Fast & Hard (The Fast 1)

“Went to stay with Mum and Pop — well, his Mum and Pop,” Matty points to Lennox, “Figured my shit out. Then he hired me.”

“Good for you, Matty. I’m so glad you’re healthy now. I guess Jack was right, he really does bring home all the strays,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh for fucks sake, not the cats again,” Lennox rolls his eyes. “There are only two cats. Two.”

“Two inside,” Matty corrects him.

“The ones outside are not mine,” Lennox argues.

“Mmhmm, that’s why you feed them and make them houses and shit.”

“Ok,” I laugh, “I definitely need to know more about that, too, but Matty would you ever do an interview about how you came to be on the team and what you do for Lennox now?”

Before he can answer, Lennox barks at me, “No.”

“I didn’t mean anything private, I just think it’s fascinating and the fans would love even a generic backstory…”

“I said no. My friends and family are not pawns, they aren’t here for entertainment value,” he snaps. His voice is low, his eyes are dark, and there’s nothing playful about the tone of his voice this time.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Ignore him,” Matty waves his hand to brush Lennox’s tirade off, “he gets a little protective. Finish your chicken,” he eyes the uneaten food and chides Lennox.

Two steps forward and one step back, Lennox stabs his remaining food and starts grudge-eating it.

“Matty, I’m sorry. I would never imply you should tell your private story. I just meant you’re all old friends and I thought the fans would love that kind of personal insight.”

Lennox is silent and leering at me.

“No offense taken. Mr. Privacy here wouldn’t allow it anyway, though,” he nods his head toward Lennox and pops another cake ball into his mouth.

“Nope,” Lennox confirms.

“Duly noted,” I eyeball him back. What a shame, Lennox hiring two close friends and all the tasks they do for him every day are fascinating to an outsider like me. It would make him seem so much more human, reveal some of the good I see in him, when he lets me see it.

I spot Tatiana refilling the buffet station and taking an empty tray back into the kitchen. Rather than sit here under Lennox’s glare, I excuse myself to go say hello. Hopefully, Francesca is around too.

The kitchen is small but bustling with several cooks working and calling out refills needed in the dining room. Bussers are coming in with trays of dirty dishes as fast as more can leave with fresh food. It’s loud and steam rises above the cooktops as the crew works to feed the entire Celeritas team.

“There were no onions!” I hear Francesca’s Latin voice from the opposite side of a cook station. I step around a trash can and the backside of the cook station and Francesca has her hands on her hips, her face is scrunched up and she looks ready to murder Digby DuPont who is hovering above her.

“I saw them, Francesca. I saw the onions with my own eyes. Right there in m

y rice. Do you think I’m stupid?” Digby chastises her. A busser passes by them and sticks her tongue out at Digby behind his back.

I don’t have many friends here, ok, any friends. And I don’t think I care for the way Digby has Francesca cornered and is raising his voice to her. It’s exactly the way Robert and Lydia Mitchell scold the help and treat them like subpar humans.

“Francesca!” I step between the dueling pair and give Francesca a quick hug. “I just wanted to thank everyone for dinner. It was delicious!”

Francesca harrumphs and gives Digby the universal face for ‘neener neener neener.’ “Thank you, Mallory. I’m happy someone appreciates our hard work.”

“Oh gosh, Lennox and Mattias and I stuffed ourselves!”

“Ms. Mitchell,” Digby interrupts and takes my hand to turn me toward him. He’s wearing a polo shirt tucked into his tailored pants and has an aqua sweater hanging over his shoulders. He looks like he just left a golf match, not a Formula 1 race. “My apologies, good help is so hard to find,” he mewls as Francesca scurries away.

I pull my hand away and tuck them both into my back pockets so he isn’t inclined to grab them again. Digby DuPont is as wholesome and squeaky clean as they come, according to what I’ve learned about him, but I have no patience for people who berate service workers. “I don’t know, the food is always amazing,” I retort.

“Of course. Long day, that’s all.”