Chapter One
Hannah
“Anna!”my boss screams from across the kitchen.
“It’s Hannah,” I mutter under my breath.“Hhhhh,” I add, annoyed, accentuating the letter H sound for only me to hear.
He doesn’t care what my name is and I really should be quite pleased that he at least came close to getting it right.He’s been calling one of the sous chefs Ben despite his name being Curt.
Not even close, bud.
“Yes,” I now answer, this time so he can hear me.
“Anna!”he screams again, slamming his knife down and sending diced onions flying in all directions.
I’m literally standing directly in front of him and when he lets out a perturbed huff, it blasts out of his mouth and right into my face.
It’s hot and foul, and it takes everything in me to control my reaction, attempting not to throw up in my mouth or let on that I’m disgusted.He thrives on that kind of shit.
Dickhead.
“Yes, Mr.Langston?”I ask, my faux-polite demeanor nearly choking me to death.
“Did you get the schedule finished for next week?”
“Yes.”
“Orders placed for delivery next week?”
“Yes.”
“Seasonal menu created?”
“Yes.”
This is getting redundant, and I can feel my blood pressure rising with every word.I’m sure his is too, but I’ve done nothing to make him mad other than do the job he hired me to do.And I do it damn well.
“Bring it to me!”he shouts, like I’m an idiot and can’t possibly understand him.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Is that all you can say?Yes.Yes.Yes,” he chides, mocking my voice and I really want to punch him in the throat.But I need this job because moving back in with my parents sounds equally as bad as working here.
There’s rent to pay and bills to keep up with and a life to live that doesn’t involve my mother asking when I’m going to get married and have a baby.It’s fucking 2022, I thought it was uncouth to judge women on their marital status or their choice on whether or not to have kids.Guess not in my mother’s eyes.
I’m certainly not going to meet anyone when all I do is work, work, work, work, work.
I don’t answer him and his question that is designed to intimidate me.He doesn’t scare me in the least.He obviously has a small penis and has spent his entire life trying to compensate for it by being a colossal asshole.I can’t even believe he’s married and has kids.Their life must have been awful.Bad enough that his own kids don’t even work here.They probably went in the total opposite direction when choosing their careers just to get away from him.
I feel like I spend most of my day muttering under my breath and hating my job, but I still trudge back to the office and grab the seasonal menu.I’ve spent the better part of a month working on this and every single time I bring it to him, it’s the same thing.He hates every suggestion, calls me incompetent and I spend the rest of my night attempting to re-do it.On my own time, nonetheless.
I would never indulge a guy the way I do this jerk I call my boss.It’s the sad reality of needing a job and being trapped by the all-mighty dollar and my mother’s judgment that I can’t make a living as a cook.I’m not a cook; I’m a chef, an expertly trained and completely professional chef, who has the very expensive degree to prove it.
The other reason I don’t leave this job is because it’s one of the highest end restaurants in San Francisco with five-star write-ups everywhere you turn.Getting to put this on my resume would mean doors will open at just the restaurant name.I have to make it at least two years so it doesn’t look like I couldn’t hack it in this high-stress environment.I’ve only been here for three months.Three fucking months.The longest three months of my life.
It has to get easier, right?
Sometimes I wonder if he’s just testing me, seeing how I perform under pressure and once I prove I’m competent, he’ll come around.Or maybe I’m just living in a dream world because I can’t imagine this dick being nice to anyone.Ever.
