Eric isn’t talking to me.
Eve won’t look at me.
And every time my dad checks in to see how things are going, I can feel his dream slowly slip from my fingers.
“Did you hear?” Alex asks, stepping up next to me with a bundle of veggies in his arms. “Terryn Bowers, the Foodie Fangirl, and Sir Wine-a-Lot were here.”
My spatula pauses midflip at the mention of the three top food bloggers in the New England area. They were here? In Knight and Port? Eating our food?
Oh. Fuck.
I’m about to question Alex when Eric appears beside me. “What did you just say?” he asks.
“Uh . . .” Alex looks terrified. “Eve got the three best bloggers to review us for the soft opening.”
“And she didn’t fucking tell us? What did they order?”
Alex swallows hard. “I . . . I’m not sure.”
“Dude, lay off,” I say, pressing my hand to Eric’s rapidly rising and falling chest. “Alex is just the messenger.”
Eric swats my hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Before I can reply, he heads back to his grill and tends to his food, his presence like a ball of tension, while all of our new employees scramble around, trying to make sure they don’t piss off the temperamental bosses.
Fucking great.
For the first time in five hours, I let out a long, pent-up breath and lean against the wall of the kitchen.
Holy fuck. That was a shit show.
Everyone is gone, staff and patrons, Eric is over by the grill, making himself something to eat, and I’m resisting the urge to walk up behind him and return the punch he landed on me last night.
He was a prick the entire night. He made the working environment unbearable and snapped at everyone who tried to help—even snapped at my dad once. Yeah, the entire night was stressful, and I don’t think it was our best work, but it didn’t call for this level of rage.
Knowing I need to confront him, I push off the wall and start to unbutton my chef jacket. “Congratulations on being the epitome of an asshole tonight,” I say.
“Point that finger right back at yourself,” he says, his back still turned to me. “You hold the title for asshole.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Flipping the grill off, he faces me, arms crossed over his chest. “How do you think tonight went, Reid? Do you think it was a success? Because from my point of view it was a complete disaster.”
“Yeah, you made that crystal clear,” I shoot back.
“Because we were ill prepared. You fucked up so many times, burned so many dishes, that we ran out of food.” Eve chooses this moment to step into the kitchen, but that doesn’t stop Eric from shooting off, “We ran out of drinks, the waitstaff confused dishes, our ceiling fans stopped working at one point for God knows what reason, and we didn’t have a quick enough turnaround, which meant that the line stretched out the door and down the street. And why do you think all those things happened?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “Because you two”—he gestures to me and Eve—“decided to distract each other rather than preparing for tonight. Sneaking behind my back, making me look like a goddamn fool.” He rips off his chef jacket and tosses it to the ground. “We could have been so much goddamn better than this, but you chose sex over the restaurant.”
“You’re way off base,” I say, stepping forward. “I did what you asked me to do—I broke up with Eve, and it fucking hurt—but I listened because I didn’t want to fuck up the restaurant or our friendship, if you could call it that. Despite how much it hurt, I powered through and put together this restaurant—”
“Tonight was a joke. You’re telling me you weren’t distracted? That your head was fully in Knight and Port?” He turns to Eve. “And can you tell me you did everything you could to make this night a success? If you were more on top of things, Eve, you would have told us about the bloggers, we wouldn’t have run out of food, we—”
“I put my heart and soul into this night,” she cuts in, eyes blazing. “I brought the bloggers in and didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to make you nervous.”
“And this is where experience comes in,” Eric says. “If you actually had some experience in a five-star restaurant, you would know to always tell the chef who’s at the tables. Always.”
“Hold the fuck on—” I start, but Eve steps in front of me, chin up, anger pouring off of her.
“Excuse me? Are you saying that I shouldn’t have this job? That I haven’t worked my ass off to get where I am?”
“I’m not saying you haven’t worked your ass off—I know what you’ve sacrificed,” Eric replies, the edge in his voice softening slightly. “What I’m saying is, you don’t have the experience, nor do you apparently have the ability to multitask with Reid between your legs.”
And like a firecracker, I explode. In an instant, I’m on Eric, plowing into him, slamming him onto his back, and cocking my arm. I’m about to deliver one hell of a punch when my arm is restrained, and I’m yanked off Eric, my dad’s voice bellowing through the entire restaurant.
“Enough!” He pushes Eric and me apart and then looks between all three of us. “That is enough.” He takes a few breaths, calming himself, becoming the levelheaded man that I’ve always known. “Is this the kind of professionalism I should expect from you three? Beating each other up and tearing each other down?” Eric slouches, and Eve folds her hands in front of her as I keep steady eye contact with my father, knowing that’s what he expects. “I did not hire you three so you can make a mockery of me and this restaurant.”
“It wasn’t the best night,” Eric cuts in, but Dad shakes his head.
“That’s where you’re wrong. The night was a success, but you were too stuck in your head to even notice. All three of you were. Eve, you were upstairs crying for half an hour, apologizing when there was no need to apologize.” Eve was crying? I search her face but don’t see any signs of it. “I was the one who ordered the food, so I should be blamed for the fact that we ran out. But there’s a learning curve here, and we shouldn’t dwell on it. The bloggers were a huge win, Eve, and I’m glad you didn’t tell the boys because it made their experience authentic—and contrary to what you believe, Eric, they gave us rave reviews.”
Eric immediately deflates.
“As for the kitchen, an apology will be issued to our employees for the way they were treated tonight. I understand jitters, but acting like asses is uncalled for, both of you. The tension you two created didn’t go unnoticed, and I suggest that if you both want to continue working here, you’d better air out your dirty laundry because I will not put up with another night like we had tonight.” Standing proudly, my dad continues, “Tonight was a success in my book. Forget the small things, the details that you noticed, because not a single customer complained. Everyone praised Knight and Port—the staff, the atmosphere, the food. They had one hell of a night, and that’s something we need to be proud of. That’s something we need to remember moving forward. The small things we can fix—it’s the big things that need to be addressed. You have until tomorrow morning. If you can’t get over your egos and your past, don’t bother showing up for our morning meeting.”