Page 29 of Until August
“They all judge me just like you do. You think I don’t see the way you look at me? Like you’re better than me.”
I sighed. There was no use arguing with her when she got like this. “Get sober and go to the meetings, and I’ll send you some money, okay?”
“There’s always a catch with you, isn’t there? It’s my son’s money.”
It wasn’t. It was mine. He cut his mother off years ago. And if I were smart, I would have done the same. But other than Frankie, who had cut me out of her life, Belinda was the only family tie I had left to Cruz. I wasn’t ready to sever that final tie.
Thankfully, the car pulled up to the curb, and I breathed a breath of relief when Belinda got into the back seat without a fight. She slammed the door shut and stared straight ahead, not sparing me a glance as the car drove away.
I closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, and pushed away my mixed-up emotions. Then, shoulders squared, head held high, I returned to the kitchen and pretended nothing had happened.
August gave me a few looks, but when I wasn’t forthcoming about why I had to leave, he didn’t ask. Neither did Luca or Zach or any of the others. They were too in the zone, focused on their own jobs, to notice my inner turmoil.
Which was what I loved most about working in a busy kitchen. There was no time to dwell or think about your problems.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Nicola
Belinda’s visithad taken its toll. Seeing her opened old wounds, and I felt drained by the end of the night. Raw and a little bit vulnerable.
Not the best way to conduct an interview. But after August’s trial shift, I knew I had to hire him.
It was already clear to me, and everyone else—Luca had taken me aside and said that if I didn’t hire him, I would be making a mistake—that he was a good sous chef. A great one, even. And I’d be hard-pressed to find someone half as good as him.
So while the kitchen crew broke down the equipment and did a deep clean, I asked him to come to my office.
It was small and cramped and looked like a cyclone had torn through it. A wall of shelves heaved under the weight of binders and cookbooks. Stacks of papers sat on top of the filing cabinet, waiting to be filed, and invoices and to-do lists were strewn across my desk.
Frankie used to come a few hours a week to organize my office and help with the admin. She also used to do all my accounting. But now she wouldn’t even speak to me.
I sank into my swivel chair, and August sat on the leather armchair across from my desk. “Sorry about the mess.” As if it was usually neat as a pin, but tonight was an anomaly. I shuffled the papers on my desk into a neat pile.
He waved it away. “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding as if he really cared.
I forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He didn’t look convinced but kept his opinion to himself, which was just as well. “Thanks for covering the pass.”
“No problem,” he said, pushing his hand through his hair. I tried not to notice how his arm muscles flexed when he made that little move. “Glad I could help.”
I rolled a pen between my fingers. “The team seemed to like you, and you worked well with everyone.”
He leaned back and crossed his ankle over his thigh. Relaxed. Confident. Unruffled. “You have a good team.”
“I do. Most of them have been working for me for years. It took me a while to find people I could trust, but now I feel like I have a team I can count on.” Even last night’s disagreement between Zach and Luca was just a blip, and thankfully it was all but forgotten now. “You probably figured out by now that I’m going to offer you the job.”
No sense in beating around the bush. I was hoping it would be a quick, smooth process and he would accept my offer. All I wanted was to go home, dive under the covers, and sleep for a year or two.
“I was hoping that would be the case,” he said. “But I made no assumptions.”
He seemed different. Not as cocky as he’d been at eighteen. But then again, it wasn’t like I’d really known him. And we weren’t teenagers anymore.
“I’m not going to bother checking your references.” After the words were out, it dawned on me that this was probably not the best way to conduct business. I searched his face to see if he was surprised or relieved or didn’t care one way or the other. My money was on the latter. His expression remained neutral.
But really, the trial shift had been his interview. I’d gotten to see how he worked and interacted with my team, and in just one night, he’d already started to earn their respect. So I was taking a chance on him, hoping that tonight’s performance was an accurate gauge of his skills and talent as a chef.
“I never felt like they were a true indicator of how well a person would perform under pressure. Or if they’d be a good fit,” I continued, attempting to justify my decision. “I think you have to work with someone to learn their character, and it becomes clear over time.”
A man of few words, he nodded in agreement.
