Romance Impossible(29)

"Yeah, thanks," I said, putting on a brave smile. "Just...you know, it's always overwhelming, getting back to work after a while."

He nodded sympathetically. "And with a boss like my brother, too."

I smiled. "I wasn't going to say anything, but...yeah."

"Let me tell you something about my brother," he said, pulling out a chair. "People always think he's trying to trick them. They ascribe these evil genius motivations to him. But it's really very simple. You've got to take what he says at face value. When he tells you something, believe him."

I do, I wanted to say, but I didn't. I was making the same assumption as everybody else, but I didn't want to admit it.

"Nobody gets it, at first," Beckett went on. "You just kind of assume he's like everybody else, you know? We all lie just to get through our day. A hundred times, probably. Or at least skirt the truth. But he's different, and sure, it gets him into a lot of trouble. I'm not defending him. Lying is a social nicety. I'm pretty sure it's in Miss Manners. But Max is unfiltered. No agenda. What you see is what you get."

His voice was quieter than usual, but what clued me in was his staccato speech pattern: this was hard for him to talk about. A lifetime of defending an indefensible man had clearly taken its toll.

It was interesting, the contrast between the two men. I'd seen Beckett's eyes flash when someone said something he knew was wrong. I'd watched him carefully measure his words, coming up with a diplomatic way to shoot down whatever he didn't like. Beckett, like his brother, was a man of much experience and strong opinions to go along with it. But unlike Maxwell, he'd learned the fine art of biting his tongue. I got the sense that it wasn't humility that made him do it. It was practicality. He wanted the quickest, most effective path to getting things done his way. And for him, he'd found that diplomacy worked best.

His brother had obviously come to a different conclusion.





***



"I'm sorry, Chef," Aiden was saying, for the fiftieth time this week. It was just a pitcher of water spilled in the dining room, this time, but the cumulative effect of his fuck-ups qualified him as a walking natural disaster.

"It's all right," said Chef Dylan, in the most exhausted voice I'd ever heard from him. "Just be more careful in the future."

I was on the verge of asking him - what, exactly, I didn't know. There was no way to frame the question so it wouldn't be insulting. Chef clearly had his reasons for hiring Aiden in the first place, and most importantly, for not firing him. It would be straight-up rude for me to even ask him why, because he clearly wasn't doing it on a lark. Failing to cut the biggest, most obvious dead weight in his kitchen was a big risk. Even for a guy like Chef Dylan. Maybe especially for a guy like Chef Dylan. Like all chefs, he had a reputation to protect. But unlike most of them, every misstep of his was likely to draw media attention. They just loved kicking him while he was down. Not too long ago, I used to think he deserved it.

But now, whether I liked it or not, I was playing on his team. More success for him meant more success for me.

We had to do something about Aiden.

The opportunity finally presented itself a few days later, during a quiet period after the lunch rush. After he'd satisfied himself that Liam had dinner prep going smoothly, he finally leaned against the counter and swiped his big white sleeve across his forehead, letting out a massive sigh. His long, lean body sagged a little, making him look astonishingly vulnerable. I waited until he opened his eyes again, and then started to formulate an opener.#p#分页标题#e#

"What?" he said, before I had a chance to open my mouth. I realized that I was staring at him.

"Sorry." Immediately, my eyes snapped back to my table. There was a hot, prickling blush creeping up the back of my neck. "I just wanted - there's something..."

"Yes?" he prodded, making a go on gesture with his hand.

"It's about Aiden," I said.

His mouth twitched, almost like he was suppressing a grimace. "What about him?"

"It's...he's..." All the times I'd practiced this conversation in my head, and I still couldn't spit it out. Everything was harder with Chef staring me down. Those blue-gray eyes piercing right through me, like I wasn't even there. I cleared my throat. "He really seems to be struggling," I said, at last. I just couldn't bring myself to be too harsh on the kid, even though taking the diplomatic route meant Chef Dylan would probably write me off as a pushover.

"I know," Chef said, his eyes still fixed mercilessly on me. "Do you have any suggestions?"

A genuine question, or a challenge? As usual, I couldn't be sure. I decided to proceed with caution. "I think...I think he needs a lot of guidance," I said. "Plenty of feedback, both about the positive things, and the areas where he really needs improvement. And then..." I bit my lower lip. "To be honest, Chef, I don't know if he's going to be a good long-term fit. Not if he doesn't improve a lot, and quickly."