Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Monroe releases me, and I hold onto him as long as I can. My hands slip down his arms, fingers lingering on his until he pulls himself free and goes back into panic mode.
I get it, I really do. This isn't a normal day. But I really wish he would just take a few breaths and realize he's got this. The man isn't going to leave here disappointed. I know that much.
The kitchen door busts open. “He's here,” Daniel says, her voice almost as nervous as Monroe looks.
I feel like most of the staff has the same nervous energy as Monroe. They're feeding off him, like he's blanketing the place in this crazed anxious frenzy that none of us can control.
“He's here,” Monroe repeats softly, and says it again louder. “He's here. All right, Arisa, I need you on the risotto and the lamb skewers. I've heard he's very specific on seasoning, so make it perfect.”
The heat off the stove is burning my face as I toss and stir the risotto and sear the lamb. I garnish both dishes, wiping the edges of the plate clean so they look sleek and perfect. Placing them in the window, I call out that the order is up.
Monroe is working on his main courses. He's making two different ones, a smoked brisket and a fish dish. His head is down as the appetizers go out. I know I've got a few minutes before he needs me, so I decide to peek on the food critic.
I walk to the door and slip out into the dining room. The man is at a table by himself, his hair is long, pulled back into a low ponytail. Dressed low key, he's in a black, button-up shirt with a bright blue bow tie and a pair of slacks. He doesn't stand out at all. The only defining thing on him are his bright, red rimmed glasses.
He spoons the risotto, lifting it up and examining it before he smells the food. He blows air across the top, then pushes the spoon into his mouth. He's chewing slow, methodically, making sure he tastes every aspect of the dish.
There's a commotion at the door. I look up to see Cheryl arguing with Daniel who's trying her best to get her to leave.
“No, I'm supposed to be the one here for this, not her. I'm not going anywhere. I want to see Monroe. Monroe!” she yells out, looking behind Daniel's back. “Monroe! Come out here!”
Dariel Gershon, the food critic, perks his ears and casually glances over his shoulder.
Shit. This isn't good. Cheryl's going to ruin this entire thing!
I feel a weight above me and look up to see Monroe glaring out the kitchen door from over my shoulder. “Fuck, what the hell is she doing?” he asks under his breath.
“I don't know,” I say. “I'll go get her to leave. I don't want you to worry about her.”
“No, I'll do it.” Monroe's jaw pulls tight, and his pupils turn to pinpricks. He pushes the door open and walks out into the dining room.
I follow behind him. There isn't much I can do, but I can support him. I can be here by his side, just like I'm supposed to be. I won't let him feel like he's alone in this.
Cheryl sees him, and she instantly crooks her jaw with anger. “Yeah, there you are. I see you now. Who the hell do you think you are?” she asks.
“Cheryl, this isn't a good time for this, and you know it. Let’s talk outside.” He holds out his arm, trying to guide her back out the door. But she doesn't move.
She folds her arms across her chest and snarls, “Why? You afraid it's going to look bad that you screwed over your best employee? Are you scared that I'll say something that's going to destroy you? Because I will, Monroe. I'll fucking bury you alive.” Her eyes dart around the room, finally landing on Dariel. She smiles with attitude. “There he is. There's the man of the evening.”
“Cheryl, that's enough.” Monroe is trying to keep his voice down, but it's no use. Everyone is staring at us. Everyone.
“And you,” Cheryl snaps, ignoring Monroe completely, and putting her focus on me. “You ruined everything! You don't deserve this. I deserve this!” She points at herself, poking her chest hard with her finger. “This was supposed to be my moment!”
“All right, time to go,” a voice says. There's a man behind her, and he scoops her up under her arms and lifts her off the ground. As my eyes focus, I realize the voice is coming from my brother. “Come on,” Tom says sternly as she kicks her legs and tries to break free.
“Let me go! Put me down!”
“Nope, not until we're outside.” Tom spins her around, kicking the front door open with his foot and carrying her outside.