Pretend Love Romance by Penny Wylder
Rachel
What the hell?
The email that’s popped up on my phone honestly makes no sense. Something about a will? I didn’t think that I had any family on my dad’s side that even knew who I was, let alone cared to contact me. But there the email is, staring at me, with a fully paid, round-trip ticket to Wyoming booked for two days from now.
The message on the screen promises that it will be worth my while, but I’m incredibly confused and not at all convinced. I’ll have to ask Solomon for time off. I think that he’ll say yes, given how well I’ve been doing in the kitchen lately, but after all, it is Solomon. Mercurial, unpredictable, ticking timebomb Solomon. His moods change depending on how the wind blows, or how the bechamel bubbles, and I’ll have to make sure that I ask him at the right time.
“Fucking hell.” The words come in a vicious tone as Melody bursts out the back door of Alaban—the restaurant where we both work. It’s one of the best restaurants in Denver, with two Michelin stars. If you work well in this kitchen, you can work at any restaurant in the country. It’s that prestigious. And so far, I’m doing pretty well at working here.
“What happened?” I ask, although I can anticipate her answer. Solomon.
Melody is a rank above me as a station chef. She works the grill, and she’s amazing at what she does. Sometimes on my breaks, I even stand aside and watch her work. But Solomon likes to be everywhere at once; he loathes to cede any control in the kitchen, and before he became head chef, the grill was his domain. He and Melody have a history of butting heads when he gets too territorial over his old turf. It’s a complaint that I’ve heard plenty of times before, and not just from Melody. But we let each other vent, even though there’s nothing we can really do about his shitty attitude and behavior.
I’m only a junior chef here, and I work under Solomon, assisting him with anything that he needs. But because of that, I’m in a unique position to know exactly the kind of temperament he has. Whenever we’re in the kitchen, I’m never more than a few feet from his side. He is absolutely brilliant, and I learn a lot from him. But like a lot of brilliant men, he has a temper, too much confidence in his own abilities, and too much power.
“Same old shit,” Melody says. “I’m not grilling fast enough. The temperature isn’t hot enough.” She raises her hands and put quotes in the air. “‘We’re going to have people sending back cold food.’ Cold food my ass. He knows that the grill is hot enough. He checks it every five minutes. I don’t know what’s up his ass today, but I hope he gets over it before service is over.”
I snort. Most of the kitchen feels comfortable talking to me about Solomon because I don’t judge them, and I’d never betray their confidence. But I also never say anything back. I have high ambitions, and I’m not going to put myself in the middle of other people’s drama and risk word getting back to Solomon. There would be no quicker way to sabotaging my career than that. I give my friends my ear and sympathy, but make sure a negative word about Solomon doesn’t cross my own lips. So far, my plan is working. Solomon told me recently that a promotion is coming. I’m not going to do anything to screw that up. Literally nothing.
Jane—one of the servers—steps out into the alley as well. She comes out regularly to smoke, and to bitch about the way Solomon speaks to the servers. He definitely should be nicer to them, considering servers are the face of the entire restaurant. It’s their service and professionalism that leaves the greatest impression on our customers. And when Solomon is a dick to them, they aren’t at their best on the floor. These are all things that I’m filing away in my mind, for when I run my own restaurant one day.
No one ever said that you only have to learn from the positive things. I find my greatest lessons in watching Solomon screw things up. What not to do.
“Rage break, Melody?” Jane asks as she lights up a cigarette.
Melody blows out a breath. “You know it. I was about to lose my shit, so I passed the grill to Miguel for a minute. He can handle it.”
Jane nods to me. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
I keep scrolling through my phone, but I come back to the email with the plane reservation. Am I going to go? I don’t know why I would, but there’s something about the wording of the email. Something desperate but also kind. It draws me in and makes me want to find out what the hell is actually going on.
Shit.
I guess I’m going to Wyoming if I can get the time off. Frankly, I’ve only ever heard…well, nothing about Wyoming. Except for the fact that apparently it’s pretty and there are a lot of bison there.
Jane and Melody continue blowing off steam. It never leads to anyone confronting Solomon, but it’s just enough of a release so they can get back in the kitchen with clearer heads
The back door to the restaurant bangs open and Solomon strides out. Jane and Melody go silent instantly. “Of course,” he says with a hard edge to his voice. “Melody, we’re in the middle of a rush and it’s not time for your actual break. Get your ass back inside.”
She rolls her eyes in my direction, but she goes. Jane puts out her unfinished cigarette and scurries back in as well, unwilling to face whatever was coming from Solomon. He looks over at me. “So I assume they were out here talking shit about me, right?”
I lift my phone. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’m catching up on my emails.”
He grunts and leans against the alley wall, taking a break himself.
“By the way, I was going to ask you,” I say. “I know it’s short notice, but I need a couple of days off.”
Solomon grins. “Mental health days? I kind of expected it with you working so hard. You can take whatever time you need.” Pushing off the wall, he steps toward me and puts a hand on my arm. “In fact, maybe since you’re taking some days off, we could spend some time together, away from the hot kitchen. Maybe have a non-business dinner. Get to know each other outside of work.”
Oh, shit.
Solomon definitely is, by conventional standards, very handsome. He’s tall and broad with dark hair and beard scruff that gives him a carefree European vibe. But he’s never been my type. And even if I found him the most attractive human being on the planet, I wouldn’t sleep with him. No way. It’s hard enough being a woman with ambition in this male-dominated industry. I would never risk my reputation by sleeping with anyone in this kitchen. I’ve seen too many women’s careers derailed by accusations of the sleeping their way to the top.
Also, ew. I can’t separate the man from his ego and assholery.
I pull my arm away from him, definitively but also trying to hide my total disgust. “I’m not taking mental health days,” I say with a tight smile. “I need to go to Wyoming tomorrow on family business. It’s urgent. But I should only be out for a couple of days.”
“Oh,” he says, clearly disappointed. He looks me up and down, and for the first time I realize that he’s looking at me not like a co-worker, but as a conquest. How long has he been looking at me like that and I hadn’t realized it?
“All right. Well, have a safe trip.” His tone isn’t pleased. In fact, it’s borderline angry. But I can’t think about that right now. He said yes, and my break is up. Time to get back in the saddle and finish dinner service.
Then, I guess, I’m packing for Wyoming.
