Page 37 of The Chef's Kiss
“Thanks for that.” I opened the door and stepped out. Colin smartly didn’t follow me. I waved him off and he left.
Lena approached first. “Jorgie, are you okay? You look pale.”
Hudson turned and stormed into the restaurant.
“I’m fine.” My eyes stayed on the door, still swinging shut. “At least for now. Excuse me.” It was time to face the music.
I entered the restaurant and I stopped. It was beautiful. Dark burgundy walls with mahogany accents. White table cloths. The tiny lights on the ceiling looked like stars scattered in the night sky.
Yet, it wasn’t right. There was a feeling of aloofness, none of the warmth that marked Superiore Bay.
I found Hudson in a state-of-the-art kitchen, angrily chopping vegetables.
“Hey.” My voice was tentative, but I went quiet when he didn’t look up.
His voice was low when he spoke. “I expect my employees to be here on time.” He lost his rhythm, and the knife thudded as it hit down hard.
“I know. I’m sorry. This morning was rough.”
“Rough.” He finally stilled his hands and glanced at me. “Every day in this town has been rough for me, and still, I show up.” He grew louder. “This restaurant will hold a standard that I’m sure your small town isn’t used to.”
“Excuse me?” I was no longer sorry, only angry.
“There will be no coming in late, no leaving early. When you’re here, you work. This isn’t some holiday from your real life.”
“Who do you think you are?”
“Your boss.”
“Well, boss, I was sick.” If I told him what I was sick with, I was sure he’d fire me on the spot and find a way around any legal protests.
“Excuses!”
“You know what,” I shook my head, “I didn’t sign up forHell’s Kitchen. Yelling isn’t my thing. Call me when you’re off the roids.” Turning my back on him, I slammed out of the kitchen and barely breathed until I was outside with fresh air pouring into my lungs.
And now, I had no ride. I could call Colin to return, and then we could spend the day binging on chocolate and TV. I was about to dial his number when I heard my name.
“Jorgina, wait.” Hudson jogged toward me. “Don’t go. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” I whirled to face him. “I can’t work for someone who doesn’t trust what I say, or someone who yells at me like I’m beneath them. For your information, Chef, I’m late because I couldn’t get out of bed earlier. I didn’t call you because I don’t have your number. Are you happy now?”
“You were that sick?” He rubbed the base of his neck.
“Yes.” My jaw clenched. “Is there a level of sick that’s okay with you?”
“Wow, now I feel like a jerk.”
“Maybe because you are one.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just stressed. I don’t want to be the chef that yells at his staff this time.”
“Then, don’t.” I crossed my arms.
His lips rose into a sort-of smile. It was something, at least. “If you come back inside, I promise not to yell anymore.”
I studied him for a moment, wondering how sincere he was. His intense sapphire eyes locked onto mine, and I couldn’t have looked away if I tried. Why did the douchebags always have to be so pretty?
Shaking myself of that thought, I remembered the last time I’d let pretty eyes get behind my defenses. “Fine, but I have some issues with your choice of decor.”
