Page 25 of The Unwilling Bride
The other guy laughs in a way that makes my skin crawl.
"Forget the whisk. I want to see how she handles heavy cream. Probably needs personalized instruction."
Heat crawls up my neck. Bloody knobheads. I want to walk over and demand they apologize, but I don’t want any trouble.
I have my mind full, just contending with my boss.
I pass Garrett at his station.
Mid-forties. Heavy-set. Mullet that probably looked good when he was fifteen, but now, only serves to confirm he's a has-been.
The kind of chef who’s been stuck at the same level for a decade, blaming everyone but himself.
I catch him scowling at me, clearly unhappy that a young upstart like me could land a sous chef position.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand move toward my arse. It’s too close, too deliberate.
My stomach tightens. My instincts fire. I sidestep him in a fluid move.
He stumbles into the edge of his prep table with a satisfying thunk.
Fuck. This. Shit. I’ve had enough.
My pulse is racing from pure, unfiltered fury. I spin on him, fingers curled into fists at my sides, jaw tight. My eyes lock on his like daggers,burning with all the violence I feel in regard to small, entitled men like him.
“Try to touch me again, Garrett, and I’ll reduce your balls to demi-glace.”
My voice is low, lethal, each word sharp enough to slice through the clatter of the kitchen.
He freezes, wide-eyed.
I let him marinate in the full force of my glare. I don’t run to James. He needs to know I can handle myself.
I have a lot to prove in this kitchen, and I won’t let anyone undermine that. I want them to realize that I’m not just angry; I’m dangerous, too.
I turn on the other two clowns.
"If you expended as much energy on knife skills as you do on high school comedy, your stations wouldn't be twenty minutes behind. Grow up or get out of my way." My chest heaves.
This is the reality of professional kitchens.
Men who think a woman on the line is there for their entertainment. Who think my presence is a novelty instead of a threat. It's not new. It's just exhausting. I wish I could claim that giving them a piece of mind helped.
Unfortunately, it’s only added to the exhaustion I’m carrying around from working on too little sleep and too much adrenaline.
Footsteps approach. Sharp. Deliberate. Coming from the corridor that leads to the dining room. I know that heavy, confident tread. It’s my boss.
James stalks through the doorway. The walk of a predator. The pressure in the room changes the moment he enters.
A charged silence descends. Every knife stops mid-chop. Every conversation dies. Even the exhaust fans seem to hold their breath.
His eyes sweep the line. Left to right. Slow. Methodical. Landing on Garrett. Then the other two.
Finally, me.
I resist the urge to vibrate like the string of a violin that’s been plucked by the maestro. My entire body wants to shiver. A heavy weight pushes down on my chest.
He takes in my face. Seems to understand exactly what transpired,for I see the light in his eyes change. His jaw tics. The tips of his ears turn white.
