“You want me to cook decent food in this place? It isn’t even up to code!” There was probably a rat hiding in wait to get scraps. I saw a large freezer but no refrigerator, which meant nothing was fresh and everything was frozen. One glance at the giant ketchup tub and I could see it was out of date.
Julie was right. This was way fucking beneath me.
The only saving grace was the beautiful, brand new BlueStar eight-burner range with a griddle and double oven. It was a Cadillac in a scrap lot, painted in a gorgeous cherry red.
He noticed me eyeing the bright red range.
“I’m sure you can do something with that.”
Then he turned tail and left me in the swamp-ass, rat-infested kitchen.
This would probably be a great time to call my therapist and do a check in. I could feel myself slowly spiraling out of control. This wasn’t me. What the hell was I thinking subjecting myself to a nasty kitchen fry cook job, verbal abuse from that asshole, and an apartment stuck in the ‘90s?
But as I peered through the window that led to the bar, I saw Ashton putting his shirt back on.
He’s had a rough year.
Maybe he wasn’t always like this … maybe I could fix him, and in doing so fix myself. I was pretty sure there was a term for that in psychology, but I didn’t care. The fact was, I needed this. A large part of me died that day with Colin and a teeny-tiny part of me was starting to feel alive again, even in these horrible conditions.
I was going to fix Ashton Knight. Fix his attitude, his bar, his smoking habit, and his apartment building. Everything was going to be perfect and shiny and new by the time I left and that would be my closure. Because as of right now, Colin hadn’t saved anyone worth saving.
Chapter 5
Millie
“Order up!” I yelled. And then added motherfucker under my breath.
I’d been reduced to a subpar fry cook. Making only three dishes: chicken fingers, pretzel bites, and fucking nachos with the nasty orange cheese sauce and canned beef. It was vomit worthy.
He didn’t even have a god damned onion! Of course no cilantro, but what respectable kitchen didn’t have an onion or potato? He didn’t even sell French fries! It was a crime against humanity. I was surprised these idiots were ordering anything at all.
His head popped into the back and he ushered me over.
I turned the oil to low and walked over to greet him. “What?”
He winced at my appearance. “You should stay hydrated, you’re sweating like a pig.”
I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath in through my nose so that I didn’t actually attempt to kill him.
“Is that what you came to tell me?” I snapped my eyes open and curled my upper lip at him. He looked pleased with himself, like he enjoyed riling me up.
He shook his head. “I’m shorthanded tonight. Can you run out the orders after you cook them?”
My mouth popped open. “You want me to cook and serve?”
The nerve on this dude. We hadn’t even talked about my salary, but I was venturing to guess it was minimum wage.
He looked like I’d inconvenienced him. “Look, can you or not? I’ve got this stupid event thing. A big party coming in.”
I crossed my arms. “Are you capable of saying please?”
He nodded. “Yep. I am.” Then the motherfucker grinned, without saying please.
Lord help me, this man wanted to meet Jesus.
Now it was my turn to smirk. “I want the rent back to six hundred a month.”
The look he gave me was murderous, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. He was silent for a long moment before muttering, “Fine.”
“Fine,” I said in my peppiest voice possible.
We broke away and I grabbed the greasy-ass chicken fingers I had just made, running it out to one of the two occupied tables in the place.
As I was turning to leave the bar, a large group of people walked in with balloons and a cake.
Ashton was pulling tables together, probably for this big party, so I greeted them.
“Hi, are you the big event?” I smiled. No need to be an asshole to other people just because I hated my job and my new boss.
An elderly woman who looked about seventy gave me a big smile.
“Do you work here?” Her brow furrowed in confusion. She had long gray hair that was pulled into a side braid over her right shoulder, and in her hands was a needlepoint frame.
She must be a regular. As if this place were capable of bringing in regulars.
“Yeah, it’s my first day.” I tried to be chipper as about five people filed in behind her and stared at me. They all held cards or balloons.
“We’re Ashton’s family, dear. He told you about the party, right?” a sweet woman in her forties asked.
Ashton’s family? This snake had a family? I guess everyone did.
“Kind of,” I hedged, and rubbed my neck nervously.
A young man with short-cropped brown hair stepped up and looked me over. “Of course he didn’t tell her. She looks as confused as a crocodile in a snowstorm.”
I grinned at the comparison. Why would he tell me? He hated me. This was the exact opposite of how it should go when you met your husband’s donor recipient.
“He said there was an event.” I started to motion them over to the tables he was setting up.
“An event!” the grandma yelled loudly so that Ashton could hear her, “We’re celebrating one year of him getting his donor heart. Saved his life, it did. We’re so blessed.”
I froze mid-step, nearly tripping over my feet. I could be knocked over with a small gust of wind.
Why hadn’t I thought of the fact that just as yesterday was the saddest day of my life, today might be the happiest in his? The heart
