire line echoed in my mind.
Once upon a time, I had gotten caught in someone else’s blaze, and I paid the price. Like the phoenix tattooed on my arm, I felt like I was cheating death over and over again. I didn’t know what my fire line was—that piece of myself I had let go of to stop the cycle of destruction.
Unfortunately, it didn’t come to me. Not after my mile on the treadmill. Not after my shower in the locker room. And not as I settled into the backseat of my car for the night.
I wondered how long I could outrun the wildfire front before it consumed me entirely.