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“Good morning, young lady,” the woman at the table said with a bright and cheery smile. “I’m Mrs. Brighton, Campus Director and it is my pleasure to welcome you to the International Culinary Institute Academy. And what is your name, dear?”
“Layla,” I said. “Layla Tyler.”
Mrs. Brighton looked at her list and found my name. “Yes. There you are. In room 205. Layla Tyler from Amarillo, Texas.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’ll be sharing a room with Katrina Lee.”
I turned to point to Kat. “Yeah. She’s right there. We’ve already met.”
Mrs. Brighton waved Kat over. “I’m happy to see that you girls seem to already get along and like each other. That helps make things easier. We get dozens of request every year from students wanting to change roommates.”
Kat and I smiled and nodded.
I shot a quick side-glance at Axel who just stood nearby, watching. I could have sworn he was scowling at me.
But why? What did I ever do to him?
“I’m sure that you girls will have a good time here at our academy,” Mrs. Brighton was saying. “You’ll find that our professors are knowledgeable and professional, as well as patient and understanding.”
“Right,” I said, trying to pay attention. I could feel Axel’s heavy gaze like a weight on my shoulders.
“This academy was built by a man who views the making of good food as a true art. Errol King hand-picked every single professor here and he oversees their curriculum. Nothing is left to chance. His reputation rests on the success of every single one of his students. And that is also why he only accepts the best candidates.”
Axel stepped forward, his chin rising as he looked down at me.
“Oh,” Mrs. Brighton said with a pleased smile. “Speaking of Errol King, this is his son, Axel King. You’re just in time to show these girls to their dorm.”
My breathing suddenly became difficult as my heartrate accelerated. Damn it. The guy was still looking at me with such disdain.
“Axel is the campus ambassador,” Mrs. Brighton went on, still smiling and cheery. “You’ll see him here and there throughout the campus. He likes to help new students settle in, and he likes to see his father’s vision become a reality. He’ll show you to your dorm.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, trying to sound natural and calm, as if his cold demeanor had no effect on me. I almost held out my hand to him but quickly saw that there was no point.
“You’re late,” he said in a flat dry tone.
I looked at Mrs. Brighton who pressed an uncomfortable smile as she averted her gaze.
“Not to argue,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, “but, I was here before the gate open and I did not dawdle one bit. I came straight here and patiently waited in line for my turn.”
“Nice try,” he shot back.
“It’s not a try,” I argued. “It’s the truth.”
He arrogantly looked at the huge Rolex on his wrist. “Either way. Your excuses are of little consequence to me. It’s too late. I no longer have the time to waste here. I have to get to my first class.”
Frustrated by his repugnant attitude, I released my hold of my bright pink suitcase and walked up to face him. He stood tall, much taller than me and I suddenly felt small as I looked up at him. “I don’t know what your problem is, or what it is that I did to deserve this unwarranted treatment from you, but I got up at four o’clock this morning to get on a six o’clock flight from Amarillo, Texas to San Francisco. I then got on a bus to ride all the way out here so that I could be here on time for that gate out there to open up.” I pointed to the pillar by which he’d stood with the students just moments earlier. “I saw you just standing there doing nothing but looking arrogantly around you, and I know that you saw me. You saw me right here in this line. If you don’t want to show me to my dorm, fine! But drop the bullshit that I arrived late.”
“Amarillo,” he said with an obnoxious cluck of his tongue. “Figures.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I said, my lips getting tighter and my eyes narrower.
“Texas,” he said, eyeing me with open disgust. “My father doesn’t usually let country hicks in. He has just as much a disdain for country bumpkins as I do. You and your cheap, imitation Louis Vuitton suitcase and your cheap fake leather shoes. I bet that Barbie doll blonde hair of yours comes out of a bottle, too. Are those blue eyes contacts or the real thing? Hey? I bet you’re just a mousy little girl with dull brown eyes who dusted herself off and thought she could come to the big city, to a big campus and play with grown-ups. Damn. What the hell are you going to cook up for us? Your country grits and biscuits? Your possum stew and greens?”
I clenched my jaw, unable to believe he’d said what he’d just said. How dare he? Who the hell did he think he was?
“Well, you know what, Mr. King?” I said, jutting my chin up to him. “At least I got here on my own merit. I worked hard to learn what I know, and I worked hard to earn the scholarship that got me here. At least I didn’t just sit back and let my daddy pave the way and then just stroll on in with a silver spoon in my mouth.”
