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“We don’t serve before noon,” I said with a genial smile.
“C’mon.”
I arched my brow at him, and the man seemed to come to his senses. Not exactly what a future boss would like to hear.Idiot.
“Right.” Jim cleared his throat. “Water’s fine.”
Emmaline smothered a smile behind her hand as she stabbed her glass with a straw and took a deep drink.
I swiped down the bar-top automatically. There had been many a night when I’d first opened where I had to jump in to help serve drinks. “Can I get you guys something to eat while you wait? On me.”
Emmaline glanced at the other two and then shrugged at me. “I never turn down free food.”
“I’m fine,” the other woman said. Her name escaped me, and I made a mental note to check my iPad before I came back.
“Something greasy, Jimmy?” Emmaline asked with a wink.
Jim flushed.
She turned that captivating smile my way. “Fries sound good to me.”
“Basket of fries coming up.” I rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen.
My chef, Henry, was barking orders as his second-in-command, Jackie, kept the rest of the kitchen running smoothly. I put a ticket in for the fries, scrawling my instructions for no bill.
The clatter of dishes, the terrifyingly fast tapping of a knife on a cutting board, and the sharp scent of garlic and peppers assaulted my senses as I skimmed through the orders and the staffing schedule for the kitchen today. I’d need to call in reinforcements there too.
“Mase, I have an order coming in and no time to check over the inventory.” My chef’s voice was as sharp as one of his Henckel knives.
I looked up from my screen with a sigh. I’d rather have Henry manning the stove and his dozen pots than yelling at one of our delivery guys. Monday was also a major delivery day because it was usually slow.
I blew out a breath. “On it.”
Henry threw me a sour look.
“You don’t want me at that stove and Jackie is plating for eight tables. Don’t give me that stink-eye.”
Henry only grunted at me.
I went down the hallway at the back of the kitchen that led to my tiny office. I checked my phone to make sure nothing was going on with my family and saw the redline of the battery. Great. I slipped inside for a second of quiet. I’d soundproofed the room during the first remodel and it was the best money I’d ever spent. I took a few deep breaths, plugged in my phone, and then skimmed my iPad for the names on my interview list. I shuffled Jim Perry down to the third spot.
He’d originally been neck and neck with Emmaline, but his red-rimmed eyes and hopeful look for a hangover beer left a bad taste in my mouth. Not that I hadn’t had my share of hair of the dog after a night of drinking, but I’d never done it on a damn interview.
I quickly reviewed the details on Carol Martin. She looked great on paper. A degree in marketing, secondary MBA from Syracuse University. But the pinched look on her face at the chaos in the room also was a point against her.
But I really wanted to see what each of them had to offer before writing anyone off completely. I put my iPad on the docking charger with my phone because that one was dangerously ready to die as well.
I blew out another slow breath then opened the door to the echo of kitchen life drifting down the hall. Instead of heading toward the kitchen, I hung a right and headed out the back door.
The produce truck was running, and a pallet of fresh vegetables was stacked high. Our usual supplier from a local farm leaned on the pallet jack, scrolling on his phone.
“Hey, Brad.”
The older man looked up and grinned, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Wow, no Henry? Is someone missing a limb or something?”
I laughed. “We got a surprise rush of customers today. He’d be out here looking over every leaf of lettuce if he could.”
“Worse things.”
