Adam POV
Against all odds, she hasn't given me a new reason to fire her.
Two weeks have passed since that chaotic first encounter — the torn shirt, the flip-flops, the absurd dog stories. Two weeks. And, surprisingly, she hasn't destroyed my kitchen.
She's still a mini tornado. But I've realized something: as long as I don't shout near her and keep my tone firm and authoritative — but not explosive — nothing falls. Literally. Nothing flies out of her hands, no utensils hit the floor, no sauces splash across the counter. It's almost pathetic how much the environment depends on how I speak to her.
I don't think she's used to cooking with other people. When she focuses too hard, she seems to lose all awareness of her surroundings. Doesn't even hear me coming. Gets startled, and there goes whatever she's holding. And it's not just with me — not even Lorenzo can sneak up on her without setting off some kind of reaction, though their giggles still continue.
And the touches. He's started touching her subtly. A hand on the shoulder, on hers when passing a knife or a plate. Barely noticeable. Almost. But why the hell am I even noticing this?
Because I don't like flirtations in my restaurant. Obviously.
Should I remind Lorenzo of that again? Probably. Maybe it's better to just call a staff meeting and go over the rules again — for Jordan and Melissa's sake too. They're new here, maybe they didn't read the full handbook that came with the contract. I don't want couples here. No current ones, no exes creating drama. I've had enough of that in other kitchens.
My phone rang, snapping me out of it. I glanced at the screen. Mateus. My business partner.
"Still on vacation?" I said instead of a greeting.
"Nope. Back at work," he replied. "You should take my example, instead of working on your day off."
"If you know it's my day off, why are you calling me?"
I heard him laugh on the other end.
"Touché," he said. "But since you're already working, I figured I'd call to schedule that photo and video session of you cooking with your intern. What does he look like? I hope nothing makeup or Photoshop can't fix."
He still thinks Jordan is a guy. How is that possible?
I thought about correcting him but changed my mind. Let him be surprised like I was. Consider it my small revenge.
"I don't know if Photoshop will do the trick in this case," I said, smiling to myself.
"That bad?"
"You'll see for yourself."
"Well, too late now. Let's book it for tomorrow then. You don't need to prep anything, we'll just capture you two working normally. I'll figure out the rest later."
"Deal." His face when he realizes Jordan's a woman is going to be priceless.
"You're taking this too well."
"Do I have a choice?"
"No," he answered without hesitation.
"Just don't get in my way during service or I'll have no problem kicking you out of my kitchen."
"Ah! Now there's the Black I know."
I can't wait to see Mateus's face tomorrow. His whole marketing strategy is about to get flipped upside down. Just like my kitchen did.
Jordan POV
My second day off. I'd survived two weeks working with Chef Black. It felt like winning a major award. And the best part? Things weren't going completely wrong — at least not at first-day levels. But not good enough either to say, "I didn't drop anything today." Every time I think I've got it under control, Adam or Lorenzo manages to sneak up on me and something inevitably goes flying.
Still, let's focus on the positives. Today, as a mini celebration, I was having lunch with Melissa. Or rather... cooking for her.
She had tried to convince me to go dancing, and I almost said yes. I love dancing. But my body was still adjusting to the pace of this new routine. And on my last day off, between unpacking and getting groceries, I barely had time to rest.
I don't know how the conversation ended with me offering to cook for her. But here we were.
Truth is, since I arrived, I hadn't cooked for anyone. Not even for myself, really — when you work at a restaurant, you usually eat there. But I missed this. Having the kitchen to myself, no timer ticking, no shouting. Just smells, the oven, the knives, my pace.
Chef Adam still didn't trust me to cook. Not even a simple sauce. I get it, I really do, but after two weeks of flawless plating, couldn't I at least get a trial? Maybe something pre-service? Or a dessert? Instead of outsourcing everything?
The oven dinged just as the doorbell rang. Melissa. I smiled.
Perfect timing.
I opened the door and she swept in like a gust of fresh air, practically bouncing. Literally bouncing. She had a small bag in her hand — probably something she insisted on bringing despite me telling her not to.
"Wow!" she exclaimed, already sniffing the air. "What are you making? It smells amazing." I smiled, visibly pleased.
"Just let me turn off the oven and I'll show you my culinary prowess."
She pulled a bottle of wine from the bag and waved it in the air. I nearly rolled my eyes. It would pair perfectly with what I made — I just hoped it wouldn't knock me out. I'm a total lightweight, but one glass wouldn't kill me.
She followed me into the kitchen, set the bottle on the table, and poured us both a glass.
Then she watched as I plated the food like I was about to serve in Adam Black's restaurant.
"Oh! Love it," she said, almost clapping.
We took the plates to the table, and before I could sit, she was already passing me my glass. But before I even took a sip, she whipped out her phone and took a selfie, capturing our beautifully plated dishes.
I took a sip as she took her first bite. Her reaction was immediate.
"Oh sh*t!"
"Not good?" I asked quickly, grabbing my fork in panic, ready to figure out what I messed up.
Melissa set hers down and looked at me like I was insane. Then she burst out laughing.
"It's insanely divine!" she said, shaking her head, amused. "Jordan, why do I only see you chopping vegetables and plating at BGR?"
"BGR?" I blinked.
"Yeah. Black Grayson Restaurant," she said like it was the most obvious thing ever, then leaned back and took a generous sip of wine.
"Chef Adam doesn't trust me to do anything more than that," I shrugged, fiddling with the napkin in my lap. "Chop and plate."
Melissa rolled her eyes, leaned forward, and pointed a dramatic finger at me.
"That man has issues. He didn't hire me because I'm too young and know his family. With him there's always some excuse. Trust me, you aren't the problem — he is."
"Well..." I chuckled nervously, running a finger along the rim of my glass. "I am kind of clumsy, so I don't totally blame him."
We kept eating, chatting, and sipping wine.
"It's because you're a woman," she said flatly.
"Excuse me?" I nearly dropped my glass.
Melissa leaned in, eyes gleaming conspiratorially. "I don't think he likes working with women. Clara's the only one who's always been there. The rest are all men. And now suddenly, boom, two women in the mix."
I stared at her, half confused, half trying to process what she'd just said. Only Melissa would come up with something like that. He's worked with women before — in other kitchens, even on TV. He worked with...
"But Lorenzo can't take his eyes off you. Or his hands," she cut in, derailing my train of thought.
I felt my cheeks heat up instantly. I was blushing. I didn't even know how to respond. But if she noticed... that meant maybe there was something there. Something beyond coworkers.
"He's just being nice," I mumbled, shrinking slightly.
Unlike the Ogre Chef. Melissa laughed.
"If he were that nice to me, I'd risk getting fired."
"Why would you get fired?"
"Jordan, you're the older one here... don't tell me you don't know where that kind of nice leads? Okay, let me spell it out." And she blatantly pointed toward my bedroom. I'm only twenty-eight. How does she make me feel forty? I rolled my eyes.
"I got that part. Why would you be fired, though?"
"Oh! Chef Black's rules. No dating within the restaurant. If it happens, one has to leave. And guess who'd be the first to go?"
"My internship is only for three months," I said. Probably why no one told me about that rule. And I signed the contract right after winning the contest. Still... I kind of get it.
"Exactly! So go for it, Jordan. Make your move."
What? No. That wasn't what I meant. I opened my mouth to explain but gave up. And of course, my thoughts drifted to him. Lorenzo. Was he really into me?
And for a moment, I almost heard Adam's laugh — that one rare laugh, warm but 100% mocking.
Okay! No more wine.