Adam POV
I walked into the office without looking back — but I knew she was following. Of course she was. Jordan might be clumsy, irresponsible, and all over the place, but she didn't seem like the type to run from things. At least, not until now.
I sat down. Closed my eyes for a second. Tried to breathe. To control the irritation that, no matter how much I tried to reason with, wasn't just about the delay anymore. I didn't even know where it was coming from anymore. But it was there, like a dull pressure in my chest.
She went out with Lorenzo. I warned her. Celebrating mid-week? Ridiculous. And just the two of them? Then today she shows up almost an hour late, with an excuse straight out of a bad soap opera. No power. No phone. No alarm. And she forgot her uniform too. Or maybe her dog ate it — like it ate her shoes. Seriously, Jordan?
I saw her walk in — out of breath, disheveled, sweating, sneezing. A mess, as always. And yet… Some part of me felt relieved. And that part pissed me off even more.
Worse? I waited for her. For Jordan. The rest of the team showed up. Lorenzo, punctual as always. Melissa and Clara are ready to go. And me… waiting. Like an idiot. With each passing minute, my patience thinned. And my concern grew.
Not that I was worried about her. Of course not. It was about the service. She'd throw everything off. For over forty minutes.
And when she finally walked in? In a state that begged for pity. I was harsh. Cold. Professional. Just like always. Just like I must be. I don't tolerate mistakes. I don't tolerate lateness. Especially not because she went out at night with Lorenzo. This is why I hate romances in my kitchen. They mess everything up. Confuse everything.
During the shift, I kept her under pressure. She needed to be reminded who's in charge.
That I don't tolerate excuses. Or delays.
She worked well, despite it all. Despite how she nearly tripped over her own feet. Despite the sneezing — which made me glance her way, concerned. Damn it. Not concerned about her. I just didn't want her spreading any viruses over my food.
I was about to grab her a mask — out of habit — but Lorenzo beat me to it. And that gesture… way too personal. Which annoyed me even more. Always him. Smiling at her.
Handing her a mask like it was a romantic gift. Might as well bring a sign: No dating in my kitchen. Seriously. Annoying.
I heard a soft knock on the door — even though it was already slightly open.
"Come in," I murmured, without even looking up at first. I heard hesitant steps. Then the gentle creak of wood as she pushed the door. And then I saw her.
Jordan. Shoulders slightly slouched. Cheeks red, but the rest of her face… pale. Weird. Her eyes were too tired. And still — still trying to keep her posture.
My chest tightened. For a second, I saw her beyond the anger. Beyond the irritation. I saw how she really looked. And I realized: she wasn't okay.
Damn it.
"Sit." My voice came out softer than it had been all morning — surprising her. Surprising me. I pointed to the chair across from me. She hesitated, like the change in tone threw her off. She stood there, by the door she'd just closed behind her, watching me like she was trying to figure out if it was a trap. But eventually, she moved forward. Slow, careful steps. She sat down. Swallowed hard. Sighed. Then I looked at me again — ready. Like she was saying, "Go ahead, I'm ready for the lecture."
Except, for the first time in a long while… I wasn't.
I stood up — not even knowing why. Felt her eyes following me, confused. Probably wondering what the hell I was doing. Truth? I didn't even know.
I opened the cabinet in the little bathroom in the corner of the office, searched until I found what I was looking for — flu medication — and brought it to her with a glass of water.
She looked at me, surprised. First at me, then at what I was handing her, like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to accept it.
"I don't want viruses in my kitchen." I said it was the only reason. Maybe it was. Maybe not.
She nodded and took the items. Popped the pill and drank the water in one go, like following orders made everything simpler.
"You're dismissed…" I started.
"You're firing me?" she cut in, voice half caught in her throat, eyes wide in such a genuine panic that I almost laughed. Almost.
"No," I replied.
"You're dismissed for today. I'll call Mateus and postpone the recording. You're clearly in no condition."
"I'm sorry… Chef Adam… I… I can do it." She tried to argue, sounding almost desperate. Her eyes wide like she was still trying to fight for her spot. Or maybe for approval.
"Lorenzo and I can handle service. We did it before you got here." I saw her swallow hard, her shoulders sinking as if the words knocked her down a notch. She felt defeated — I could see that. But I also needed her to understand there was no room here for heroes with runny noses.
"I'm not a tyrant who'll make someone work while clearly sick," I added, more quietly. She was about to protest, of course.
"I'm not—" she began but didn't finish. She sneezed. Again. A small, stifled, embarrassed sneeze. Like she was trying to convince even her body to go along with the lie.
I saw her clenched her jaw. Look away. Irritated with herself. Frustrated. And a part of me — a very stupid part — wanted to smile. Damn it. Was I going soft?
"Exactly." I muttered, picking up my phone, not even sure why. My finger hovered over the number. The name on the screen was familiar. A regular customer. And… her landlord.
I saw her head lift, alert. Her brows furrowed. Mouth parted like she was about to ask what I was doing. But she didn't. She just looked.
"Hello, Mr. Jackson."
"Well, well… Should I be pleased or suspicious that you're calling me?" he answered that voice of someone who's lived too long to be fazed by surprises.
"Your new tenant, Jordan Parker, is interning at my restaurant," I said straight to the point. Across the table, Jordan straightened up. Eyes wide like she'd been electrocuted. Mouth slightly open. And I noticed — for some idiotic reason — the curve of her lips. Damn it.
"I know. She told me when she signed the lease. If you're calling to complain because the dog ate her shoes, that's on her for leaving them where he could reach." he replied flatly. Of course.
"It's not that. Today—"
"I'm also not responsible for the power outage or cold water," he interrupted, already impatient.
"I've called the techs. I don't have power in my place either, and they're only coming tomorrow."
Jordan ran a hand across her forehead and down her face. Like the call confirmed everything she already suspected. I saw her expression falter — somewhere between frustration, embarrassment… and maybe a bit of relief. Like some of the weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
"So she won't have power or hot water today either?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Not even cold water. Pipes are dry now too," he grumbled. "Probably those idiots working next door. No care for anything."
I looked over at Jordan. She gave a slow shrug, defeated. Didn't say a word. Just sat there, like the full weight of the morning had finally crashed down on her.
And in that moment, I realized two things. First: she hadn't lied. Not once. And second… was harder to swallow. Because if this were only about the job, I would've sent her home and moved on. But I didn't. I called. I wanted to know. I wanted to help. And that… That meant I was worried about her.
Damn it.