The Arrogant Architect (2 page)

I manage to prepare everything for the lunch rush and do an
inventory on the walkout. Going through the last of my checklist, Mistee, one
of the other chefs, walks in and says, “Oh my God, Ever, I totally thought you
were taking today off.”

“I was, and Ross wanted me to, but you know me, this is
where I’m happiest.”

She smiles, knowing this really is how I am, even if the
peace I get at home hadn’t been shattered into a billion annoying pieces.
“Well, happy birthday.” She kisses me on the cheek. Mistee is very touchy
feely, but I don’t mind, because inside and out, she is a great person. “What
do you say, before lunch…one shot for your birthday?” she asks.

“Uhhhh, no way. Ross would fire us!”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

“Know what?” Ross asks, walking into the kitchen.

“Nothing.” I quickly bounce back and cover our asses as he
hangs his stuff up.

“I thought you were taking today off?” he asks me.

“I was, but…here I am.” He doesn’t ask further. Ross doesn’t
like to get into the dramatics of our lives; as long as we can run the kitchen
to his exacting standards, he stays happy. Going over what is planned for today
and everything I did this morning, he asks me, “Are you ready to step up
today?”

“I am,” I tell him, knowing exactly what he means.

“Good, you’re gonna do great.”

“Thanks,” I smile at him excited to run the kitchen for the
first time…by myself. I’ve been working here since I was nineteen. Now as an
executive chef, Ross says I’m ready to start handling more responsibility, so
what better time to start than on my birthday? I knew this was coming…just not
today.

 I stay in my zone as the beginning of our lunch rush
starts, and an enthusiasm fills the kitchen that motivates me. It gives me a
high; this is what I live for. The orders start to come in and I call each one
out to the staff, letting them know exactly what I need.

The vibrant ring of, “Yes, Chef,” resounds through the air,
and I’m so happy that I came to work today– this is what I needed, this is my
relief. I knew my day to be in charge of a kitchen was coming and couldn’t be
happier to finally be experiencing it. Cooking is my release from the torment
of grief that is my life without my best friend, my mom, in it.

Taking my time, putting my heart and soul into every order,
is rewarding. Each plate that I send out to our guests is my best. The hours
fly by like minutes. “Chef?” the restaurant manager, Trent, calls out, popping
his head in. “Your presence is being requested.”

I swallow hard as the vibe in the kitchen suddenly
diminishes, and I look around at the team, knowing that no matter what the
news, good or bad, we will keep striving forward. “Mistee, to the front.”

“Yes, Chef,” she’s quick to respond, and I hope Ross is okay
with my decision. He’s told me that when I am in charge to make whatever
decisions I see best to keep things running smoothly. Despite Mistee acting
like a maniac half the time, she’s great at her job, so I’m confident she’ll
hold down the fort perfectly.

I wipe my hands dry and look at Trent as he leads me to the
table. There are two guys sitting at it, and walking up, Trent stops, nods,
then goes back to the front of the house, leaving me on my own.

“Gentlemen…” I can barely choke out the word as I lock eyes
on the arrogant guy from this morning looking up at me with a smug expression
on his face. “How is everything?” I force myself to proceed, acting as though I
don’t know him and things are completely normal.

Taking his fork, he pokes the inside of his chicken and
says, “Is this Havarti cheese?”

“Yes, sir.” I have a hard time calling his imperious ass
“sir.” “It is.”

“I asked for Swiss specifically inside of my chicken.”

“My apologies. I’ll remake your meal right away.”

“Also, the presentation of this is quite poorly smashed
together, wouldn’t you agree?”

I look at his stuffed chicken and although he has taken a
few bites, it looks plump and good to me. “I’m very sorry, we’ll remake your
food, right away.”

“Thanks, with Swiss cheese and make sure the next one is not
all smashed.” He gives me a grin as I lift his plate, getting a little too
close to his brazenness for my liking.

Walking back to the kitchen, Trent appears, following me
like white on rice, and Ross is waiting too as I step foot inside. “What was
that all about?” Ross asks.

“His chicken was stuffed with the wrong cheese.”

“What did the order say?” Ross asks.

I flip through the mound of tickets, finding his. “It says
Havarti.”

“Dammit! I’ll talk to Merlina,” Trent grumbles.

Walking back to the line, all eyes are on me as I throw the
meal, plate and all, in the trash. “This one wasn’t our fault, everyone. The
order came through wrong. I need stat, a Swiss-stuffed chicken breast. I repeat
Swiss.”

Yes, Chef.” Mistee takes her spot back in the line and I
look over the new orders trying to get back in my rhythm, wondering if he did
this on purpose. To get back at me for going off on him this morning. If he saw
my name on my coat before I rode off to work, then he had to have seen where I
work too. It’s got to be the only logical explanation.

Before I know it, his new meal slides in front of me, and I
look down at it wanting to smash it flat as a pancake, but instead, I do
something I’ve never done. Poking it on the side with a knife, the chicken
easily separates. Grabbing a Carolina Reaper Pepper, I slice a few slivers of
it off and lie them in between the two chicken breast halves, watching as they
disappear into his Swiss cheese. Then, I add his salad and dressing to the
plate.

“Mistee, you’re up,” I call out and leave the kitchen,
holding his plate high above my head as I’m about to give him a taste of his
own medicine.

I mean, how dare he, on my birthday, come in here and not
only need to complain about the cheese, but say the presentation was poorly put
together? Setting his new meal down, his eyes are all over me, like he’s
undressing me.

Smug motherfucker.

“Here you go, your
Swiss
-stuffed chicken breast.”

“Thank you, Ever.” My name rolls off his tongue like silk
and I can tell he likes saying it.

“Can I get either of you anything else?” I ask him and the
gentleman he is with. By this time, the other guy is done eating, and as much
as I wish I could stay and watch the pain he’s about to experience as his mouth
ignites with fire from the world’s hottest pepper, I can’t.

He smirks thinking about my question, and I shake my head
walking off. Going back into the kitchen, I wonder what he’ll do when he feels
the burn in his cocky mouth. There is a good chance that he’ll find the slices
before he eats any and takes them off, but if not…

An evil grin I kind of like shields my face. That’s when
Trent pops in and says, “Swiss boy wants to talk to the Chef again,” rolling
his eyes. I chuckle on the inside, hoping I can catch him panicking to breathe.

I pretend to be completely normal as Trent and I walk out
into the dining area. But the second he gazes over at me, I get nervous, scared
that he is going to make a scene and blow everything up.

Holding myself together, I act dumb, figuring I’ll pretend I
don’t know what’s going on at all. Keeping my eyes on his, not backing down, I
stay in my zone and ask him with a smart ass grin, “Was your meal up to your
standards?”

He responds, “Oh, it was wonderful, Chef. I especially loved
the spice you added.” My eyebrows scrunch together, not really sure if I heard
him right. No one in their right mind would like that kind of spice. “Now, why
don’t you go and get me a glass of milk, Ever?” Laughing far too loudly, I can
see now he’s in pain, he just hides it well. I lean down to him and murmurin
his ear closer than I’d like, “Fuck you.”

And unfortunately, as I turn around Ross is right there. I
can see the shock on his face. He must have heard me.
Maybe I was a little
too loud.
I get pissed at myself knowing this asshole got the best of
me…again.

He grabs me by the elbow and starts pulling me out of the
dining room. “What happened?” he snarls.

“What are you talking about?” I play dumb.

“I heard what you said to him. Why would you treat one of
our guests that way?” I can see the disappointment on Ross’s face. Looking at the
ground, I shake my head, knowing I have no good reason.

“Why?” He demands a response as we walk into the kitchen.

“Because he is a pompous asshole,” I whisper.

“That doesn’t make it okay for you to talk to him that way.
What if he was a food critic?”

I shrug my shoulders, understanding his point, but obviously
I know who he is.

“Ever, what is going on with you? I get that today is a hard
day for you without your mom, but I told you to stay home, and you’re the one
who wanted to work.”

“And I do want to work. I’m sorry, Ross.”

“No, you need to go home, chill out, and recalibrate your
priorities. My chefs keep their composure when on the clock, no matter what. No
exceptions, you know that.”

I nod and turn to walk away, feeling ashamed for the idiotic
move. I’m not even sure why I did it. Was it because the guy insulted my food
or woke me up early today? Obviously, he’s a whack-job that I need to stay as
far away from as possible.

“Give me your coat.”

“Ross, don’t.” Tears pool in my eyes. This coat means more
to me than the job. As silly as it sounds, I’d rather have to wash dishes for a
week, as long as I don’t get my coat taken away from me.

“Fine! Go!” He points to the door, and I grab my bag with my
head down. I can sense everyone’s eyes on me as I reach for the door handle,
and before I open it, I stop and address the staff, “I’m sorry if I was a
distraction today. Keep focused, team.”

Walking out, the door slams hard and I jump, but proceed on
and unlock my bike, then ride home in a daze. So pissed at myself for what
happened. Why did I let that guy get under my skin? That’s not like me.

I push away the thoughts, knowing I can’t change anything
now and enjoy the silence because I’m sure as soon as I get home, the ruckus
from next door will drive me mad. Hopefully, I don’t have to see him
again…ever.

“I think I got your shower all fixed,” my dad says, coming
out of the bathroom.

“Thanks, Dad.” I put the left over takeout in the fridge and
grab another beer offering him one. He shakes his head declining and I know
it’s because he has a long drive home; my father…he’s always a responsible one.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out for some ice cream?”

“I’m sure, Dad, thanks. I’m really tired. It was a long
day.”

“I can tell. I’m sorry about all the drama at work and that
guy…just ignore it. It’ll be over soon enough.”

“Thank you.”

“And if it gets too loud here, you can come and stay with
me,” he says. I smile at him and really appreciate the offer, but I’m not
twelve– I have to deal with my own problems. Plus, my dad lives too far away. I
can’t have a long commute to work everyday. “Here, why don’t you open your
present?”

I know what it is already– my dad gives me a frame every
year to put the letter in from my mom. He’s into antiques– that’s his passion
now that he’s retired. He fixes and resells old broken things, so it’s exciting
to see what kind of frame he’s chosen.

Pulling the tissue paper out of the bag, I reach in and take
out an exquisite silver frame with tiny vines that run around the edges. “Oh,
Dad, this is gorgeous.”

He beams and says, “You like it?”

“I love it.”

“You should’ve seen it before, Ever. It was so dirty and in
need of my touch, but I could see the potential it had. It was made in the late
eighteen hundreds and beautiful under that mess.”

Standing up, I hug him as we hear a knock on my door. No one
ever comes to my house, so I’m not sure who it is. Setting the frame down, I
begin to worry that it is the jerk from today, not quite done shitting all over
my birthday. But looking through the peephole, Mistee’s cute face is sticking
her tongue out at me. I turn to my dad, “It’s my friend from work.”

“Happy birthday!” she sings when I open the door, holding up
a bottle of wine as she charges in. “Oh shit, Ever, I had no idea you had
company.”

“It’s okay. Mistee, this is my dad, Gerry. Dad, this is
Mistee, one of the line chefs from the restaurant.”

They shake hands and he says, “It’s nice to meet you.” Then
he looks at me with that look, the concerned father one–he’s unsure of Mistee
as she’s already scouring the drawers in my kitchen for the wine opener. She
does come off a little bit out there, but she really has the best intentions.

“Would you like a glass, Dad?” she asks him and I chuckle at
her crazy self already calling him “Dad.”

“No, I’m good. I’m actually on my way out. I’ll let you two
have some girl time.”

“Before you go…” She pulls out a small white box from inside
her huge purse that’s all smashed, and right away I can tell she got me my
favorite cupcakes, or attempted to. The things are to die for, smashed or not.

“Shut up,” I squeal, “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.” And then she pulls out a candle, sticking it in
the middle of one, and lights the flame. They both start to sing and I wrap my
arm around my dad knowing how hard it is for him to do this without my mom. We
normally do ice cream or share a dessert, but we never sing.

As they finish, he hugs me, wiping his wet eyes on his
shoulder, and I hold him back. Knowing that the pain I feel really is nothing
compared to what he’s going through. Without my mom, he’s half a person, so
broken and lonely. At least I have my job and my future and my crazy friend.
For him, he doesn’t have much. The years without my mom have aged him; more
than I knew could be possible. I can see it in his eyes as he pulls away and
kisses my forehead before leaving. “It was great to meet you, Mistee.”

“You too,” she says, and then he’s gone.

Closing the door, I flop down on my couch and stretch my
arms high above my head. Mistee places a glass of wine in one hand and my
cupcake in the other one. She might act crazy, but she’s a secret genius. Then
she sits across from me with her wide curious eyes, and I can’t help but laugh
at her.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, sounding honestly wounded.

“You. You are.”

She rolls her eyes and says, “Whatever. So are you gonna
talk about this incident or am I going to have to speculate on what happened?”

“Is that seriously why you’re here?” I snap at her, a bit
pissed that she wants to talk about that first.

“Not completely, but it is part of it.”

“You are such a bitch.”

“Hey, I brought cupcakes and wine,” she says and I sink further
down into the couch, taking a bite of the deliciousness that she brought me.
“Did you have a good birthday at least?”

“I did until that asshole showed up at the restaurant.”

“See? You do wanna talk about what happened.”

“I really don’t. I mean, there is nothing to talk about,
Mistee.”

“Would you stop being such a cunt?”

“Uhhhh, did you call me a cunt on my birthday?”

“Yeah…I sure did. So, why did you get so angry at that guy?”

“Because he deserved it.”

“Okaaaaay…what did he do to you?” she asks, condescension
evident.

I fill her in on all the details of my infuriating
interactions with him this morning and she says, “To me, it sounds like you two
are acting like you’re in kindergarten.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Did you hear yourself?”

Finishing the last sip of my wine, she takes my glass and
refills it. “What you should’ve done was jumped his bones.”

“Yuck. You’re so gross. He’s a stranger.”

“And a hot one, might I add. I saw him.”

“So what? Just let him fuck me then?”

“Yeah. A one-night stand might do you some good.”

“Mistee, maybe you should fuck him.”

“Don’t flip this back on me, Ever.”

“I’m not flipping anything. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to
sleep with some random guy.”

“Why?” she asks me dead serious.

“Because I don’t like him. He’s all…He’s…” I can’t even
explain it, and get so flustered trying to. She raises her eyebrows at me,
sipping her wine. “I’m waiting.”

“He’s not my type.”

“Oh please, Ever. You don’t have a type; you’d turn down
anyone no matter who they were.”

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore what she is saying. She
doesn’t know the first thing about dating, or what kind of guys I like. I have
a type, I just haven’t found anyone who gives me that feeling inside. Plus, she
has no idea the kind of douche bag this guy is.