Page 15 of Filthy Chef

I’m already dialing my business partner, Cash Young, when Journey resumes her shower.

“Hey buddy. Who owns the Rubicon?”

“And hello to you, too,” Cash answers.

“I don’t have time for small talk, Cash.”

“Fair enough. Well, Einstein, it’s in the Rushmore Hotel, right? So, I believe it’s a Rushmore property. Why?”

“Find out if Nick is interested in selling the restaurant to us.”

Cash scoffs. “No way. That’s Richard’s baby.”

“That chef’s a tool, and about one dropped serving spoon away from a lawsuit.”

“You’ve got no room to talk, the way you shout at people.”

Cash is not wrong. The last sous chef at our McKinney restaurant quit when I yelled at him for bringing in a nitrogen tank to try some molecular gastronomy.

“These kids today don’t listen when I tell them our customers don’t want any of that shit.”

“OK, Grandpa,” Cash snorts.

I shake my head. “We’ll make it worth Nick’s while. Just find out what he needs to sell it out from under Richard. Draw up the papers today and call Ashley,” I say, referring to our attorney.

Cash hesitates. “Are we Young & Riggins-ing this shit? As in, an overnight turnover? For real?”

“Abso-fuckin-lutely we are.”

He pauses, then grunts. “I trust your judgment on this; we have the cash on hand. But, man, that Rushmore guy is an old pain in the ass. Still, it’s a hugely popular restaurant so the contract would be worth it. But why now?”

The only answer he gets from me is, “Location, location, location.”

eight

Journey

I’m giddy enough to skip like a schoolgirl to my first day on the job, except that I’m sore between my legs. Every step is a twinge. Who knew this could happen even without, well, penetration?

I hate that word. Even saying it in my head gives me the ick. But holy shit, Jay’s fingers. Jay’s…everything. It was the most perfectly magical day, and night.

My hazy, dreamy state dissipates when I enter the kitchen at the Rubicon. A brand new sous chef jacket hangs in a locker in the back room. I pick it up and turn it over. My name is embroidered in gold on the chest. That was quick. I think I’m gonna like it here.

Smiling to myself as I button up, I decide that maybe I had the wrong first impression of Richard. Yeah, he’s a little eccentric, but clearly he likes me. I mean, this jacket is sweet. He must have been busting my chops about climbing the ladder and stepping stones and all of that.

A nervous-looking woman close to my age comes in and unlocks a locker next to me.

“Hi,” I say, a little too enthusiastically and eager to make friends.

She jumps and looks up. “Oh, hi! I didn’t see you there.”

I laugh. “Clearly, you’re preoccupied this morning. I’m Journey.” I hold out my hand, and she takes it with a firm handshake.

The look in her eye is a little guarded. “I’m Lola,” she says, looking me over. “And we’re all a bit preoccupied under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” I ask, searching her face for clues.

Her eyes widen at me, and she glances at my jacket. “You haven’t heard? That’s crazy, I would’ve thought the sous chef would’ve been the first to know.”

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