Chapter 9 #2
“I don’t care. I want you to have it. You earned it. You deserve it. I only wish you had been there to see the smiling faces of our customers and hear the compliments that were rolling in. But you definitely needed the break more than you needed to be at the opening.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if I had seen them or heard them.”
“Oh, Walker,” she said softly. “You’ve forgotten all the good, haven’t you?
And there’s been so much good. The accomplishments you’ve had.
The titles you’ve earned with your cookbooks.
The royalty you’ve cooked for. The money you’ve made.
The records you’ve broken with your cookware.
There isn’t a single chef in the world who’s built what you have. ”
I drained the rest of my glass, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour myself more. “It’s not forgotten, Eden. It’s just not at the forefront of my mind.”
“What’s there instead?”
I stared at the amber liquor as I swirled it in the tumbler. This time, when I sipped, I felt one hell of a burn. “How much I fucking hate my job.”
“Walker Weston, what are you doing in here?” the executive chef asked as I entered the kitchen of the hotel’s restaurant—one that the Westons surprisingly didn’t own.
He was a man I’d known for many years, one we’d even tried to recruit to take over a location of Charred. The bastard had turned us down, and I could admit that the hotel was lucky to have him.
“I’m staying at the hotel, and I got a little hungry.
” I shook his hand as he stood behind the line.
The plates for the patrons were positioned in front of him.
Before they were put on a tray and taken into the dining room, he added the finishing touches and gave his seal of approval.
“Instead of ordering room service, I thought I’d come in and whip something up. Unless you mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind.” He released my hand and clasped my shoulder.
“It’s an honor to have you in my kitchen.
” He pointed at the walk-in fridge and freezer.
“Help yourself to anything that’s in there.
There’s even a gas range around the corner.
I use it when I’m testing new recipes. It’s yours for the evening. ”
I gave him a nod and went into the cooler. I hadn’t eaten all day. Shit, I didn’t think I’d eaten in two days. The only thing that was in my stomach was whiskey.
And a lot of it.
Inside the large fridge, I glanced at the shelves, where there were open bins of produce. Greens I could play with. Root vegetables I could sauté. The several options of fresh fish would easily pair, and with a kitchen like this, there was a plethora of sauces I could make.
I waited for the feeling to come over me.
The one that made my fingers tingle.
That made my mouth water.
That spread a warmth through my chest, where the creativity took hold and poured straight out of my hands.
But I felt nothing.
Not a goddamn sensation.
Not even a fucking interest to eat a single thing on any of the shelves.
My fingers stayed fisted.
My feet locked and planted.
And when I glanced over my shoulder at the gas range, hoping that would stir something, my stomach churned.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
What happened to me?
How the hell am I going to get me back?
“Couldn’t find anything you like?” the chef asked as I approached him.
“Not the case at all, my friend.” I knocked my fist on the top of his arm and kept walking. “I just got called into an unexpected meeting, unfortunately, and I don’t have time to eat. I appreciate your hospitality.”
“For you, Walker, anything and anytime.”
My hand shook as I held my phone, staring at the screen, every fucking ounce of my being wanting to send the call to voicemail.
But Rachel, my GM, was good to me.
And she knew how to handle me—unlike most of the staff at Charred LA.
“What’s up?” I asked as I held the phone to my ear, gripping the bottle of whiskey in my other hand, taking a swig while I waited for her to respond.
“I hate to do this …”
Fuck me, I knew where this was headed.
But I wouldn’t erupt on her.
I repeated that in my head as I said, “Except you have to …”
“I’m only asking because I know you’re on a staycation, which means you’re not far from the restaurant.”
I moved my stare to the door, where there was far too much glassware broken on the floor. “Word travels so goddamn fast.” I sighed. “When do you need me?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Why? What’s happening there?”
“Well, as you probably know, the sous chef has taken your place during the interim, and his capabilities are currently … a bit limited. We have some extremely important guests coming in. We also have a party of thirty-five that has reserved our private dining room. That’s in addition to a completely full restaurant for all three seatings.
” A beat of silence ticked. “You know I wouldn’t ask unless I thought it was absolutely necessary. ”
I moved to the edge of my seat, my ass balancing on the lip of the couch cushion. “Does Eden know you called me?”
“Yes.”
That explained why my sister had texted me a few minutes ago and said she would be reaching out in ten minutes and to pick up.
Two weeks off—that was bullshit.
It hadn’t even been a full week yet.
I couldn’t run away even if I wanted to.
“Please, Walker. This is going to be one of the biggest nights we’ve ever had since I joined the team seven years ago. Without you there … I just don’t have the same level of confidence that everything will be as perfect as it needs to be.”
My head slumped forward toward my thighs, and my teeth pressed together like I was trying to gnaw through a piece of glass. “I’ll be there.”