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“It’s a delicate situation, you know,” he says, quailing under my glare. “His father?—”
“Not another word, Reggie. If you deny this woman’s application because of her body and maternal status, I promise you I will go right to my friend who writes for the City Chronicle and tell them exactly why she wasn’t let in. Are we clear?”
“I will, uh… I will take that recommendation under strong advisement, Mr. Brooks.”
“See that you do,” I say curtly. “Goodbye, Reginald.”
3
AVERY
Finding out my boss was following my vlog under a throwaway account was not on my bingo card for this year.
He’d let that slip about two weeks ago while he was criticizing my piping technique.
Much like experiencing a natural disaster, I remember exactly where I was when it happened—right here at this station.
That day, I’d been working on a rather unusual four-tiered wedding cake (which I would have likely remembered even without the drama from Henri).
No one in the family could agree on flavor or style during the consultation, so everyone ended up getting their own tier—one of my finer moments of conflict resolution, if I do say so myself.
Each of the cakes had been baked—maple pumpkin for the bride, coffee cream for the groom, blackberry elderflower for the bride’s parents, and last but not least, brown butter carrot cardamom for the groom’s parents (in case you were curious).
The base layer of icing was on, and I had just started the piping work when Henri zeroed in on me.
“You think you’re getting into an elite institution like Age Gap Academy when you can’t even pipe a straight line? They’re going to laugh you out the door on your first day, assuming you even get that far,” he says snidely.
I was so startled I dropped the piping bag.
“I didn’t tell anyone here that I applied except Mia, and I know she didn’t tell you. How did you find out?”
“I’m sure you let it slip sometime when you were here. We both know you can’t go five minutes without talking about yourself.”
“Henri, I never talk about my personal life at work, not even to Mia.”
Then it dawns on me.
I don’t want to provoke him, but I can’t keep the grin off my face.
“What are you smirking about?” he demands.
“I’m just happy to be here,” I say, hoping that’s enough to satisfy him and make him leave.
For good measure, I also try to make myself smaller and less of a target. I’ve learned from experience that it’s the best way to stay safe.
I know working in a kitchen environment always comes with a hotheaded chef. It’s part of the job, but Henri has always been on the extreme end of the spectrum.
Maybe if I get into the academy, I’ll be able to be choosier about the level of temper I’m willing to tolerate from a head chef and leave all of this behind me.
I’m practically holding my breath and praying he accepts my answer and leaves me alone.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get bored or walk away. He just seems to get angrier.
“Tell me right now what you think is so funny or I’m going to splash black food dye all over this cake.”
“Well,” I say meekly, “you could have only found out from my vlog that I applied to Age Gap Academy. I’m just flattered that you’ve made time to watch it. That’s all.”
“Check your stupid subscription list. You won’t see my name there. I have better things to do than watch your pathetic attempt at sculpting fake hands out of fondant.”
