So I head to the kitchen. Johnson and Patricks follow close, but not too close, and I can almost forget they’re following… almost.
The kitchen is busy when I step inside. It’s hot and loud. People are shouting and I honestly can’t understand half of it. I think someone’s screaming in French as I stand there awkwardly, hoping someone will notice me.
Finally, the guy in the chef’s outfit steps from behind a station, brandishing a large spatula. “YOU,” he shouts at me. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
“Something… to eat?”
I catch the eye of a woman chopping onions. She’s trying not to laugh.
“SOMETHING… TO… EAT?” The man stares at me like I’ve gone insane. “You come into my kitchen and you ask for…. Just… something to eat?”
“Lunch?”
The girl bursts out. Dorian walks over to her and yells, “WORK.”
She stops laughing but she’s still grinning as she chops faster.
The man turns to me. I start to think I’ve made a huge mistake.
“You want lunch,” he says. “Okay. I can do lunch. What do you want? Soup? Sandwich?”
“What are they making?” I ask.
“They are making WHAT I TELL THEM TO MAKE.” His face turns red and spittle flies out from between his lips. I take a big step back. He closes his eyes and breathes. “I can make you omelet. You like omelet?”
“Yes,” I say, willing to eat literally anything at this point.
“Good. Go sit. I’ll cook and bring it to you.” He walks away, speaking French to himself.
I stare after him in shock. The girl chopping onions looks at me and grins. “He makes really good omelets,” she says. “It’ll be worth it, trust me.”
I smile a little at her. “Thanks.”
She winks and goes back to chopping furiously. I hurry away and find a small room in the back with a few tables and chairs. It’s clearly for staff, but it’s empty and quiet and I don’t feel like being disturbed, so I sit down.
My two security men stand just outside the door, one on each side, looking intimidating.
I sit there looking at the table top for a long moment before I close my eyes. Before I can fall asleep, I hear something. I open my eyes and look up.
The onion girl pushes a little cup toward me. “Tea,” she says and leaves.
I take it and sip it happily. It’s really good, rich and bold.
Dorian himself swoops in not long later. He has an elaborate plate with an omelet on top. It’s the fanciest thing I’ve ever seen, with cheese and vegetables. He puts it in front of me and stand there for a moment. He waits until I take a bite.
“Holy shit,” I say, my eyes wide.
It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.
He nods approvingly. “Yes, bon. Enjoy.” He turns and leaves the room, as if my appreciation of his cooking was enough.
I stare at the food. It’s seriously incredible. Light and fluffy yet rich and delicious. I devour the whole thing in like three bites, barely stopping to chew. I can’t get enough of it. I want to hunt that man down and beg him to cook one for me again, but I think he’ll beat me if I do that.
As I lean back in my chair with a happy groan, someone appears in the doorway. I expect it to be the onion girl again. “Thanks for the tea,” I say, looking over.
But it’s not her. Brent’s mother cocks her head. “Tea?” she asks.
“Sorry,” I say, standing up. I wince in pain as my leg aches.
She frowns slightly. “Sit back down.”
I do as she commands.
She walks into the room and takes the seat across from me. She eyes the cup in front of me and seems to understand what I was doing before. She looks back up and stares at me.
“Your father is making my life difficult,” she says.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not good enough.”
I gape for a second. “I don’t know what I can do.”
“You can leave.”
I blink. She’s not smiling or laughing. She’s deadly serious. She’s staring at me like I’m some kind of foreign host in her system, and she needs to flush me out to be healthy again. There’s a hint of disgust in her eyes.
“I can’t… I don’t… I thought you and Brent worked things out.”
“No. Brent told me that he wasn’t going to do as I asked. Brent stood up to me, and I’m sure he’s proud of that. But it doesn’t change anything.”
“You don’t want me here.” The words hurt to say and it feels like I’ve dropped a bomb in my own lap.
“No. I don’t.” She sighs and rubs at her eyes. “It’s nothing personal, Amber. I’m sure you’re a lovely girl. Brent likes you and that means a lot to me. But unfortunately, I can’t think of only myself or my son. Your father is becoming a problem.”