Page 7 of Holly versus Mr. Ivy
“Almost.” My lips started to pull up into a smile of their own accord before I forced them back into a straight line. I didn’t want Holly to think everything I did and said was a joke or flirtatious. “I meant what I said earlier. I’m here to workwithyou. If there’s anything you need, anything at all I can help you with, please don’t hesitate to ask. We both have a lot riding on this goal, and I want to make sure we succeed. As such, I’m giving you a heads up that I’ll be evaluating the kitchen starting tonight. Just pretend I’m not there.”
“Done.”
Holly didn’t mess around, a quality I admired. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you any longer. We can talk later.” I gestured to the door. “Thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome.” She spun on her heel, going back to her domain.
I couldn’t wait to assess how the kitchen ran while the restaurant was open. I had a feeling there was more to the story where Holly and her staff were concerned. Regardless of the outcome, there was a lot to do in a short amount of time. And I’d do just about anything to earn my promotion and get myself one step closer to opening my own restaurant management business.
Chapter 3
Holly
Rhettstoodinthecorner, a hint of a smile on his lips, andwatched me. Rather, observed the kitchen as a whole, but I swear every time I peeked over my shoulder at him, his gaze met mine, and then he scribbled on his tablet.
What was he writing about me? Did I have a hair sticking up? Sauce on my face? Did he agree with my staff about being an ice-cold witch? Was snot coming out of my nose?
I hoped someone would at least tell me about the mucus, as that was a health code violation. If we were trying to increase profit, getting shut down by the health department wouldn’t help.
“Flip that fish, Reggie,” I called out. “Blackened doesn’t mean burnt.”
“Yes, Chef.” Reggie grabbed the fish spatula and turned the trout. Was I grumpier than usual tonight? Possibly. I was definitely in amood. My employees, unfortunately, were getting the brunt of it.
“Darby,” I shouted, “stop chopping that onion. I want itminced,not cut the size of golf balls.”
I grabbed a clean knife and cutting board and showed Darby the proper way to dice the onion into tiny pieces. “Like that.”
The head waitress ran in, her cheeks flushed red. “A huge table just came in. It’s going to be a looong night.”
Josh, aka chef-on-my-shiz-list, groaned. “There goes closing on time.”
“Stop whining,” I barked. “More dicing, and we may get out when we’re supposed to.”
An alarming overcooked scent reached my nose. What the…? I whirled toward the ovens. “What’s burning?” I grabbed an oven mitt and opened the top door. Steam billowed out, slamming into my face. “Why are these rolls black on top? Who forgot to set the timer?” I growled.
Mistakes happened, but the fewer on my watch, the better. I didn’t need to give Anthony Ivy any more reasons to fire me.
Starla, my pastry chef, moaned. “Sorry, Chef D. Totally my fault.”
If it were anyone else, they’d get more than an earful from me, but Starla and I had something in common. She’d only told me because she needed time off, but each of us had a parent battling cancer. I knew how stressful being a caregiver was. “Don’t let it happen again,” I warned. “Or the next batch comes out of your paycheck.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
Most nights went in a pattern. I’d look over the schedule I posted on the wall for the night and shout out instructions. After that, I’d dive in on the courses I was cooking, oversee the food not being made by me, and ensure every item plated looked its best.
I always knew how much time we had left by the level of achiness in my knees and feet. Rhett’s presence distracted me. I was completely disoriented. What time was it? How much longer did I have to suffer under his scrutiny? My neck hairs stood on end, knowing he was watching me.
If only he weren’t as handsome as a demigod, it might make his presence less noticeable.
I glanced at the black clock hanging on the wall by the kitchen entrance.Blah. We still had two hours until closing. I turned back to my staff, surveying their work. Any time I hovered over an employee, their shoulders stiffened. I wasn’t sure if pride or sadness swirled inside me over that fact.
I did my best to ignore the man in my kitchen and continued grilling steaks to perfection. Two hours later, we were officially closed for the night. The waitstaff brought the rest of the dishes in from the dining room. My relief cook cleaned the counters, and the dish washers were busy trying to make a dent in the heap of dirty kitchenware the size of Mount Everest.
I addressed my employees in a clipped tone. “Anothermostlysuccessful night. Good job. Finish cleaning up, and then you’re free to go.“ I dismissed them with a wave and left the kitchen.
Rhett followed me to my office. “Was this a typical night?”
“Regarding what?”
