Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I was a bit of a zombie as I got ready for my shift at the restaurant, and once I clocked in and began prepping my station, Diego noticed something was wrong. He was the sous chef, and Kevin was the head chef, but everyone knew Diego was the glue holding our line together.
He was the one to calm people down when Kevin lost his cool. He was the one to step in and help when a chef got into the weeds. And once I’d finished my spring semester and picked up more hours at the restaurant, he’d become my unofficial mentor.
Unofficial, because when I’d told him that, he’d claimed I was his mentor.
“What’s up, amigazo?” he asked. “You’re quiet tonight.”
“I broke up with my boyfriend.”
I said it quietly so the two dishwashers behind the line wouldn’t hear. Those guys were a little too friendly, and they were persistent as hell about getting my number. They didn’t hit on the female servers all that often, but I must have seemed like an easy target.
But it didn’t matter how softly I’d whispered it to Diego because Oscar heard me.
“Aw, yeah,” he exclaimed loudly, grinning ear to ear. “Fresh Meat’s back on the menu.”
I gave him a look that should kill him where he stood, but it didn’t, and he went back to his sauces. I’d received the unfortunate nickname my first night on the line more than a year ago. None of the other chefs had cooked with a woman before, and definitely not one as young as I’d been, so several different phrases had been lobbed my direction.
Diversity Hire didn’t stick, but Fresh Meat had.
Diego uttered something in Spanish to Oscar that I didn’t understand, but I got the gist of it. Diego wasn’t quite old enough to be my father, but he had three kids and he was as protective of me as if I were one of his own.
Oscar laughed off the other man’s scolding, but whatever had been said, it was enough to get him to be quiet.
A text message made my phone vibrate in my back pocket, and since I was ahead on my prep work, I snuck a glance at the screen.
Preston: Can we talk?
It wasn’t going to change anything, and all it was going to do was make me feel worse.
Sydney: I think it’s better if we don’t. Plus, I’m at work.
That excuse worked for Sunday night, but the following morning I received a new text.
Preston: I’ve got something for you.
I went back and forth on how to respond and couldn’t come up with anything. The last thing I wanted was to get pulled into flirty texts that weren’t allowed to go anywhere. I reminded myself he didn’t love me and never would get the chance to, so I had to move on.
All talking to him would do was make me miss him more.
So, as terrible as it was, I left him on read and didn’t answer.
It had to piss him off, because I didn’t get any more texts from him the rest of the day. I had to convince myself multiple times that what I was doing was right, and what was best for him.
There was one person I really didn’t want to talk to, and they were the one to reach out on Tuesday morning. Just after I finished breakfast, my phone buzzed.
Colin: I need to talk to you. Please answer your phone.
Because I’d sent all his calls straight to voicemail when they’d come through.
Sydney: Are you calling to apologize?
My phone rang a few seconds later.
“No,” he said as soon as I answered. “Look, I know you broke up with Preston, but I need your help.”
“That’s freaking rich,” I spat at him.
He launched right into his issue. “Distinguished Events has a VIP dinner booked for Monday night, and the chef we hired just backed out with a conflict.”
I sighed. “You need me to recommend someone?”
“No. I’m calling to see if you wanted to take it.”
“Take it?” My breath caught. “You want me to be the chef?”
He was quiet for a moment, maybe debating whether to say it. “Preston recommended you.”
It felt like everything had flipped upside down, and I struggled to organize my thoughts. “Uh . . . how many people would it be?”
“I’m still waiting for the final head count, but probably around forty.” When I didn’t respond, it prompted him to continue. “We already have the space reserved. You’ll set the menu, as long as it’s within the budget for the event. And you can bring another chef with you, if you want to split your fee with them.”
Whoa.
Did he have any idea how huge of an opportunity this was? I’d been in charge of a few dinner parties for my extended family, but this was a whole new level. I’d never done it professionally, and not at this scale.