Page 1 of Challenged By You
Chapter 1
Trina
Iwant to make this call about as much as I want to slice my finger open with one of my chef’s knives, but I don’t have a choice. Picking up my cell, I dial my mother.
“What is it, Trina? I don’t have a lot of time.” I grit my teeth at how she greets me. God, if it weren’t for the absolute belief she treasures my kids and won’t let any harm come to them, I never would have applied for a job here in New York. I’d have gone somewhere, anywhere, just to avoid the judgmental attacks I get each time I have to deal with her.
“Mom, work just called. An emergency meeting. I won’t be more than two hours—” I begin, but I’m cut off by her shrieking in my ear.
“It’s my canasta day! You know this.”
“I do,” I acknowledge. Probably because she’s mentioned it every week since I was forced to move back to the city, but I hold that in.
“I only get to do so much for me, Trina. I’m not just a babysitter at your beck and call; you need to find someone else for emergencies,” she lectures for the umpteenth time.
“I’m trying, Mom,” I grit out.
“It can’t be that hard,” she bemoans. “After all, they’re just babies.”
“Toddlers, Mom. But here’s the thing, I don’t want just anyone watching them. Do you?” I fling back.
“Well, no.” I feel her weakening.
“Mom, two hours. I’ll pay you double. This way you can take a cab to canasta,” I bribe, knowing that half the time she’s going to be watching my littles would have been spent walking the eighteen blocks to the community center. I squeeze my eyes closed. The reality is, my mother’s not young. It’s not her responsibility to be watching my children day after day while I’m at work, but with the budget I’ve put myself on to give my children everything they could ever need, I just can’t figure out how to afford something else. Not when I don’t know many people in the city, and I’m not willing to leave my babies with just anyone.
Running my finger over the chipped linoleum, I dream about the day I can rent a better apartment closer to work. But I know each mile I move closer to the city means more money. Money I need to sock away toward Chris and Annie’s futures.
“Fine,” Mom snaps, jostling me out of my reverie. “Bring the kids down. But you’d better not be late, Trina,” she warns before she slams down the phone in my ear.
“God, I wish she’d ditch that landline.” I press End. With a sigh, I go to the bedroom to wake my babies like it’s any other workday. To them, it’s a normal day to go to Grandma’s. Thankfully, they don’t realize I was supposed to be off today.
They’ll just be ecstatic I’m home early.
They won’t be the only ones.
* * *
An hour later,I’m sprinting through the back doors of Seduction out of breath. “Made it,” I gasp, skidding to a halt. Before I think of approaching the executive chef’s office, I duck into the minuscule employee locker room, stash my purse, wash up, and slide into my white slim-fitting jacket. Tucking my hair beneath a net and grabbing the toque blanche denoting my status in the kitchen full of trained professionals, I take a deep breath.
I’m startled when I don’t see anyone else moving in that direction. Instead, at the appetizer preparation station they’re busy dicing up celery, mincing garlic, and coring apples. Quick waves and “Heys” are exchanged before I move on. I scoot around the next station to avoid the careful deseeding of chilies as well as the salt preparation that will be used for the salmon later. “Oops, sorry, guys!” I apologize as I bump into one of the burly guys parboiling long-grain rice in vats.
“No problem, T. Thought today was your day off? Did you get called in?”
Confused, I hurry forward. Something’s not right.
As I pass by my station—desserts—I get a quick wave from my best friend, Elle, before she begins the preparation of pomegranate and red wine sorbet which needs to chill for hours—added recently to the menu after it was tried out at Seduction’s mothership in Portland with a great deal of success.
“Did I get the date wrong?” I mutter to her.
“For what?” Elle whispers back. Chef Billy Spencer doesn’t like a lot of talking in his kitchen, so we’ve perfected our almost imperceptible undertone.
“For the meeting I was called in for?”
“No clue what meeting you’re talking about. None of us here”—she nods to the room at large—“were told about a meeting.”
A ball of anxiousness begins to form in my stomach. Leaning closer, as if we could possibly be overheard, Elle says softer than usual, “But if you’re about to meet with Chef, he’s in one nasty as hell…”
“Has anyone seen Paxton arrive yet?” The bellow comes from the direction of the office.
