Chapter Six
Jase
“You planning on doing any cooking today, or have you switched careers to bartending?” Aubrey asked as she walked up to where I leaned against the counter behind the bar. She grabbed the ice scoop and filled the plastic deli container she used as a drinking cup with ice.
I’d been here for the last hour, one ankle hooked over the other, arms crossed over my chest, watching the scene play out in the dining room. I hadn’t even changed out of my street clothes yet, still wearing jeans and a T-shirt. It wasn’t unusual for me to arrive early to work, but me not doing anything once I got here was.
I shot her a smirk. “Like you don’t have it covered in there.”
I’d first worked with Aubrey at my last job before coming to Ardena. I’d been the executive chef, and she’d been one of two sous chefs, the only woman in a kitchen of ten cooks. That ratio was still fairly common in professional kitchens, but that kitchen in particular made being a woman ten times more difficult, thanks to the owner of the restaurant being a grade A prick.
Every day, I’d watched the other sous chef—a guy named Christian who thought the snot in his nose deserved a Michelin star—pass off the most difficult and time-consuming tasks to Aubrey, then turn to the owner and whisper in his ear that she was slow and sloppy. He’d mock her for thinking she would ever make executive chef, knowing she would never complain. To complain was to be seen as weak, and no woman could afford that in this industry. Anything I said to the owner about firing the asshole was ignored, along with every attempt at higher wages for the line cooks and more reasonable hours all around.
When Jillian offered me the job to run her new restaurant, it had been a no-brainer. So had asking Aubrey to come with me as my sous chef.
Best two decisions I ever made.
She scoffed as she topped off her cup with water. “Of course, I do. Just don’t want you to get rusty. I’m not sure Zach or Luis could handle sous chef just yet if Jillian was forced to kick you to the curb.”
I chuckled, but my attention slid back to the couches in the center of the room.
“How’s it going?” Aubrey asked, following my gaze.
“Good, I think. Been pretty standard questions.”
Jillian’s press release from a few days ago managed to land Dani three interviews at the restaurant. She currently sat on one of the blue velvet couches, finishing up with reporter number two. I had no idea whether she’d done this before or was just a natural, but watching her, you’d assume talking to the press was her full-time job.
Her body was at ease, her legs crossed in a way that came off as laid-back while at the same time in total control, and she’d lean in ever so slightly as the reporters spoke, communicating they were in the driver’s seat, when really she was the one to plant the seed for the next question with her every response.
I’d watched her strike the same balance with Jillian as they’d worked out the final draft of the press release. How she’d smoothly sneak in and take command without the other person realizing it. A good number of my former bosses had strived for that same skill and fallen short. Something told me Dani didn’t realize she possessed it at all.
To top it off, she clearly knew her stuff. Answers rolled off her tongue without hesitation about HBC’s mission and the clinic they were trying to build, even touching on Jillian’s contributions and Ardena. And none of it sounded stiff or like regurgitated talking points.
Jillian had only been here for the first interview before needing to run. She’d sat behind the reporter and looked on with the same sharp smile she wore whenever she sensed victory.
As for me, I didn’t have a real reason for being here. None other than that this restaurant meant as much to me as it did Jillian, and I cared about the kind of press it got. I was just keeping an eye on things.
I nearly had myself convinced.
As the third reporter settled on the couch across from Dani, I started to feel like maybe I had a reason to.
“He looks cutthroat,” Aubrey mumbled.
I’d witnessed the other sous chef at our last restaurant outwardly grin as the owner towered over Aubrey and screamed in her face about a misplaced box of rags she’d had nothing to do with. Her baseline for cutthroat was scaling the roof of the Comcast building.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose.
The reporter was a white guy at least my age, maybe older, though a frat-boy aura still clung to the lapels of his pin-striped blazer. His mouth quirked in a way that, combined with his narrowed eyes, seemed almost competitive. As if he was after something he knew Dani wouldn’t give up willingly, and it was his job to pry it out of her. A viper sensing its prey with a smug certainty that might have been intimidating if it weren’t for Dani’s easy confidence.
I hadn’t seen that confidence in her the first day we met, but the second she got in her element, it infused her like a vanilla bean did bourbon, and not even this reporter seemed to shake it.
He leaned back on the couch and crossed one leg over the other, resting his notepad on his knee. “Bill Sewick, the Citizen Daily . Miss Mills,” he began, false charm in his tone. “How do you justify using the money of well-meaning donors to throw an extravagant party in order to gain notoriety?”
My shoulders stiffened.
Dani just gave an easy smile. “The symposium is an educational event as much as a fundraiser. Some of the most notable experts in their fields are joining us to discuss possible solutions to the maternal health crisis we face in this country. With the money we hope to raise at the gala, we’ll be able to put some of those solutions into practice right here in our very own city. I believe that’s exactly the sort of impact our donors hope to make with their contributions.”
“By solutions, you mean this proposed health clinic the Healthy Birth Coalition intends to build in Colwyn? How exactly is a free clinic going to make more of an impact on maternal health than the numerous hospitals already in the area?”
Aubrey leaned in and murmured, “Jeez, what’s this guy got against health clinics?”
Beat me, but I wasn’t interested in finding out. A sour feeling wound its way around my gut.
“While hospitals provide crucial care for this city, not all have dedicated labor and delivery departments, and many are out of network or simply too far away for a large percentage of the population to access, especially those in lower-income areas,” Dani explained. “The HBC Prenatal Health Clinic and Birth Center will be dedicated to offering low- and no-cost prenatal, birthing, and infant care to an area currently lacking those services, so those who might not normally be able to afford access can have it.”
“Will abortions be one of those services ?” He dug into the last word like it was something he’d fished out of the trash.
Aubrey sucked a breath through her teeth, seeing as clearly as I did where this was headed.
The slightest tension pulled at Dani’s shoulders, but she kept her face composed as she answered. “Abortion is a medical intervention legal in the state of Pennsylvania. HBC believes all medical decisions should be left to a patient and their physician.”
“But will the physicians at your clinic be offering them?” the reporter asked. The snark in his tone grated my ears, and I was about two seconds from marching across the dining room and kindly inviting him to get the fuck out of my restaurant.
Why would Jillian agree to this interview? It wasn’t like it served some secret agenda of hers. She outwardly, loudly supported the right to choose.
“The entire licensed and certified medical staff of this clinic will provide our patients with the highest level of care,” Dani answered simply.
The reporter gritted his teeth, mouth twisting into a sneer. He either held genuine anger around the issue or wasn’t getting the response he was aiming for. My bet was on the latter. “The people funding your clinic deserve to know whether their money will be used to slaughter innocent babies. Will abortions be performed, yes or no?”
That was it.
I made it two steps toward the dining room before Dani’s voice stopped me in my tracks. The patient veneer she’d maintained until now shattered like glass, her new tone sharp enough to kill.
“Mr. Sewick, this clinic will be a full-service birthing center providing the same services as any labor and delivery department in this city. Go ask Philadelphia Memorial Hospital if they perform abortions, and you’ll have your answer. While you’re there, ask them how many pregnant patients they lose to heart conditions each year and how many complications they see from preeclampsia that went untreated due to lack of prenatal care. Ask them how many children in the state were born preterm due to iron deficiency anemia and how many mothers would still be alive if their depression had been diagnosed. And since I doubt you will, allow me to enlighten you.
“More than eighty percent of pregnancy-related deaths in the United States are preventable, with over half of those deaths happening up to one year after delivery. The prenatal and follow-up care that can prevent these deaths are exactly the kinds of services this clinic plans to provide. The mission—the only mission—of this clinic is to save lives, both the lives of those who are pregnant and of their babies, unborn or otherwise. And you and anyone who disagrees with our cause are welcome to not donate.”
Dani held herself straight in her seat, shoulders down and head high, like a fucking queen on her throne, calmly meeting the glare the reporter was trying to burn through her skull. I was ready to march over and kneel at her feet. Or maybe give her a high five and then shove my finger in the reporter’s face before tossing him out on his ass.
I didn’t get the chance. With one quirk of Dani’s brow, the reporter curled his lip with a huff, grumbling something as he gathered his things and stalked out.
Aubrey chuckled under her breath. “Right, so don’t mess with Dani. Noted.” She slapped me on the shoulder and headed back to the kitchen.
I couldn’t stop my smirk. I was smug and proud and impressed as hell.
Dani closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then stood from the couch and made her way to the bar. I pulled two pint glasses from the glass fridge and filled one with beer and one with the cider I’d seen her drinking the other night with Jillian.
When she reached the bar, she plopped into her usual end stool and slumped forward as if all the energy had drained out of her. She straightened as I approached, that defensive edge she sometimes had sharpening in her eye. It morphed to confusion as I placed the cider in front of her, then amusement as I tapped my glass against hers and raised it in cheers.
I paused with the glass halfway to my mouth, watching her. Waiting.
She eyed the cider, then me, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as she grabbed the drink and brought it to her lips.
I did the same with mine, not bothering to hide my grin.