Page 5 of Shades of Red

It’s been a week since Aurélie had to save me with the pâte feuilletée. She has yet to let the matter drop, and I’m about ready to strangle her.

Apart from the all too short weekend, it’s been five days of suffering in the kitchen beside the golden-haired girl, practicing techniques from various well-known regions of the culinary world. Braising methods from traditional South American cooking. Pickling procedures from Eastern Europe. Fish preparation from South East Asia. At the end of the day, we’re still expected to cook French food, but Chef Matis wants us to see how we can weave together different techniques andflavors to create an enhanced, more layered culinary experience.

I check the watch on my left wrist. Two minutes. I have five more blocks to go. Chef Matis is going to fucking flay me alive. Ignoring the fact that my Italian leather boots—the only expensive things that I own—are not meant for long distance running on cobblestone streets, I sprint.

I’m three minutes late when I make it through the front doors of Dix. I’m out of breath and sweat is clinging to my overgrown dark hair. Dropping off my backpack in the staff room, I quickly smooth back my hair and rush for the kitchen. As expected, Chef Matis looks as furious as a man of his even composure can be. He’s leaning against a table at the front of the room, his arms crossed, a tight frown on his lips, and the smallest hint of a furrow between his brows.

“Nine,” he says in a perfunctory greeting, his tone as cold as nitrogen oxide.

“Chef,” I answer with a respectful nod. I haven’t allowed myself to look forheryet, but I’m sure she’s absolutely ecstatic to see me being raked over the coals. She is sadistic like that.

“Between you and Ten, I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever be able to start our days on time. Is this how you plan to run a restaurant, Nine? Because I can’t say I’m impressed.”

“No, chef,” I answer, my tone respectful but unapologetic. I won’t offer excuses; I won’t tell him that unannounced road work had closed down half of the streets surrounding my shitty fourth floor apartment. My route was altered by nearly thirty minutes, and the reason I’m only three minutes late is because I leave early every single morning to ensure I’m always on time. Because I’m grateful for this opportunity and, unlike some people, I would never selfishly squander it.

I don’t offer an apology because that is the one thing my father taught me in his too-long life as an abusive piece of shit. Never apologize. That just gives people a soft spot to aim at when they’re onthe attack. Don’t show weakness because there will always be someone willing to exploit it.

Chef Matis considers me thoughtfully for a moment before his frown softens an almost indistinguishable increment and the furrow between his brow fades. “To your station, Nine.”

“Yes, chef,” I reply, thankful that he doesn’t choose to castigate me anymore in front of my peers. I walk with my eyes lowered toward the back of the kitchen, ignoring all the stares that fall heavy against my skin. They can judge and scorn me all they want. I’m not here to pleasethem. I stand in front of my station, confused when I find it empty and my beloved knives gone.

Same withherprep-station. I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know she’s there. I can smell her. Like cherries and vanilla. It should be cloying, like a cocktail that’s more sugar than alcohol, but for some reason it leaves me wanting to stick out my tongue and lick the air to see if it tastes like her. Somehow I know she’d be the sweetest little addiction I’d ever take a hit of. And that is the reason I’ll never get close enough to try.

“You know, some people don’t have theluxuryof showing up whenever it suits them,” greets a tart, French-accented voice that I’ve come to know all too well.

I groan in frustration. I’m ready to use her soft skin for carving practice, and it’s only eight in the morning

“Shut up, Aurélie,” I snap back at the golden girl beside me. That’s what her name means, I discovered from a misguided google search.Golden. Her parents were pretentiously prophetic at her birth. I refuse to watch the morning sun glimmer in her hair as she throws it over her shoulder in annoyance. Another one of her infuriating habits along with biting her lip. I’m making a mental list of all the things she does to drive me crazy. It’s getting lengthy.

“Oh, so I’mAurélienow? What happened to ‘this is a competition,and you’re nothing more than a number’?”

I laugh in response, the sound warm and surprisingly genuine. I said that to her last Friday when she managed to dig herself deep under my skin while criticizing my filet technique. “You know, for someone who hates me,” I pause to let my eyes slide over and capture her periwinkle blues, “you seem to hang on my every word.” She looks like she wants to scream, and the fury on her lovely face brings joy to my dark heart.

“Bâtard,” she bites back with the vicious heat of a ghost pepper.

“Not far off, actually,” I reply. “Although, for the sake of not appearing to be a complete stereotype, it was my loving mother who didn’t want to claim me rather than my father. Dear old dad stuck around, to the great disappointment of everyone involved.”

Aurélie stands there awkwardly, stunned into blissful silence for perhaps the first time. “Don’t throw around insults if you can’t deal with the possibility of them being accurate, goldie,” I dismiss before turning my attention back to Chef Matis. The damn girl destroys my concentration, and I’d love to go into at least one challenge actually knowing what the instructions are.

“You can go anywhere you want within the city limits,” Chef Matis continues with whatever he was saying that I missed while sparring with the beautiful, infuriating, French pain in my ass. “Although you’ll be provided with an unlimited budget, you and your partner will have to work together to source all ingredients needed for the dish at a reasonable expense.”

Fuck,did he just saypartner? I glance over at Aurélie, panic written on my face. Her answering look of annoyed acceptance informs me that I haven’t had the good fortune of mishearing. The chefs will be paired up. I hope to God we get to choose our own, and I will be sprinting for the front.

“I see some looks of disappointment,” Chef Matis says, his eyestrained in our direction. “But keep in mind that being an excellent chef isn’t all about the food. You need to be able to communicate well with the people on your team in spite of your differences.Andyou need to be able to balance luxury with cost. This challenge will test you on both.”

Chef Matis looks away and addresses the whole kitchen once more. “The pair that is able to work together to present me with the best dish prepared at the lowest cost will be today’s victors.” The room bubbles with excitement at the mention of victory. “This isn’t going to be a popularity contest, and you won’t be choosing your own partners. You will be paired with the chef beside you in numerical order.”

Fuck. I clench my jaw, my hands balling into fists. Aurélie drives me insane when I merely have to work beside her. How am I supposed to make it through an entire challenge workingwithher? The teeth currently burrowing into her bottom lip tells me she’s anxiously considering the same thing.

“Your dish for today is—coq au vin.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. It has nothing to do with pastry, and I could make it in my damn sleep. This should be an easy win. Then I glance at the golden girl beside me and remember there will be nothingeasyabout today.

Chef Matis motions toward the exit. “Go hang up your whites and fetch your things. You will be provided with a company card for any expenses. Meet back here at noon to begin prepping.Enjoy your day out in the sun, chefs.” With that, Chef Matis exits the kitchen and leaves the rest of us to scramble like chickens with their heads cut off.

Less than four hours. That’s how long we have to gather ingredients for the perfect coq au vin. Aurélie eyes me warily as she follows me out of the kitchen to collect our things from the staff room. Other chefs talk excitedly with each other while she and I prepare for our task in silence. I take off my uniform and hang it on one of the hooks. I’mwearing a black v-neck and a pair of black skinny jeans.

I discreetly glance over my shoulder to watch Aurélie remove her chef’s whites. To my great surprise, she’s wearing a sleeveless red dress beneath it, the silky material swishing and flowing around her knees as she moves around the room.Mon Dieu, I love to see a girl in red. The shade of the dress is an exact match for the cherry color on her lips. The lips she’s chewing on right now. I stifle a moan and turn away before she catches me watching her with a growing hard-on in my pants. I sling my worn, leather backpack over my shoulders. She grabs her too-large handbag covered in a tacky logo that lets everyone know you wasted a fortune on it.

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