Page 4 of The One I Hate
“We’re out of asparagus.”
I clutch the knife even tighter in my palm. I try to slow my breathing, but I can’t. I feel like a volcano about to erupt.
“What do you mean, we’re out of asparagus?”
Bella’s confused look makes my frustration grow. “I mean we’re out. Like we don’t have any. Eighty-sixed. I don’t think it was ordered.”
“How the fuck are we out of asparagus!” My hands, including the one holding the knife, are now flailing as I lose my shit. “It’s fucking asparagus! How does a caterer run out of goddamn asparagus? It’s not that hard to find. They sell it at fucking Target!”
Bella starts to open her mouth again, but I hold up my free hand, asking her without words to stop speaking. Because if she says one more thing, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I say, exhaling slowly. “I need you to go to the office. Ask for a hundred dollars in petty cash. If anyone says no, tell them I told you. Then, go to the store and buy me every bundle of asparagus you can find.”
Bella nods frantically and runs out of the kitchen. I look around to see a dozen sets of eyes staring at me, probably wondering if I’m going to blow again.
Or if I’m going to stab them with the knife I’ve been waving around.
“What are y’all looking at? Get back to work!”
“Yes Chef!”
They all dive back into whatever dishes they were preparing. My arm is still raised above my shoulder, knife pointed forward, as I feel a grip on my weapon-wielding arm. Yep. They’re afraid I’m going to stab them.
“How about we put the knife down, killer? We haven’t had a trip to the emergency room in a month. Let’s not ruin the streak.”
I slowly put the knife down at the request of my work bestie and the best pastry chef I know, Mellie. “Good. That’s good, Charlie. How about we take a step outside so we can cool off?”
“I’m fine. I have an appointment in an hour.”
“I know, which is why we’re going to go outside.”
Mellie calls over one of the more capable line cooks on staff and asks them to finish the dishes I was preparing as she guides me to the back alley of the restaurant.
“Sit,” she commands, pointing to one of the empty plastic milk crates the line cooks use as stools during their smoke breaks. “Now breathe.”
I shoot her a glare, but she returns it right back. She doesn’t like to put on her mean face, but she will when she needs to. Which is now, apparently.
“I didn’t have you losing your shit over asparagus on my bingo card today,” Mellie remarks.
I huff out a laugh. Mellie doesn’t swear a lot, and every time she does, it always lightens the mood. Or makes me realize things are serious. “I know I shouldn’t have blown up like that. But I couldn’t help it. Who the fuck forgets to order asparagus, the vegetable that’s in a third of our dishes?”
Mellie raises an eyebrow. “Was that a rhetorical question, or do you really not know?”
I let out a sigh. Yes, I know who forgot.
Billy.
Billy, the boss’s son. Billy, who thinks he’s God’s gift to culinary cuisine. Billy, who thinks the Food Network is going to be knocking on his doorstep any moment. Billy, who burned two steaks last week, tried to pass them off as well done, and refused to believe the customer who lost a tooth biting into it. It wasn’t a lie. We saw the tooth.
“Are we surprised?” Mellie asks. “The man wore two different shoes last week. And they weren’t the same style.”
“I’m not,” I say. “But I also know there isn’t anything we can do about it.”
“Nope. Because Billy’s last name is Napoli.”
Mario Napoli started his Italian steakhouse in Nashville thirty years ago. Nine years ago, the business branched off and began a catering company that would do events, such as weddings, private parties, and banquets. Five years ago, he brought his son into the business.
Two of those decisions were good.
