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“A little moody,” she said with an expression that made it clear their encounter had not been fun for her. “Rudecomes to mind, but perhaps I caught him at the wrong time. Who knows?”
“I think we need to know more about him before we even decide what to do next,” Cole suggested.
“I would recommend a blood test at some point,” Monica offered.
The brothers nodded in agreement.
Bobbie set the folder on the table. On top was her bill, including fees for her trip to England. “I think it entails a trip back to London to really get at it,” she said.
Neither man flinched at the hefty price or the next bill to come.
“Fine,” they said in unison.
She rose and offered her hand to all three. “Good. We can do it week to week and, whenever you tell me it’s enough, I’m headed home,” she promised. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for his bad mood.”
Monica walked the other woman to the door while Cole and Gabe shared a long look as neither could do anything more than release heavy breaths.
Eight
One month later
“Six months,” Jillian said, standing in front of the mirror and eyeing her reflection in her black T-shirt and matching uniform pants.
She’d given the position half a year and she still hated it. Not the ability and desire to cook delectable meals—that was an inherent part of who she was and had always longed to be. The rules of the corporate structure left her feeling restricted and her culinary gift now felt a burden.
For Cress, INC. to be started by two world-renowned chefs who had a bevy of sons, also just as skilled and well known in their field, was particularly irksome for her. Phillip Senior and Nicolette should understand more than anyone with just a business background that chefs needed the freedom to create, to evolve.
The decision to add a varying seasoning was watched over by the manager with the eye of an eagle—or more like a buzzard awaiting its next prey to fail and fall to its death.
Jillian made a playful face before turning from her reflection. Quickly she grabbed her phone and her satchel, being sure her beloved engraved knife set was snuggled inside it. At the door, she retrieved her short, lightweight, black trench from the closet and then walked out the door. She considered driving the short distance to the restaurant but walked instead, enjoying the smell of the harbor. She released a breath and eased her hands into the deep pockets of her trench coat. Inside one was an envelope. She stroked it with her fingers. She’d debated what to do with the letter ever since she’d written it, carefully folded it and sealed it inside. That had been a week ago.
It was her resignation.
Never had she felt such ill at ease about going to work. She knew the feeling to be dread. Creativity could not thrive in such an environment. Not even when her restaurant had begun to fail had she lost determination to get in and fight for her dream. Never had she thought of giving up.
Never.
But failure had taught her well. Spending profits and not saving them for possible bad times ahead had been so very foolish.Never again, she promised herself.
And, if she were honest, even the strict nature of Cress, INC. had taught her something. About efficiency, marketing, low turnover, and the need for a team outside of making great meals, for a restaurant to thrive.
Her dread resurfaced as she eyed the towering restaurant at the end of the pier. The spacious parking lot was empty, save the section set aside in the rear for employees. She rolled her eyes at the sight of Clark’s yellow vintage Mercedes-Benz parked in his spot next to her empty one.
Her hand stroked the envelope again.
She had been diligent in paying down her debt and even had some money saved. All would not be lost if she used the six months of experience and took it to another restaurant or tried again at opening her own.
The last thought slowed her steps just as she reached the rear door leading directly into the kitchen.
Am I better prepared this time?
She sighed.
That, she didn’t know. But what she was sure of was the feeling that she was missing out on so much by sticking it out in San Francisco. Her man. Her family. Her creative freedom.
It was not just the structure and conformity she disdained. Not being in New York with Cole and her family felt like a waste when she was so unhappy without them.
But what about my dreams?
