Rafael
“No, we have enough tomatoes,” I said, waving Drake’s hand away from my ordering form. He had already wasted enough of my time this morning when he left things in such a state in the storage room that I had to spend half an hour reorganizing everything.
“But we need better ones,” he whined. “This is a film crew. We need to serve them the Hollywood best.”
I glared at him. “If they wanted Hollywood best, they should have filmed in Hollywood,” I said. “Besides, isn’t everything in Hollywood fake? All style and no substance?” I glanced down at his hands momentarily.
He didn’t miss the look, and he didn’t miss my implication. Just like your food .
“People like that are all about style,” he said. “That’s why I’m going to be plating up the steaks, and it’s why I’m going to be pairing them with fresh cherry tomatoes. I’m going to the farmer’s market first thing to pick them up.”
“And waste money, jacking up our expenses for one dish that isn’t even making us much of a profit in the first place?” I shook my head. “There’s no point!”
“Even you have to agree that fresh tomatoes bought that morning at the market taste better than anything our suppliers could send over in a crate.”
I put a hand against my forehead and shook my head back and forth, squeezing my eyes shut to combat the headache he was giving me. “Our suppliers pick it fresh at sunrise and bring it here before we open,” I said. “How is that crop going to be any worse than something you pick up at the market, where it’s had all the chefs and grannies in the whole town poking at it? You won’t even know if it really was picked this morning or if you’re grabbing yesterday’s leftovers.”
“It will be better because I will handpick every tomato,” Drake argued stubbornly. He folded his arms over his chest.
“Every cherry tomato?”
“Yes,” he insisted.
I looked down at the several sheets’ worth of printed preorders we had from the crew. “You’re going to go and handpick enough cherry tomatoes for… let’s see… Twenty-five individual steak dinners?”
“Yes!” Drake exclaimed. “I have nothing better to do with my morning, and I’m very thorough. Also, very good with my hands.”
He flexed his fingers in the air in front of him as if to demonstrate his point, and I found myself watching them writhe with a look of distaste. I didn’t want to know anything in particular about the capabilities of his hands.
If I thought about the capabilities of his hands, I would be in a lot of trouble, and I had to focus.
“I’m going to find Grey,” I said. “He can weigh in on this. On whether it’s worth ruffling the feathers of our suppliers and spending more money, plus more time, on one tiny thing that won’t even make a lot of difference to the dish.”
Drake growled. “It will make a lot of difference,” he said, but I was already walking away.
I couldn’t stand there next to him and listen to him growl at me.
It made me feel like I was about to find myself slammed up against the brushed chrome surfaces of our kitchen equipment with a hungry beast devouring my mouth and neck, and I couldn’t think about that for any longer than a moment or I’d give myself away.
Where was Grey? I poked my head out into the restaurant and glanced around. Nikolai and Kit were just beginning to lay out the silverware for tonight’s service; I caught Kit’s eye and gestured to the back office door with a slight frown, but he shook his head and shrugged. So. No Grey in his office.
I turned and glanced around my kitchen – because it was still my kitchen. Beau was chopping onions, Luca was humming something under his breath as he worked his way through the dishes we’d already dirtied, and Drake was still poring over my list. I watched him pick up my pen and narrowed my eyes. I’d have to go through it all with a fine-toothed comb before I sent it to the suppliers, in case he’d changed anything.
No Ainslie, and no Grey. I moved along toward the storage spaces and the corridor that connected them, trying to figure out where they’d gone. I heard a voice and started towards it –
And froze.
It was coming from the dry goods storage area; Ainslie had probably gone in there to get something for tonight’s service. But…
“No, I’m not interested,” he was saying, and I had the impression of movement, a flurry of steps and rustle of fabric.
“Oh, come on,” Grey laughed. His voice was low and seductive. “Aren’t you at least a little bit curious?”
“No, I’m not,” Ainslie said coldly.
“Are you even gay, darling? Because you know, that is one of the requirements to work here. You didn’t lie about it, did you?”
Ainslie made a disgusted noise. “So, what, no gay man in his right mind would fail to find you attractive? Have you ever considered you’re too old for me? Or that firing someone for being straight would be discrimination and I’d be able to sue you? Leave me alone, or I’m quitting.”
Grey scoffed. “Come on, now. That’s a bit of an overreaction.”
“I’m serious,” Ainslie said, and I heard his footsteps coming my way.
I tensed up. Ainslie hesitated on the threshold of the storage room, seeing me watching him. He met my eyes and his jaw clenched, and I gave him a slight nod. He stalked past me with anger written in every line of his body.
I stepped forward and into the storage room just as Grey was trying to leave.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
Grey half-laughed. “Looking for a snack,” he said. A beat later, he gestured at the shelves of food all around us, as if that was all he meant.
“Leave Ainslie alone,” I said. “He’s a good worker. He’s earned the right to be a chef here. I don’t want to have him scared off. We’d have to start again with training someone new.”
“Or we just hire someone who already has experience this time,” Grey shrugged. He brushed past me, knocking against my shoulder in the process. “Lighten up, Raf. I was just flirting. Everyone here does it.”
I ground my teeth together, trying to ignore the use of Drake’s nickname for me. It was spreading. “You’re the boss. That makes it different. Anyway, he doesn’t want you flirting with him.”
Grey sighed and turned around to face me in the corridor. He looked me up and down briefly as if to ask who I thought I was to even talk to him. “Do you want to win this little trial we’re doing and keep the Head Chef job?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied immediately. He knew I did. I wanted it more than anything. I deserved it.
“Then stop questioning me,” he said and carried on walking back through the kitchen and out to the restaurant.
My shoulders slumped. I couldn’t bring myself to go back out there and face Ainslie, not for a moment. I knew I should have said something else, stood up for Ainslie more, and insisted.
But I wasn’t going to.
I loved my job. I loved this restaurant. I loved my team. I wasn’t the biggest fan of Grey, but he was my boss, and who in the world really loved their boss? It wasn’t like he was doing anything illegal. So long as it remained in the category of idle chatter and didn’t cross any harassment lines, he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t proposition Ainslie again now that he’d been told no.
I had to let it go.
That didn’t stop the feeling of failure settling deep into my stomach as I walked back out into the kitchen, avoiding Ainslie’s gaze and ducking my head to the tasks ahead of us.