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I get up, pull out a notebook that I use to write down recipe ideas, and start making a pros and cons list. Blank page, line down the middle, pros on one side, cons on the other. And it’s a no fail approach to decision making.
Con: my employer could be a serial killer, and since I can’t google him, I have no way of knowing.
Though, now that I think about it, googling him wouldn’t actually give me that information, anyway. If he’s a known serial killer, he would already be in jail. And if he’s not, then that’s probably not information provided in his LinkedIn profile.
Pro: I’m making the best money of my life.
Con: possibly because my employer is a serial killer
Pro: I have a lot of free time. More than I’ve ever had in my adult life.
Con: there is at least the possibility that so much free time is driving me insane. Which is why I suspect my employer is a serial killer
Pro: if he is a serial killer, wouldn’t he have already killed me? If he was going to. Assuming he’s a serial killer who hunts close to home. Which I’m pretty sure none of them do.
Pro: my boss is hot. Total eye-candy, for sure.
Con: he’s my boss, therefore it doesn’t matter if he’s hot.
Con: aren’t serial killers always hot? Or was that only Ted Bundy?
After a few minutes of staring at the list, I’m disturbed by two things. One, I am clearly watching too much TV. Particularly too much Law and Order, because my imagination has taken a decidedly dark turn.
Chefs—even head chefs who work in a restaurant owned by their father—don’t make great money. As a result, I’ve spent most of my adult life living in a series of shit-hole apartments in not-great parts of town. Which means statistically speaking, I was more likely to be killed by a serial killer at any other time in my life than today.
Again, I blame Law and Order.
You know what’s even worse? I didn’t worry about any of this until this morning when I met him.
Am I truly worried that he’s a serial killer or am I merely disconcerted by how easily overpowered I was? Or am I disconcerted by how… disconcerting I found him?
I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid it’s the latter.
And I have to admit, I liked the idea of him being an old man. I liked the interactions we had when I pictured him as grumpy and feeble, tottering around that big empty house alone. I felt like I was doing something good in the world. Like I was helping someone who needed me.
Maybe I have daddy issues?
I nearly laugh out loud.
Obviously, I have daddy issues.
If I didn’t have daddy issues before, I certainly do now. I spent my entire childhood and teenage years trying to earn my father’s approval, and I thought I had. I followed in his footsteps. I worked at his restaurant, earning less pay than anyone who knew I was his daughter thought I should. I assumed that if he were to die suddenly that I would inherit at least half the restaurant.
It wasn’t anything any of us had ever discussed. But that was just what seemed fair.
When he dropped dead of a heart attack at 65, I found out that the restaurant was in Blake’s name. My father hadn’t even made a provision for me to stay on as head chef.
Yeah. I developed some daddy issues real fucking fast. Some my-half-brother-is-an-asshole issues, as well.
My pros and cons list isn’t getting me anywhere. I pour myself a cup of coffee and I’m staring out the window of my little cottage when I see a car zip past.
The cleaning service comes every Wednesday like clockwork. And they drive a red truck. This was a white car; Tesla, if I’m not mistaken. Which means Ian Donovan has left his house for the first time since I’ve moved in.
Where is he going? Is it a coincidence that he’s leaving on the same day we met? Or are the two things related? Did he spend his morning making some insane pro/con list also?
I’m sure he didn’t. Why would he?
If he did, what does that mean?
