Romance Impossible(4)

I almost jumped out of my chair. The announcer's voice boomed through the tiny, overheated room. Ugh. Ugh. This was the absolute last thing I needed right now. I glanced around the room for a remote, but there was nothing.

"For years, Chef Maxwell Dylan, one of the world's most successful restauranteurs, has been whipping aspiring cooks into shape on 'Killer Kitchen.'"

This was interspersed with several shots of yelling, followed by him picking up a plate of food and flattening it against some poor young chef's chest.

"Now, he's coming to America to help failing restaurants find their way."

I got up and started searching through the mountains of magazines. There had to be a remote somewhere.

"You're lazy," came a familiar voice through the tinny speakers. "That's your problem. You're just flat-out lazy and you have no passion for this business."#p#分页标题#e#

"Excuse me," I said, softly, coming up to the counter. I'd searched everywhere, with no luck. The receptionist had the phone tucked under her ear, and she gave me the "wait a minute" finger.

"YOU," Chef Dylan boomed, "ARE LIKE POISON TO THIS PLACE. THIS RESTAURANT WILL BE BETTER OFF WITHOUT YOU."

The receptionist wasn't talking. "Excuse me, I just..."

The finger again. I sighed. The throbbing behind my eyes was getting out of control.

"Just shut down. Shut down the restaurant today. I'm leaving. Goodbye."

"WILL THIS FINALLY BE THE RESTAURANT THAT SENDS CHEF DYLAN PACKING?"

Fucking hell.

"Excuse me," I said, more loudly. "Can you just -"

"Shhh!" the receptionist hissed, glaring me.

"Never in my life, not once, have I EVER met someone I believe in less than you."

"Jillian?" The nurse stuck her head into the room. "Dr. Peters is ready for you."





***



"So, what'd the doctor say this time?" My friend Shelly eyed me over the rim of her margarita. She'd taken pity on me, once again, and taken me out for as much Mexican food as I could stuff into my face in a single sitting, plus a to-go box or two. At first I'd been embarrassed to take advantage of her generosity, but it's amazing what a few weeks of an empty bank account will do to change your perspective on things.

"Same as always," I said. "Get a massage, like I can afford it. Do some yoga, as if it helps. I don't need inner peace, I need a damn job."

"I assume you've already put in an application at Dylan's Trattoria."

Shelly was, in her own words, a "pretty good accountant." Good enough to work at a fancy firm where she always got paid on time. Whenever she complained about the stress of her job, I tried not to go green with envy. I knew she didn't mean anything by it. But boy, wouldn't I give anything to be sweating over a hot grill, stressed out to the max, just for the guarantee of some money in the bank.

But even I had my limits.

"Hell no," I said, finishing my piña colada and gesturing for the server. "I won't work for Chef Dylan. No way, no how. No thank you."

"Tell me how you really feel." Shelly smirked. "But seriously, he can't be as bad as he seems on TV. That's all an act."

"It's not," I said. "Trust me."

I'd never told her about the incident at Giovanni's. It was silly, I knew, that I was still so hung up on that stupid little thing. One man's opinion. And really, he wasn't wrong that the food quality was subpar. But it had felt so personal, with him sitting there, staring me down. Throughout culinary school and every other job I'd ever had, nobody had ever made me feel that small.

"Okay, all right." Shelly raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. She knew I was serious. I'd apply anywhere. I applied at McDonald's, but was turned down for being "overqualified." There was just no way in hell that I'd ever work for a man like Maxwell Dylan.

I didn't speak for a while, just poking at the remnants of salsa in the bowl with a broken chip.

"I didn't know you'd met the guy," Shelly said, finally. She never was very good at leaving things alone.

"Once," I said. "A long time ago. It was before he blew up. But he was just as self-important back then as he is now."

"I think he's cute," said Shelly, breezily. "I mean, you know, in that sort of...'hot contractor Mom and Dad hired to build the deck one summer' way."#p#分页标题#e#

"Wow," I said, grinning at her. "That was...amazingly specific."

She flushed a little. "Whoo, they're not messing around with these margaritas, are they? Hey! Can we get another round over here?"

I let the server replace my empty glass with a fresh drink, even though I knew I should slow down. The last thing I needed while I was job-hunting was a hangover - and a sugar-laden one, at that. But now, it just felt nice to get a buzz going and forget, even for a second, how dire my situation was.