"What the hell is going on in here?
I could hear Chef Dylan, but my eyes were watering and I couldn't quite see him. Still coughing, I stepped out of the smoke and swiped my face across my sleeve.
"I'm so sorry," I started, babbling, because what else could I possibly do? "I'm sorry, Chef, I don't know what happened, I just turned my head for a second-"
Obviously a lie. It might have felt like a second, but it must have been much longer. But what else could I say?
Chef held up his hand to silence me. He was staring at the ruined mess on the stove, like he didn't quite believe what he was seeing.#p#分页标题#e#
"I'm sorry," I heard myself saying again. Everyone was staring at me, and I could feel the telepathic messages: shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP! But I ignored it. "I'll make it again, just - just let me make it again. It'll only take a minute."
When I'd finally managed to stop babbling, silence reigned. For one, two, three seconds.
The three longest seconds of my life.
Finally, he turned to look at me. His eyes were veiled fury. I braced myself.
"Go home," he said.
My heart plummeted.
"Are you..." I managed to whisper.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow," he said, turning away from me. The conversation was clearly over, and at least he wasn't firing me right now.
Some consolation.
***
Walking into the kitchen, I heard soft laughter coming from somewhere behind the heat shelf. My stomach clenched like a fist.
A woman was leaning up against the prep table. No. That's not allowed. I actually had to bite my tongue to stop myself from shouting at her to get off. Because Chef Dylan was standing right there, smiling. Clearly, she was allowed.
And she was a tall, elegant blonde with perfectly sleek hair - the kind I could never maintain in the kitchen, not without some kind of magical spell. Then again, she wasn't working. That was obvious, from the way she was dressed.
What is she doing here?
I slipped into my prep corner. Not once, not even during my "audition" on my very first day here, had I felt so unwelcome in this kitchen. They didn't even seem to notice that I'd walked in, continuing to talk in hushed voices like they were sharing some kind of secret. I stole glances at her while I gathered my supplies. Perfect pantyhose, sleek black skirt with a slit just long enough to show some leg, and a crisp, lavender blouse.
All right, okay, deep breaths. I was being completely ridiculous. Acting like I'd walked in on Chef Dylan fucking the woman, not just talking to her. Not that either one was any of my business. But both seemed equally out of character. That was why the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end; this was some version of Chef Dylan I'd never seen, some warm, secret part of him that I'd never been given access to. Halfway through chopping some vegetables, I realized why it was bothering me so much.
And in that moment of utter, gut-wrenching humiliation, Chef Dylan finally decided to notice that I was there.
"Jill," he said, suddenly, his voice lighter and more jovial than I'd ever heard it directed towards me. "I didn't even hear you come in. Lost track of time."
"Hello, Chef," I said evenly, turning around and wiping my hands on my apron. I nodded in the woman's direction. She had a smile frozen on her face.
"This is my friend Barbara," Chef Dylan said, laying his hand on her shoulder gently. She advanced a step forward, sticking out her hand for me to shake. It was very cold.
"It's very nice to meet you," I said. "Sorry I didn't say anything earlier. I didn't want to interrupt."
"Oh, don't worry about it. We were just chatting." Barbara had a pleasant, musical voice that lilted up and down. Somewhere halfway between a newscaster and a professional singer.
"I should go," she added. "Don't want to keep you from your work any longer." Here, she smiled at Chef Dylan.
"I didn't think anything could keep him from work," I heard myself quip, before turning back to my prep area with a rapidly reddening face.
Barbara laughed. "See you soon, Max."#p#分页标题#e#
Max? Max?
I kept on chopping violently, feeling horrible and hating myself for feeling horrible. It was ridiculous that I'd assumed Chef Dylan was incapable of being fun and casual with someone he cared about. We'd been getting along so well in a professional venue, I had tricked myself into thinking that he felt comfortable with me as a person. That the Chef Dylan I knew at work was the warmest, friendliest Chef Dylan in existence. And seeing him act like an actual human being with someone - someone who wasn't me - had been a shock to my system.
"Sorry about that," Chef Dylan said, over the clattering of some utensils. "Don't usually let anyone wander around in my kitchen, as you know. But Barbara's..." He paused here for a moment, seeming to consider his words carefully. "...I've known Barbara for a long time," he said, finally.