Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“Clock out? But I have a five-hour shift.”
I put a palm up. “You should have told me about your allergy.”
“Why, so you could discriminate against me? This is so unfair.”
I’d been in a bad mood since Holt and his kids left the inn four days ago, and I didn’t need any more fuel added to the flames.
“I’m going to clock you out,” I told Marie. “Leave the apron in here and do not walk back into the kitchen for any reason.”
“Am I fired?” she called as I walked away.
“I’ll see if there’s another job for you at the inn outside of the kitchen, but you can’t work in here.”
The double doors closed behind me and I took a deep breath, walking back over to Nina.
“Did you have a broken butane torch on your bingo card for tonight?” she asked me.
“Are you fucking joking?”
She gave me a look. “Do you know me? Would I try to crack a joke right now?”
I laughed maniacally. The backup torch was broken, too. This job was fifty percent cooking and fifty percent problem-solving.
“Broil the crème brûlée,” I called out to the dessert station. “There are instructions in the blue binder.”
“We’re having fun though, right?” Nina said. “And I heard no one’s getting a raise again this year so that just adds to it.”
I stopped in the middle of wiping down our stainless workstation. “What?”
“Joanna, in housekeeping, said day shift was told today before their shifts started. They gave everyone a coffee mug to thank them for their hard work. What a joke.”
I said nothing, but inside I was seething. As the chef and the head of a department at The Sleepy Moose, I was part of budget meetings and I knew how much profit this place made. Caden had promised me last month that everyone who had worked in the kitchen for at least six months would be getting a five percent raise.
I told myself not to jump to conclusions. Maybe it was just housekeeping that wasn’t getting raises, not that it was fair to give anyone the shaft. The Sleepy Moose had broken revenue records in the past year. Raises were always given out in early fall to keep people motivated to work hard during our busiest season. The owners of The Moose lived in California and had bought the inn as an investment. If they stiffed the employees, I had a major problem with locals giving so much of themselves to work here.
But again, I told myself, it might not be true. I couldn’t react based on a rumor I’d heard.
“I’ll get the beef. You get the ham, mushrooms and pastry,” I told Nina.
“You got it, boss.”
Holt was a huge fan of my beef Wellington. He’d ordered it every night it was on the menu during his stay. I imagined he and I were alone in my kitchen, talking and sipping on drinks as I made this meal just for the two of us.
He’d told me several times that if he were stranded on an island and only able to eat one thing for the rest of his life, it would be my garlic mashed potatoes. He joked that he’d be the reverse of the movie Castaway—a guy who gained weight on the island from eating a plateful of mashed potatoes for three meals a day.
I missed the way he raved over my food. He would send notes to the kitchen with his server, sometimes telling me how many stars he and the kids gave their meals, and he always signed them with the letter H instead of his full name.
“You okay, chef?” Nina asked me as we set ingredients on the prep table.
“Yeah, why?”
She shrugged. “You had a faraway look in your eyes.”
“Probably because I wish I was far away from here,” I cracked.
“Beef Wellington keeps us on our toes. Meanwhile, my kids are at home having microwaved hot dogs and they think that’s fine dining.”
My anger over the raises resurfaced. Nina could have been at home with her kids, but she was here making filet mignon wrapped in pastry for people with more disposable income than she’d ever have.
As soon as the dinner rush died down, I was going to find Caden.
“Is it urgent?” Caden asked when I approached him in the lobby a couple of hours later.
“It is.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne, welcome back to The Sleepy Moose,” he said to a couple passing by. “Please let me know if I can make your stay more enjoyable in any way.”
“Do we need to go into my office?” Caden asked me.
“We do.”
He offered his fake smile to passing guests as we walked, my anger simmering slowly. If it boiled over, I wanted us to be alone.
“I got many compliments on the beef Wellington tonight,” my boss said as we walked into his office.