Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Booths line the far end of the restaurant, all with the same wood finish as the bar. The burgundy booths make everything look so rich. High-top tables are scattered throughout the rest of the floor, and I know this place will be filled with people within two hours. So much has changed since I bought this place. Luckily for me, I got it for less than asking, and then I got a small business loan for new business owners. I saved a shit ton of money doing the construction myself. I also saved money when I lived here until it started picking up.
I walk to the back corner to the brown closed door that says Office written across it. I open it and see that the shades are up, giving you the light you need. The couch against the wall has seen better days but is clear of my clothes that used to hang all over it. It faces the brown desk I put there when I wanted to be professional. I walk to the little bathroom with a shower, a toilet, and a standing sink with a mirror. The only thing in here is a tall hutch in the corner I bought from IKEA. I open it, grab a towel, then smell it to make sure it's clean.
I turn on the water, getting in and letting it run down my back. I've been gone for the past six months, and I have to say, it's good to be home. When Francois called me seven months ago, I didn't know what to think. I was in the middle of opening a second restaurant in town, this time a pub, and I was knee-deep in the final stages when he asked me if I wanted to partner with him. His partner fell through, and he knew I was opening my second restaurant, so to him, I was the first one he wanted to call.
It was a dream come true for me. Partner at a restaurant in New York City. It was also scary as fuck because the critics will eat your food and spit it out, and in a matter of a week, you can go from success to crickets. It was a challenge, to say the very least, and the minute I walked in, I knew a lot more work was needed than what he said. Not that I was afraid of work. I worked hard my whole life, from when I was fourteen and my parents thought they had given me enough support and decided that I should start paying my share. So I got two part-time jobs, and when I turned eighteen, I moved to a cheaper place and put myself through college for two years until I went into culinary school.
I turn the water off and get out of the shower, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around my waist. Wiping the steam off the mirror, I see that my eyes are bloodshot. I'm going to sleep so well tonight. I walk back over to the hutch and grab a pair of black pants and a gray T-shirt. I towel off my hair, leaving the bathroom and office to head toward the bar area when I see Mikaela coming out of the kitchen with a plate in her hand. "Right on time," she says, walking to the bar and putting it on the corner.
"The last thing I ate was pizza from a 7-Eleven," I tell her, walking behind the bar and grabbing a bottle of cold beer.
I see one of the bartenders setting up his station as he looks over at me. "Hey," he says, putting the white rag over his shoulder. "You back?"
"For now." I smirk and look over at Mikaela, who glares at me as I walk over to the stool sitting in front of the plate.
I take a pull of the beer and offer it to her. She shakes her head, and I place it down in front of the food. "I want a staff meeting tonight,” I announce, and she nods her head. "We have to get ready for the dinner rush, but tomorrow, I want to check out the pub."
"I was there yesterday. It looks good." I nod at her, taking a bite of the burger.
"This is so much better than the pizza at the 7-Eleven," I tell her, and she gives me the finger. The front door opens, and I see a couple of the waitresses arriving. I look at the clock. "It's ten minutes past their shift."
"Oh, don't you know." She laughs, getting up. "We have to be thankful they come to work."
“Screw that. I'll wait tables myself,” I declare. "I'll be there in ten minutes.” She gets up and walks to the kitchen. When I finish, I walk back into the kitchen and find her side by side with two sous chefs who look up and smile at me.