Page 10 of Challenged By You
My laugh comes out like a slap in the quiet dining room. Jonas Rice winces. “A mishap? Is that what you’re labeling it? Well, let me take a moment to school you on what happens with your little faux pas. I don’t know how it was fixed—”
“The error was pointed out to me by another journalist,” he breaks in.
“Tell them thanks,” I fire back. “Because they’re the ones who saved me from being homeless in a matter of weeks. I was fired on the spot as a result of your words, much as I’m sure the chef at the restaurant they were intended for eventually was. I don’t know them—I’ve never been to Super Sticky—but their dessert chef has my empathy after what happened the other day. I have two children to support, and this job is the only income that does that.” My fury is palpable as I stare up at Jonas Rice. After all, this is the man whose cavalier words set off a chain of events that led to Chef Spencer’s actions.
But they also led to his termination, a voice inside me gently rebukes. Shoving it aside, I glare up at the man whose words cause so many lives to change on a dime.
“I came in to apologize,” he grits out.
“Well, isn’t that magnanimous of you. You know what, Mr. Rice, I’ll earn that apology and more in a month when you review Seduction again. This team”—I fling my arm around to encompass the entire restaurant—“is worth more than a few pithy lines. And we know it.” I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.
“I did my job, Chef.” His voice is low. And damn me, each time he opens his mouth, I feel an unwelcome punch low in the gut.
“So did I,” I counter, spinning to face him. “So do we all every night we come to work. But you seem to embrace demeaning people in print as much as Chef Spencer did to my face. And here’s something for you to think about: I bet neither of you could live the way I do for a week— no, a month—without breaking.”
Tilting his head, he studies me intently. “You fascinate me,” he finally says.
“Well, whoop-dee-do. I can rest easy tonight after I’m done with my shift. Oh, wait, I have to catch a subway home to the Bronx first.” While his eyes narrow, I step back. “See you in a month, Mr. Rice,” I dismiss him, this time actually heading back into the kitchen to get back to work.
Within minutes, I’m focused on pouring the delicious champagne cream into the perfectly flaky crust. Sliding it into the blast chiller, I shove Jonas Rice out of my mind as I mix up the ingredients for the meringue topping.
By the time that’s complete and I make certain Jerome and Abby have started prepping what we need for the next items on our list to prep for the dinner rush, I’ve almost forgotten about the encounter. I just wish the sinful chocolate I was working with didn’t remind me so much of his eyes.
Maybe then I could dismiss the incident entirely.
When I clap my hands together, they look up simultaneously. “Okay,” I proclaim. “Who wants to dip the eclairs, and who wants to start the meringues?”
There’s a quick squabble which I allow to go on because I know the work will get done to the standards we set for ourselves which is much higher than anything a ridiculous food critic could impose on us.
Ever.
* * *
Five daysafter my encounter with Jonas Rice, the energy spent adapting to a new normal at work plus my normal routine at home has me exhausted when I shrug off my chef’s jacket for my final shift for the next few days. Wearily, I call out, “Sleep well!”
“You too, T. Kiss the babies for me. I’ll call you tomorrow,” Elle calls back just as I shove the back door of Seduction closed behind me.
It’s a after eleven, and I’m dead on my feet. “Thank God I’m done. Now if only Annie and Chris will sleep in,” I pray aloud as I walk briskly down the back alley toward Grand Central to make the 11:19 train. Despite the well-lit and populated area Seduction is located in, I’m always anxious heading home late at night.
It was never something I worried about when I lived outside the city. I’d drop the kids off at the local church-run daycare early, zip off to where I managed a small bakery in Wilton from morning until midafternoon, and pick up my babies with enough time to enjoy cooking dinner, all while getting to watch them grow up peacefully. My life in Connecticut was so different than the one I live here in the city. Here, I feel like I’m always racing to get somewhere or do something just to catch up, I think bitterly as I wrap my purse over my shoulder and then tuck my spring coat over it, hiding it neatly away. Though there’s hardly more in there but my ID, my keys, and my subway pass, there’s enough for someone to threaten my family.
I don’t know how people raise their families here. It constantly amazes me when I listen to the other chefs talk about it at work. “Maybe with this raise, I can save up a little more, a little faster. If I can keep holding on, maybe I’ll have enough saved soon to give them that life back,” I whisper to the inky darkness of the alley before I take off at my normal quick pace.
Then, when hard fingers grab hold of my arm, I scream. A male voice asks out of nowhere, “Where are you off to in such a hurry, Trina?”
Even as panic pumps through my veins, I whirl around and swing out with all my might, my fist connecting with solid flesh. I hear a grunt, but he doesn’t let go. “Jesus, woman.” Jonas Rice steps into the pale light at the end of the alley. “What the hell was that for?” he demands.
“What are you doing here scaring me half to death?” I ask. Before he can speak, I hold up my hand. “No, don’t bother. I have a train to catch. I don’t have time for this.” I jerk my arm away and step back.
“So, we’re getting a train.” He nods. Reaching down, he grabs a black laptop bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“What do you mean we?” I ask suspiciously. “I’m going home to my children, Mr. Rice.”
“Jonas,” he counters. Stepping right back into my space, his voice is low. “You challenged me to living your life for thirty days, Ms. Paxton. I believe the clock just started.”
“What are you talking about? Don’t be ridiculous. Now let me go so I can make my train.” I scoff.
“I’m rarely ridiculous. But why don’t we elaborate on what I mean on the train? I don’t think too many run that late out to the Bronx.” I hear a touch of disdain in his voice that raises my agitation level.
