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She pushes open the door immediately.
"Damn it." The curse is uttered in an annoyed tone, by a man with sandy blonde hair and a charming face even though it’s currently frowning. “I told you to knock before you come in."
“I did knock,” she says, smiling cheekily. “I think your hearing's getting worse. You should probably get that checked out.”
“My hearing’s fine,” he sighs, as though he’s used to her antics. Then his gaze flickers to me. “Who’s this?”
"Her name's Delilah,” the woman says before I can answer. “She says she's here for the chef interview.”
“Oh.” A sudden inexplicable interest shows in his eyes. “Of course. Delilah.”
I wave my hand. “Hi.” And then I think about how stupid and childish a wave must be, so I put my hand down almost immediately.
“Thank you, April. You may leave us now," he says to the other woman.
"Yes, sir," April salutes, and then she practically skips out of the place.
“Have a seat, Delilah,” he says, gesturing me to do so. I obey.
"I'm Jonah," he introduces.
"Nice to meet you, Jonah," I say with another stupid wave that I cringe at after doing it.
“Do you have a resume?” he says, and I nod, pulling it out of my folder and handing it to him.
He glances down at it and then his gaze flickers up. “You go to culinary school?"
Shit. My stomach tightens. This is the question that I feared the most. “Um…yes, but full disclosure, I dropped out.”
“Oh? Why?”
I figure the truth is the best possible option right now.
"I couldn’t afford it,” I admit. “And I couldn’t afford college either, so that wasn’t an option. I worked for two years as a waitress at Barnby's, and then after some time, I got a chance to start working in the kitchen. My cooking is good, and I do good work. I even introduced some new things to the menu, and it went over well. I have plenty of clients who love my food, though, and I reached out to them for testimonials. Here, let me show you—“ I reach into my folder again frantic to pull out those testimonials before he utters a denial, but then he shakes his head at me.
“Don’t bother,” he says with a gentle smile. “You don’t have to show me anything."
My stomach sinks but then he continues talking.
"I believe you.”
“You do?” I ask.
“Yes,” he nods. “Let’s just say you come highly recommended.”
“Oh.” For some reason, the statement makes me dismayed. He's probably referring to Oliver and the fact that they're friends. That's the only reason he's giving me the job.
I think about ignoring it but I decide instead to confront it, so we can start on a good slate.
“Can I be honest?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow but nods.
"Look, I’m fully aware that you’re only giving me this opportunity because Oliver recommended me,” I say. “But if you don’t mind, I would like my merits to also be a part of the evaluation process."
He seems surprised at my assertion, even though we both know it would be delusional to think that my hard work got me here. As much as I’m sure my connection with Oliver is paying a role, I don’t want that to be the sole reason I get hired. I think I'd rather not have the job otherwise, as crazy as it would seem. Even in this situation, my professional pride and integrity are important.
Something twinkles in the man's eyes even more, and it's almost like he’s smiling without moving his mouth.
