Page 101 of The Nanny and the Hothead
His jaw dropped. “When were you at my restaurant? And you’re a chef. You know how it works. I have line cooks and sous chefs. How do you even know that I was the one who’d prepared your specific meals?” he barked, but she didn’t bite. Instead, the whisper of a grin curved the corners of her mouth.
“We pulled a busboy aside and asked him which dishes you were preparing that evening. We also asked him to personally watch and make sure it was you who’d assembled our order. I believe you scolded him when he bumped into a waitress and a glass broke. Then you fired him. We noticed a scuffle in the back—something with a salad. Then we heard someone yell,stupid hothead. It was quite a commotion.”
The air grew thick as he plated the Signature Louise sandwich, staring at the golden toasted bread and the bit of cheese bubbling at the edges. Of all the nights to visit his restaurant, Louise and Ralph had to pick that night! Madelyn had been there, too. It was like the universe wanted as many people as possible to witness his hotheaded meltdown.
It was no shocker that he’d been an ass that night. He was an ass every night. But he couldn’t change what had happened with the busboy—couldn’t go back and right the wrong. He steadied himself. “What did you think of your meal?”
Louise gave a slight shrug. “Technically, it was perfect. But it was missing the one thing that made you stand out above the other cooks.”
“And what’s that?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“That’s for you to figure out,” she replied in that damned elusive tone.
“Jesus Christ, Louise!” he hissed.
“Don’t worry, Mitchell,” she continued. “I have faith in you. You’ll find that spark again. The food truck is a start. And this will help, too.” She leaned out the order window and waved toward the community center. “Join us in the truck,” she called.
Who the hell was she talking to?
He craned his neck, watching as two young men headed their way. They couldn’t be much more than seventeen or eighteen years old. Each had on an apron, and one of them looked vaguely familiar.
“What is this, Louise?” he asked, staring at the tall kid with a mop of ash-blond hair beside a short guy with darker features as the pair climbed into the truck.
“It’s for Charlotte,” she answered, making no damned sense.
“For Charlotte?” he echoed.
“For me?”
He looked out the order window as Charlotte and Ralph stood there peering inside. She looked inside the truck and got a glimpse of the teens. “Erick, is that you?”
“Hey, Charlotte! I never got a chance to thank you for…” the kid trailed off as Mitch put it together.
Sweet Jesus! Erick was the kid he’d chewed out that triggered Charlotte to chuck a salad!
“You work at Helping Hands?” he asked his former busboy.
“Yes, Chef,” the kid fired back.
“We hired him after you…terminated his employment,” Ralph replied, biting back a grin.
The universe had put him through the wringer today, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish—a clueless goldfish. For the first time in ages, he couldn’t think of a damned thing to say.
“When Ines called, I got an idea,” Louise said, gesturing to the young men.
“What kind of idea?” he asked, finding his voice.
“Sergio and Erick have been working in the kitchen with me like you used to do.”
He studied Sergio’s face. “You didn’t work at my restaurant, did you?”
A wave of guilt washed over him. He’d fired his fair share of employees without knowing so much as their names.
Sergio shifted his stance. “No, Chef. I’m here doing court-mandated community service. I got caught hot-wiring a car. I’m not proud of it, and I understand if you don’t want someone like me working for you.”
He held the kid’s gaze. “That’s how I ended up at Helping Hands.”
