"Yeah, your scream was terrifying," I said dryly, dropping the folder down on the bar. "I need you to check off this order and sign it before I can place it."
She exhaled slowly and walked to me. "You could have announced yourself."
"I did," I lied. "You were too busy playing Shakira to Ed Sheeran. Nice humming, by the way."
"Ugh." She actually said the word as she took the folder from me. Her bright red nails flashed as she skimmed the sheets until she found today's order. The tap of her nail against the paper as she placed it down was almost nails-down-a-chalkboard-sounding, but thankfully, she slid it down the list instead of tapping each item.
I leaned against the bar as she looked. The bar was due to open in a couple hours, and judging by the half-empty fridges, she wasn't ready for opening at all.
"All right." She grabbed a pen from the register and scrawled something that vaguely resembled 'RA' on the order sheet. "Go ahead and put that through."
"Thanks. Aren't you working today?"
Slowly, she dragged her eyes up my chest and face to meet my gaze. "Yes. I'm always working."
"Never mind." I held my hands up and stepped back. "Just, yeah. Never mind."
Her tone was perfectly steady when she said, "You're much safer in the kitchen, you know that?"
I barely glanced at her full, red lips before I grabbed the folder. "Yeah, I know."
If only she knew how much fucking safer it was in there.
***
I was ten seconds away from losing my shit.
It was the first time I'd worked with Alex without Wes around, and it was blatantly fucking clear that Wes was the superior of the two. Alex was barely holding on his composure, judging by the sweat that was constantly beading on his forehead.
Don't get me wrong-it was fucking hot in here. That was the nature of working in a kitchen. The amount of things that cooked at the same time was ridiculous, but it took a special person to handle the pressure. If I was honest, this felt like the vacation I'd intended to take when I'd come back to the Keys. Working in Dirty was so easy compared to working in New York.
Even the food was refreshing. Greek food was worlds away from the Steak and Seafood House I'd put on the map thanks to my skills. I'd given the restaurant the Michelin stars they'd long craved, but I wondered how long they'd keep that honor without me around.
For me, I'd always be Michelin-starred. Those three, shiny stars would always be mine. They were the legacy I'd worked so hard for, and that legacy didn't include stressed-out halfwits who fucked up at the glimpse of pressure.
It didn't include people like Alex.
"Where's the fucking tzatkizi, Alex?" I yelled over the whirring of the fans.
"Give me ten minutes!"
"I don't have ten fucking minutes. I need it five minutes ago."
"It's coming, Chef!"
"Defrost, now!" I snapped, draining vegetables and almost splashing myself with scalding hot water. "I don't have time for this shit!"
Something clanged. "On it!"
I was on the edge.
"This was supposed to be made this afternoon!" I reminded him as I filled veg dishes and put them under the hot light. "I said we were getting low!"
Everything had to be shouted over the extractor fans. It made me seem just as angry as I was.
"I know, Chef. I'm defrosting now!" he shouted back. "How do I thicken it from the water?"
I pressed my fingers into my temple. "You don't! You throw it the fuck out, Alex! Get me fucking fresh sauce four hours ago!"
Gordon Ramsay was my long lost uncle, if nobody guessed.
I was the first to admit that I wasn't the most delightful person to work with. The pressures of the kitchen brought out the worst in a man, but when I asked for something to be done, I expected it to be fucking done.
When I asked. Not four hours ago.
"Ticket on!" Vicky called, walking into the kitchen and attaching a ticket to the board.
I spun and grabbed the one she'd left for me. "Vicky! Half hour wait," I told her. "We're running low on condiments. Tell them it's demand."
"Um, okay," she said, her hand on the door. "Do I need to tell Raven?"
"Does she take food orders?"
"Um, yes."
"Then yes, she needs to fucking know." I slapped my ticket onto the board on my side. "No more orders for ten minutes."
Vicky shuffled back to the door. "Okay."
It slammed after her.
"Tzatkizi, Alex!" I shouted, slamming my hand against the countertop. If the steel material of the hotplate were any weaker, it would have likely shattered with the harshness of my hit.