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“Is that all it is?” Jamie asked, in a voice that said he didn’t believe it for a second. “A personality clash?” I glanced up at him and then dropped my eyes back to the half-empty bowl in front of me.
Jamie came for me that morning, came to get me from Thacker’s house. Surely he’d sensed the tension in the air. He at least knew what I knew—that Thacker went out of his way to save me when he could have just hung up the phone.
“I guess I need to talk to him,” I said. “I know our profits are razor-thin during the winter months. But he’s acting like he thinks I’m stealing his chicken.” I shook my head at the thought. “Hell, if I was going to steal meat, it would be the lamb shanks.”
Jamie snorted. I sighed and shook my head.
“I’m sure he doesn’t think you’re stealing, Hope. But maybe somebody on your staffis.” My mind flashed to the admittedly shifty-looking line cooks. It’s not that I thought no one in the kitchen was capable of stealing from the restaurant. The crime just didn’t make any sense. There was no profit margin on chicken breast. We had cuts of meat in that walk-in that were worth fifty, even a hundred dollars. Wholesale. I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that anyone was buyingchickenon the black market.
“There’s got to be some other explanation,” I said, more to myself than Jamie.
I was racking my brain, trying to find the leak in the boat, the place where our numbers were going awry. But none of it made sense.
66.
Hope
I shut the door behind me with a firm click.
“We need to talk,” I said as Thacker looked up from his desk. He was poring over the financial statements that were spread across the top, and he looked surprisingly dashing with his mussed hair and his wire-framed glasses. I cleared my throat as I watched a series of emotions cross his face: surprised fear, trepidation, grim resignation.
“What is it?” he asked, sitting back in his chair and propping his elbows on the armrests. He watched me like a jungle cat, powerful and silent, as I lowered myself into the seat across from him. I clasped my trembling hands in my lap.
“I know that you’re stressed,” I started, doing my best to be diplomatic. I trailed off when he made a derisive sound in his throat and rolled his eyes. Summoning my courage, I pushed on. “But that’s no excuse for the way you’ve been treating my staff.” Now he raised an eyebrow, pinning me once again with that burning stare. “I’m going to talk to them, and I’m going to start double-checking their portion sizes. But I’d appreciate it if you let me handle issues in the kitchen.” He opened his mouth to argue. I held up my hand. I was building steam now, and I wasn’t about to let him derail me. “You undermine me every time you go in there and raise hell, and you get them shook up and nervous, and then they start fucking up dishes. Maybethat’swhere the food waste is coming from.” I met him glare to glare. After a long beat, he broke eye contact and scoffed. But I didn’t care. I knew I’d won. “I’d really appreciate it if, in the future, you would bring these issues to me and let me handle them.”
“But you’re not handling them,” he cut in. “I did talk to you first. But my bottom line didn’t improve. So, yes, I took matters into my own hands.” I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest.
“That’s right,” I said. “So tell me, has your bottom line improved now?”
He didn’t look at me, and that told me everything I needed to know. I nodded again as I stood up.
“That’s what I thought.” I turned to leave, and then I paused. Maybe I was stupid, maybe I was crazy, but there was something else on my mind, and I couldn’t walk out of this office until I’d aired it out. I turned back to look at him. “And if there’s something else, something between us…”
“There’s nothing between us,” he said flatly. Then he bent his head over the stack of papers on his desk, making it clear that I was dismissed.
I walked back out into the kitchen feeling unsettled. The way he’d shut me down had me second-guessing. Maybe I’d been reading something into our interactions all along that wasn’t there.
I sighed and raised my hand over my head.
“Kitchen staff,” I said, waving them to me. “Over here. Huddle up.”
Ronnie, the two line cooks, and the dishwasher and busboy all gathered around. Technically, front of house was just as likely to be stealing as back of house, if anyone was actually stealing. But this was a back-of-house meeting because that was what I could control. The middle-aged professional waitresses and sullen teenagers who comprised Speedgoat’s waitstaff were not my responsibility.
“Okay, I think we’re all aware by now that we’ve got an inventory problem. Priority one is making delicious food, as always. But priority two needs to be double- and triple-checking your weights on meat. Especially chicken.” I looked around at each of them. Ronnie was paying close attention. Everyone else looked bored. That was typical. “Don’t be surprised if I re-weigh your meat before you start cooking. It’s not personal. Boosting the restaurant’s bottom line benefits all of us. So let’s focus on reducing waste, okay?” I got a few nods and was satisfied. “All right, great. That’s done. Remember that we haveCasper Carescoming up this weekend. I’ve got a schedule for everything that needs to be prepared in the days leading up to the event, and I’ll assign tasks to each of you as we get closer to the day-of. Sound good?” Another round of nods. “Great. Break.”
My staff dispersed, back to their various stations. All except for Ronnie, who lingered in front of me, looking uncertain.
“You okay, Ronnie?” I asked with an encouraging smile. I hoped that she was growing to trust me, at least where kitchen matters were concerned. Her eyes jumped to mine. I noticed that they were red-rimmed. She looked tired.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” she said. “I just wanted to touch base with you on the gala. Do you know how many heads they’re expecting?”
As we fell into boilerplate conversation, discussing how many onion tartlets it would take to feed four hundred, I noticed that her chef’s coat was fitting a bit looser. Her jaw stood out in sharp relief, and she had bags under her eyes. I’d been so wrapped up in my own problems that I hadn’t noticed, but my sous was clearly going through something.
“Hey, are you sure you’re all right?” I asked as she turned toward the prep table. She nodded, but she didn’t meet my questioning eye.
“I’m fine,” she rushed out. There was something in her voice that told me I wasn’t getting the whole story. Not yet.
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