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“Shut up.”
“I honestly haven’t seen acting this bad since Tommy Wiseau.” He smirked. “You deserve a Razzie Award.”
“I hate you,” I grumbled.
My best friend’s chest rumbled with laughter. He tapped my back with the intention of breaking a bone or two. “Point is, people respond to her. She is personable, knows the entire menu by heart—cocktails and wine included—and never keeps customers waiting. Don’t worry about her. She’s doing great.”
That’s what I was worried about. It would be so much nicer to slip a check into her mailbox every weekend and forget she existed. A charity of sorts.
“These fecal matters are looking down her shirt.” A muscle in my jaw twitched.
“The uniform is a turtleneck.” Rhyland’s brow knitted in confusion.
I ignored him. “Throw them out.”
“Row, you can’t start beefing with anyone who sniffs around Cal’s ass.”
What a ridiculous thing to say. Of course I could. I’d been doing that since she was in middle school. That someone had still managed to somehow hurt her along the way, make her find men distrustful, was something I took as a personal failure.
“Thought you said you’re over her.” He grabbed another cherry tomato, tossing it high in the air and catching it in his mouth.
“I am. Now I’m just paying it forward by making sure she isn’t ruining more lives.”
“Don’t bother, Rhy.” Taylor, wiping the residual accents off plates of poached lobster and fennel salad, sighed. “Chef’s been like this all evening. Can’t rip him away from that window.”
“Am I no longer allowed to check on my own restaurant?” I turned to pin Taylor with a glare. “Also, your fennel–cucumber ratio is wrong. Start from scratch.”
“There are no mistakes in art,” Taylor pointed out.
“There are when it’s in my fucking kitchen. Start. From. Scratch.”
“Sorry, Taylor, gotta steal your boss for a few seconds.” Rhy placed a hand on my back, leading me from the kitchen to the industrial cooler at the back of the restaurant.
“All yours!” Taylor gladly handed me over like a problem child who had shit on his daycare cot. “Can you replace his batteries before you bring him back? He’s out of focus today.”
I watched as Rhyland closed the door to the cool, sprawling room. Five rows of fourteen-foot-high sub-zero metal shelves engulfed us. I leaned against the green leaves section, parsley poking into my ear.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I asked, “What do you want?”
Rhy smoothed out his suit, looking at me like I was an abandoned, drenched puppy. “Thought it was gonna be funny, but now I see the error of my ways. I may have stepped out of the Overton window, strong-arming you into hiring Cal. I wanted to make a point, and I made it. Since I now found replacements for Heather and Don—”
“We’re not firing her.” My nostrils flared.
I didn’t want to give Cal more power than she already had. Her existence in my domain didn’t throw me that off-kilter.
“You can’t concentrate for shit,” Rhyland said matter-of-factly.
“She demonstrated the ‘Macarena’ out there at some point.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “She’s like a car accident. Hard to look away from but horrifying, nonetheless. Just because she’s got my attention doesn’t mean that it’s positive. I’m over her.”
“Over her, my ass. Every time she bends over, you look like you need a cigarette. Look, I can give her a backend job. We need someone to do the filing, anyway. You’ll never see he—”
“She’s a decent server. You said so yourself, right?”
Rhy pursed his lips, his expression uncertain. “She’s a highly endearing individual. Like, the human answer to a unicorn. This can’t be news to you.”
“She’s still off-limits,” I barked out.
He raised his palms up. “Hey, no problem there. I’m not ready for children yet, and she definitely is one. I’m worried, though.”
