Chapter 7 Flip-Flops in the Kitchen

Jordan POV

I arrived at the restaurant practically running, heart pounding and flip-flops slapping loudly against the pavement. I was already thirty minutes late for my scheduled time with Chef Adam and, to make it worse, I hadn't found a single store open on the way.

I mentally begged that, by some miracle, he wouldn't notice what I had on my feet. I entered through the side door, which led directly to the kitchen after a short hallway. The moment I stepped inside, Chef Black's eyes locked onto mine and, in a sharp tone, he said:

"You're late."

"Sorry, I..." I opened my mouth to explain. But his glare stopped me cold. I could practically see the words "I hate excuses" blazing in his eyes. For a second, I almost forgot what had happened that morning. Almost forgot what was on my feet.

His eyes dropped. I swallowed hard. I wanted to disappear. But it was like I had a neon sign stuck to my forehead. His gaze hit my flip-flops, and his brow lifted in total disbelief:

"You've got to be kidding me..." he muttered. I forced a nervous smile, wringing my hands.

"I'm sorry, Chef, I can explain..." I started, trying to find the right words, but he cut me off with a resigned sigh.

"You planning on handling knives in my kitchen wearing flip-flops?" he snapped, not even giving me the chance to explain what had happened. His glare was so intimidating I stood frozen, not knowing what to say. At this point, I wasn't even sure I wanted to explain. Maybe it was better if he thought I woke up and said, "You know what would be a great idea? Working in flip-flops today!"

"Go to the shoe store down the street and buy proper shoes. Then come back. And please, no more surprises."

"It wasn't open yet," I replied automatically. He looked at me for a second, almost as if he was about to ask what had happened... but no.

"Go over the cabinets and memorize where everything is. I don't want any confusion during service. And put those away," he pointed to the bags on the counter. "Then go buy some shoes."

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, heading to his office.

I stood there for a few seconds, just absorbing it. Watching the door swing back and forth. My heart was doing the same inside my chest - part relieved, part terrified that today might already be my last.

I sighed.

I walked over to the bags and started unpacking: boxes, vegetables, bottles - putting everything in its place, trying to be as meticulous as possible. I went over the shelves, the jars, the spice rack, the sauce section. I had memorized most of it from last night's dinner service, but I double-checked. I couldn't afford to mess up today. The kitchen was where I usually did better. Usually.

In the distance, I could hear his voice - probably on the phone. Arrogant, annoyed, the usual. He'd probably left the office door open on purpose, waiting to hear me drop something. I didn't drop a thing. But I couldn't shake the feeling of his presence hovering, like he was right behind me.

His presence was overwhelming, unnerving. Infuriating. Why did my culinary idol have to be such a social ogre?

I took a deep breath and kept going. I was going to prove I could do this. I know I have talent. He just needs to give me time to prove I'm not a total disaster - at least not entirely.

As soon as I finished putting everything away, I rushed to the shoe store I'd spotted earlier. I bought a simple pair of sneakers. I didn't have socks with me - forgot to pack them - and I didn't want to waste more time looking. So I picked the sneakers - closed-toe, unlike flats, and the best choice for going sockless. I just hoped they were as comfy as they looked and wouldn't destroy my feet.

I returned to the restaurant. Chef Adam and Sous-Chef Lorenzo were already there, prepping for lunch service. I followed every instruction to the letter, focused enough to avoid any further disasters today.

And I didn't even dare to ask what else could go wrong today. Because with my luck, the universe might just answer - and I really wouldn't like it.

________________________________________

Adam POV

"You're late." I snapped the second I saw her enter the kitchen. Thirty minutes late. After yesterday, when I explicitly said I hate delays?

I heard the noise before I saw her. That annoying slap-slap of cheap rubber soles. Fantastic. She was irritating. As if the day didn't already come with enough headaches.

"Sorry, I..." she started, but didn't get far. Her eyes locked on mine. I hate excuses. I dropped my gaze, scanning her. She was dressed comfortably. My eyes paused at points they shouldn't have. I cursed silently and looked lower - and almost wished I hadn't.

"You've got to be kidding me..." I muttered.

Seriously. Flip-flops. Flip-flops. In my kitchen. I raised an eyebrow, stunned. My brain almost refused to process what I was seeing.

She wrung her hands, clearly nervous. Tried a smile. Ridiculous.

"Sorry, Chef, I can explain..."

"You planning to handle knives in my kitchen wearing flip-flops?" I cut her off. Sharp. She looked uncomfortable, anxious. What the hell was going through her head, showing up like that? And not even those ugly kitchen clogs - actual flip-flops. As if she didn't spend half her time knocking things over. I could already picture her slicing herself open. Maybe I should buy her steel-toe boots. Or a full riot suit.

"Go to the shoe store down the street and get proper shoes. Then come back. And please... no more surprises."

"It wasn't open yet," she said immediately, almost like she needed me to know this wasn't her choice. I stared at her for a moment. Thought about asking what had happened. Couldn't even imagine. I didn't remember her shoes from yesterday, but I was sure they weren't flip-flops.

I rolled my eyes internally. No. I wasn't going to ask. Not after I'd already shut down every attempt she'd made to explain. Doesn't matter now. We've got work to do.

"Go over the cabinets and memorize where everything is. I don't want more mistakes during service. And put those away," I pointed to the bags on the counter. "Then go buy shoes."

I didn't wait for a response. Turned and walked to my office. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her standing there, frozen, staring at the door swinging behind me.

I hope she memorizes everything.

She frustrates me. Irritates me. Chaos seems to follow her like a personal cloud. She's going to destroy my kitchen. Well... whether Mateus likes it or not, I'm giving her one week. I can't teach talent - and I'm not about to let her ruin my restaurant.

One week. I'm sure she'll give me more than enough reasons to convince Mateus she doesn't belong here. In just two days, I already have plenty to go on.

And I don't even want to imagine what she might do next.

Shit. I really don't.