Page 6 of Challenged By You
Trina
“Ihate everything about today,” I complain to Elle as we’re drinking a box of wine that makes me think we’d have been better off buying a vat of grain alcohol and grape Jell-O for the same cost. “The wine sucks, and the cost for the amount of it gives me another reason to bitch,” I declare resolutely.
Elle’s drinking out of the one decent wineglass I have because I long ago shattered the other one during an outburst of fury one wine night, releasing anger about the lawsuit I was facing to retain custody of my kids. Hefting the box up, I tip it back to get the dredges in my mouth.
Elle says, “You’re making me nervous,” before handing over her almost full glass.
“Why? Spencer fired me! I’m not going to be able to make rent for too long if I can’t find a job. God, Elle, what am I supposed to do?” Tears form in my eyes.
“No. No drunk crying. You know you’ll find something soon. Besides, you’ll probably singe your skin with the acid content of what you just drank.”
“Who cares?” I flop back onto the worn love seat in my tiny living area and then proceed to fall onto the floor—which, fortunately, is carpeted by rubber matting so the kids don’t hurt themselves. “I can still bake if I’m scarred.”
“Your hoo-ha might if you want to get laid eventually,” she points out.
I snort as I slam back the wine. “I’m the mother of twins who lives in a decent apartment building, but the cost of this city makes luxury ridiculous.”
“That’s the truth,” Elle agrees.
Continuing on, I tick off, “Yes, I could have shelled out an extra four hundred a month for a two-bedroom.”
Elle laughs. “For the amount you sleep?”
“Right? So, instead, I sleep in a converted dining room so we’re not crowding three humans and their things in a single room that I’ll spend less than six hours in. I get a little break for a few hours, but privacy? It works for most things, but not for that. I don’t think I have to become a virgin again; this is the kind of place that auto-implants a chastity belt.”
Elle laughs even as she points out, “A biological impossibility.”
I throw her the middle finger just as my cell phone rings. As I’m pressing Accept, I announce, “Now, there’s a new line of work I can go into. Hello?”
“Not sure that’s legal,” Elle calls back just as a crisp voice demands, “I’m looking for Chef Trina Paxton, please.”
I’m just buzzed enough to admit, “This is Trina, but I’m not certain I’m a chef anymore since I was canned today by Chef Butthead.”
Elle groans just as the woman lets out a long-suffering sigh in my ear. “Yes, I’m well aware, Chef Paxton. This is Mia Palazzo, one of the co-owners of the Seduction Restaurant Group. Before you say anything”—I guess the choking sound I made in my head did escape my throat—“I want to deeply apologize for the actions of Chef Spencer. He was completely in error terminating you earlier.”
“Along with about everything else he said.”
“So I was led to understand.”
“How? There was no one else in the room,” I reply a bit truculently.
Chef Palazzo doesn’t reply. “I am not often in the position of making calls like this, Chef, but you should know your desserts earned high praise from Jonas Rice in his review.”
“Not according to Spencer,” I counter.
“There was an error at the paper.” Her voice softens compassionately. “On Seduction’s behalf, I’ve already had words with the editor, who has corrected the review. Jonas Rice will be coming back to perform a new critique in a little over a month. As our executive dessert chef, I need you as part of the team ready to showcase who we are as a team.”
Heart pounding, I whisper, “I’m flattered, Chef.”
Elle’s waving her arms at me to get my attention. Finally, she hisses, “Tell me who it is,” but I ignore her as I try to focus through the haze.
“And I want you to come up with a signature dessert for Seduction to knock Jonas Rice on his ass.”
“Is the room spinning because of the amount of alcohol I consumed to drown my agony or because of what Chef Palazzo just said?”
Elle screeches, “You’re not on mute, you blotto mess! And that’s… Oh, merciful Jesus.”
Mia Palazzo snorts in my ear, and I feel a churning in my stomach that isn’t pleasant when there’s no food to absorb the alcohol. “Oh, God, I’m so embarrassed,” I moan.
