Page 45 of Executive Benefits

She was right. I didn’t need to keep staring out the window, but we were so slow right now. I hated to look around the restaurant. No one was here.

It gave me a sinking feeling in my gut and my thoughts then bounced to Julia. We didn’t have our weekly meeting this week, and as much as I hated to admit it, I missed seeing her. Even if she wasn’t interested in me, she still brought a freshness and light to the place that wasn’t there before her.

I grunted and turned from the window.

“Good, Chef,” Phoebe said and placed her arm around my shoulder. She walked me away from the window like she was walking me away from a ledge. I shook her off.

“I’m not a child, nor am I someone who is close to offing themselves. Leave me alone,” I grunted and went to walk into the kitchen when the door opened. We both turned to see a smaller, older man with a derby cap on.

He reminded me of my grandfather when my grandfather was alive.

“Go do your job,” I snipped with less annoyance than I'd had only a moment ago. A new customer meant I got to cook, and I was always happiest in the kitchen.

I walked through the door and looked at John and the other line cooks moving around. The air was lighter than it was in the dining room, which wasn’t anything unusual, which was one of the reasons I liked it so much better back there.

“Ticket in!” Phoebe called, pointing to the screen.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t see it?” I walked over to the smart pad and ripped the ticket from the tape and turned. “Get out of here,” I said. I placed my hand on her shoulder and started pushing her toward the door.

“God, when did you get so bossy?” she grunted, fighting against me and holding back laughter because there was no way she would win against me even if we were fighting for real. She was short and had no muscle mass. Plus, she always said she wanted to take self-defense but never had.

Maybe if she ever did, I’d worry, but now, I pushed her out the door into the dining area easily. “Go work. Do your duty and get that customer any shit he wants.”

Phoebe turned and placed her hands on her hips. “It’s nice to see you’re cheering up because I told you to,” she said.

I shook my head and closed my eyes. “I’m not even responding to the comment,” I said.

I pushed the kitchen door separating the two rooms closed and heard her call, “That was a response!”

I didn’t turn back, but I did flip her off.

I could hear her laughter echo through the kitchen, and although it was quiet, it also gave me a lighter feeling than I had when I walked in to start cooking. I appreciated that, and I’d have to tell Phoebe thank you once service was completed for the night. Or Imight not, depending on how annoying she was when we closed for the night.

I walked over to the table and called out the order for the chefs on the line, and the kitchen flared to life.

After we sent out a few dishes, I stuck my head out the kitchen door watching Phoebe walk to the customer with another drink. “Psst,” I called. She stopped and turned, raising her brow at me.

“What’s up, Chef?”

“When do you think I should go chat with the customer?”

“Why?” She took a step forward. “There’s no one else in here. Don’t you think that will look odd?”

“You’re helping Michael serve him,” I whispered.

“Yes, I’m giving him plenty of attention.” She looked at me sternly. “If we bombard him with all of our people, we’ll look suspicious and weird, and then we really will blow the new opening because the head chef is a creepy dude,” she said.

“It’s just one night, Phoebe. We’re busy other nights,” I said, wishing I sounded more confident now. Her words freaked me the fuck out.

“Fine, if—and that’s if—he asks to speak with the chef, I’ll come and get you.” She turned to walk away but stopped. “And I won’t prompt him to speak with the chef. Again, that would be weird. We’re trying to convey we’re normal, everyday people-types who aren’t socially awkward because they think their restaurant is failing when it isn’t, got it?”

“Yes,” I said, not admitting defeat about talking with the customer but wanting her to get on with it so the guy didn’tsee us standing in a dark corner constantly checking over our shoulders at him.

That really would be weird.

I walked back through the kitchen door and didn’t look through the window like I really wanted, so that was something, I thought.

Phoebe came into the kitchen about twenty minutes later with disbelief splashed over her face. “He wants to talk to you,” she said, shaking her head. “I did not talk him into this, nor did he hear us talking. But he did ask for you specifically,” she said.

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