Harvest Moon

Harvest Moon - By Robyn Carr




One




“I need to see you,” Phillip said. “My office.”

Kelly Matlock, sous chef, threw him an incredulous look. She was literally holding apart a big Italian and a big Swede; the Italian line cook had a spatula and the Swedish one was wielding a metal spoon as they fought over stove-top territory. The request that she go to the restaurant manager’s office right now was so absurd, she almost laughed. “Really too busy here, Phillip,” she said. “Not only are we having a brawl in the kitchen, but it’s seven o’clock. Prime dinner rush. Check with me at ten.”

“It’s urgent,” he said. “Otherwise, believe me, I wouldn’t ask.”

“Where’s Durant?” Kelly asked, speaking of the chef de cuisine, the head chef.

“Making his rounds in the front of the house, gloating. Let these two morons kill each other—we’re short on meat anyway.”

That suggestion did far more to separate the line cooks than Kelly had. “I’ll be right there,” she said to Phillip. He liked to be addressed as Philippe, although Kelly had learned he didn’t actually have a French cell in his body. His accent was entirely for show. She went to her locker, removed her apron and exchanged her soiled white jacket for a clean, crisp one and left her senior line cook in charge.

It never crossed her mind that it might be a real emergency; Phillip loved his melodramatic displays. His second favorite thing was making passes at the female staff and his third, screaming matches with Durant.

One day, when Kelly finally became chef de cuisine, there would be no Phillip; she would never tolerate a manager with such annoying, socially unacceptable behaviors.

She gave a couple of taps on Phillip’s office door and then pushed it open. Her heart almost stopped. Seated there, in a chair facing the restaurant manager’s desk, was Olivia Brazzi, wife of the world-famous master chef Luciano Brazzi. Although Kelly crossed her path regularly—at charity events and in this very restaurant—they didn’t know each other at all. Luca owned a controlling interest in this restaurant. Olivia was tight with Durant and her presence here was not unusual. But Olivia had always ignored Kelly, treating her as if she were a mere cook, not worthy of her time.

Olivia smiled at her with such warmth and kindness, Kelly wondered for an insane moment if she were dreaming and Olivia had come to turn Luca over to her.

While Mrs. Brazzi was stunning in her elegant black crepe dress, shiny textured stockings, three-inch heels and strategically placed diamonds, she did not look her fifty years, not by twenty. She looked like a girl. A sophisticated girl with ice-blue eyes.

Kelly’s stomach flipped. What in the world could she want with me? she thought. Could she expect me to cater a special dinner party or event?

Olivia glanced at Phillip. “A moment, Philippe? May I have the room?”

Kelly became light-headed. On her list of most unexpected events, a private meeting with Olivia Brazzi was up there with alien abduction.

“Of course, Olivia,” he said and paused to kiss the back of her hand before leaving. It made Kelly want to gag.

“Ms. Matlock, please,” Olivia purred. “Sit down a moment.” She gestured with a small, delicate hand to the chair beside her.

Kelly said a brief prayer. Whatever this is, please let it be over quickly!

“I’m sorry that our first meeting is so awkward, Ms. Matlock, but I’ve come to ask you to stop sleeping with my husband.”

Kelly’s eyes grew large in spite of her desire to remain poised. “Are you serious?” she asked, mortified.

“Oh, my, yes,” Olivia said.

“Mrs. Brazzi, I’m not sleeping with Luca!”

“Perhaps there’s not that much sleeping… Now, let’s get it sorted out quickly and quietly. Shall we?” And she lifted a brow.

Whew, at least Olivia was quick and to the point. And that sounded suspiciously as if Olivia and Luca were not as separated as Luca claimed.

Of course, Kelly wasn’t sleeping with him! But best to say nothing further, she decided, because her feelings for Luca would probably show all over her face. She swallowed those emotions with an effort.

Kelly was pretty; she knew she was pretty. But Olivia was beautiful. And chic. And seasoned; experienced. Her sophisticated and contained self-assuredness was a bit overpowering. Kelly had been up against the most diabolical chefs in the world, yet the soft spoken Mrs. Brazzi had her completely intimidated.

“Luca told me everything. How you met, how long you’ve been seeing each other, etcetera. It’s a familiar story. Of course you’re not the first,” Olivia said. “I imagine you know that by now. My husband seems to have a particular taste for blondes. Please, will you break it off?”

She knew she shouldn’t say anything at all. But this was a bit too crazy to leave alone. “With all due respect, Mrs. Brazzi, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your affair with Luca has been going on for about three months now. Maybe four? You met at a charity event—in fact, I was present. You love to exchange food. It leads to all the other things—for Luca, food equals passion. Your number was all over his cell phone, so I confronted him. It’s not the first time we’ve gone around about something like that. The messages, the texts, the pictures, all that. Please, it’s out now. I just want it to end.”

Kelly stiffened. “Really, Mrs. Brazzi, I’ve known your husband much longer than three months. I’ve been sous chef here for three years! We’ve had professional contact, sometimes frequent—this is his restaurant, even if Durant thinks he owns the place, but—”

Olivia smiled indulgently. “Please, do call me Olivia. After all, we have so much in common. And my dear, you really don’t want to pursue this. If it’s not already obvious to you, allow me to enlighten you—Luca has a short attention span. Has he told you about the other children? The ones he’s fathered outside our marriage?”

If her intention was to shock Kelly, it certainly worked. “Ah, Mrs. Brazzi, you have me at a complete disadvantage. This is sounding more and more like personal business between you and your husband. I wouldn’t know anything about—”

“We’ve managed to keep those unfortunate liaisons inside the family and company, but if you’re really close he would have told you. Luca has many conquests on his record. For all I know, there could be a dozen children. But not on the books—I keep a close eye on the finances. I’m sorry if you’re hurt, but the sooner you move away from this mess with Luca, the better, I promise you. It won’t come to a tidy end. And there’s no money in it.”

Kelly shot to her feet. “Money? You can’t possibly think—” And then she could have kicked herself. How’s that for sounding like a confession? But the suggestion that she was a gold digger was somehow even more offensive than the accusation that she was fooling around with Luca!

“I’m truly sorry,” Olivia said. “I meant no offense. I’m sure you probably love him madly. You should know that while Luca supports his children, their mothers haven’t profited. They’re forced to live simply. And sadly, my children haven’t been welcoming to them. As you might imagine, it doesn’t please them that their father has such a wandering eye. They’re very loyal to me.”

“Mrs. Brazzi, I wouldn’t know about things like children outside your marriage because I don’t believe I’m a confidante. I speak to Luca about recipes and menus, about dining venues and career opportunities. He’s been a mentor and friend. But really—”

“Just save it, Ms. Matlock. I couldn’t possibly have stayed with Luca this long by being naïve. You call or text him several times a day!”

“Those are replies,” Kelly insisted. It was the truth—if there were several texts or calls in a day, it was because she was answering him. She never initiated many calls; she didn’t want to appear needy or desperate. “I wouldn’t want to bother him! He’s a very busy man!”

Olivia leaned closer. “I’ve seen the records, dear. I know you’re in love with my husband and we have to end this here. Now.”

Fair enough, Kelly thought. The relationship, such as it was, would hereby end. But she bristled at the way she was being misjudged, as if she had gone after him, perhaps for profit. Luca had told her that he and Olivia lived separate lives under the same roof, that for over twenty years they’d had separate bedrooms, that they were together for their children and important social events that led to business success. Kelly had never been his lover!

All that being said, Kelly had long ago admitted to herself that her relationship with him wasn’t completely innocent. Luca romanced her with food and words, claimed to have fallen for her, professed to love her. And although she had said she wasn’t getting involved with a married man, she’d lapped up his praise and adoration like a thirsty puppy.

Still, she couldn’t imagine what Olivia Brazzi had seen that would lead her to assume some sexual liaison!

Kelly could play along with this until she spoke to Luca and found out what was going on. “Seriously, Mrs. Brazzi, I would never disrupt your family. Luca should have saved you the trouble of coming here. In fact, if he said it would be best to have no friendship at all, I would understand. I’m not holding him hostage.”

But what Mrs. Brazzi had said—preference for blondes, many conquests, children born outside his marriage? None of this reflected anything Luca had told her.

Of course, she chided herself. Big surprise.

Olivia actually laughed. “Who do you think sent me, darling? It’s not the first time I’ve had to clean up after him.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Kelly nearly shouted before she could stop herself.

“I know rudeness runs rampant in the kitchen.” Olivia frowned. “Believe me, I’ve witnessed that for myself on many occasions, but it’s not charming. Yes, Luca sent me to talk to you. He thought that coming from me, you would understand.”

“That’s the thing I don’t understand. Why would he do this to me? I’m certainly no threat to you.” She shook her head. “He had only to tell me that you were uncomfortable with our friendship, and that would end all communication between us.”

“Nice try, darling,” Olivia said. “While he was in the lavatory last night, I looked at his phone. I found a couple of weeks’ worth of recent calls, a couple of very sultry voice mails from you, some texts he hadn’t deleted. We fought. We negotiated. He made me an offer—if I would ask you to kindly move on, he would stop taking your calls and instruct his staff to make polite excuses. I agreed. As I have before. Can we consider this over now?”

Kelly frowned. Then she really laughed. Sultry? Not likely. “Mrs. Brazzi, you’ve got the wrong girl. I can’t imagine I’ve ever left him a sultry message!” And the Luca Kelly knew was more likely to explode in anger than whimper a confession and beg for help from his estranged wife to end a relationship over what might’ve been on his cell phone! Kelly was paranoid and nervous enough to never leave a suggestive text or voice mail. She couldn’t count the number of assistants Luca employed.

She had believed Luca, that he and his wife had an understanding and their legal separation and divorce was being negotiated. There was an occasional text: I’ll be in the restaurant office at five. I want to see you. Couldn’t he be sending that sort of text to any chef he wanted to speak to? Any colleague? To Durant? To Phillip?

Was it possible Olivia was a little nuts? Was she exaggerating, or was it possible she was a little crazy?

Frankly, it surprised Kelly that Luca was still around. Most men with the good looks, money and power of Luca Brazzi would move on to a woman more willing to throw caution to the wind and succumb to that full-blown affair Olivia apparently thought they had had.

It was irrelevant that Kelly longed for that; it was beside the point that Kelly adored him, that she believed herself to be in love with him. She’d managed to keep him at a safe distance because he was married. And…because she was woefully inexperienced with men.

“I think you need to work this out with Luciano,” Kelly said, shaking her head. “I’m not sure what’s really going on here.”

“If that’s the case, dear, then you won’t be at all upset when you can’t reach him.”

“Mrs. Brazzi, if he’s such a philanderer and cheat, having children with mistresses and spoiling your good name, why in the world are you with him?”

“That’s a fair question. Because we married for life, we have a very large family together, we’re business partners and breaking up an international company as large as ours would be dreadfully complicated. And you may rest assured, my name is on every document that matters. All that aside, despite his flaws, I do love the man. He’s a genius, a gifted and complicated man, and he couldn’t manage without someone like me. He has a habit of telling his women that there’s nothing between us, but of course it’s not true—we sleep together every night. We’re husband and wife, dear. Now, here’s what will happen,” she explained. “He has given his word he won’t contact you again. The romance dissolves here and now and you’re on your way to the next available man. Thank you for your time.”

She turned, and before Kelly could even speak, Olivia’s hand was on the office door to leave.

Kelly lost her head and blurted out her feelings before she could stop herself. “I can’t imagine running off alleged girlfriends for a man I loved! Why do you do it?”

Olivia turned toward her. She smiled patiently. “Trust me, I have my reasons. Billions of reasons, really. Good evening, Ms. Matlock.”



Kelly went back to the kitchen, which was hot, steamy and alive with action, shouting and chaos typical of seven-thirty in the evening. In something of a daze, she quickly replaced the perfectly white, starched coat with her slightly soiled one and wrapped her apron around her waist. Of course Luca could have lied to her; perhaps he was just trying to consummate the very fling Olivia suspected.

Or, Olivia could be lying about Luca sending her to ask Kelly to go away, for a billion reasons.

She wasn’t going to find out soon, so she got back in there and started directing traffic, checking the orders, moving dishes along to the waitstaff, observing the line cooks at work, stepping in whenever her assistance was needed.

Luca owned many restaurants, was a controlling partner in dozens if not hundreds worldwide, had a commercial food line and appeared regularly on a nationally syndicated television program, and yet it was not surprising Kelly knew him. He had a special fondness for French American cuisine and partnered up with Durant to open La Touche several years ago. Since Luca kept one of his large, family homes in the Bay Area, he liked to frequent his local investments. While his wife and her friends might dine, the true beauty of Luca was that cooking was still the most important thing to him, all other business or TV shows aside. And Kelly loved it when he was here—everyone held back a respectful distance, and the entire kitchen came under control like at no other time. That was probably because Durant, smart enough to step lightly around his betters, behaved like a professional when Luca was in the house.

She had adored him immediately but never imagined he’d return the emotion. That had been fairly recent, but he’d been promising her a chef de cuisine position since long before he made a romantic overture.

She tried to ignore the fact that Durant and Phillip were chatting near the freezer. When had they ever chatted? They fought like junkyard dogs over control of the restaurant. She assumed if they were talking, it had to be about her.

That light-headed feeling returned, and she ignored it. Kelly yelled that the salmon was up, the crème brûlée was ready for the flame, the filet was out of time.

She had a little trouble catching her breath, and her heart raced. Then suddenly, a burning ache in her chest. This is probably what happens when a man’s wife comes to tell you to end the affair you’re not quite having yet, she thought. This is probably what I deserve! I always knew I should have said, “Great, let’s talk again when the divorce is final!”

But the worst pain came from imagining Luca selling her out like that—admitting they were close, perhaps too close, and sending his wife to shut it down.

She was panting, couldn’t catch her breath. She grabbed her chest. A scary bit of heartburn; she never had heartburn. She broke out in a sweat.

Durant’s cruel smile appeared before her, which was easy—they were both five-five. “You slept with Luca Brazzi didn’t you, you stupid cow?”

Kelly’s eyes rolled back in her head and she went down. Lights out.



When Kelly awoke, a man in a navy blue T-shirt smiled into her eyes as he wheeled her toward a vehicle with red-and-blue flashing lights. There was a mask over her mouth and nose. She realized she was on a gurney or stretcher; she felt the motion of it as it slid into the back of an ambulance. “Well, hello,” he said after he’d closed the doors. “Feeling okay?”

She clawed away an oxygen mask. “Where… What…”

“You passed out, got a little cut on your head. Your EKG looks okay at first glance but has to be checked by a cardiologist. Your blood pressure is way up there and you were out a little on the long side.” Then he asked her a series of questions—who is the president, what year is it, where do you work? He listened to her heart, checked her blood pressure. She lifted her hand and saw the IV. “We started the IV in case we need to administer drugs. Do you have asthma? Allergies?”

It was pure instinct that prompted her to struggle to sit up. “No, I’m fine, I’m just…”

He pushed gently against her shoulder. “We’ll be there soon, Miss Matlock. Trust me, you need a little visit with the doctor.” She watched as he tinkered with the IV, then pushed something in with a syringe. Then he laughed uncomfortably. “That kitchen,” he said with a snort. “I might never eat out again…”

“Huh?”

“Seriously,” he said. “We have paramedics in the kitchen and people are yelling about spinach sides and they’re stepping over us! Don’t they take a little break when a chef could be having a heart attack?”

She put her hand to her chest, and her eyes were panicked. “Am I having a heart attack?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. You’re stable now. But you had some noticeable symptoms. One of the cooks said you grabbed your chest and had trouble breathing. You have to see the ER doc before you go anywhere. Seriously, that kitchen is a nuthouse.”

She fell back onto the gurney, suddenly very tired. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“You under that kind of stress all the time?” the paramedic asked.

She nodded, but what she thought was, Except for Luca’s wife confronting me, it was a pretty average night.

He chuckled humorlessly. “Unbelievable. I had to clear out the kitchen…”

“Huh?”

“I told them to turn off the stoves and get the hell out of the kitchen or I’d have the police do it,” he said. “Thing is, a lot of people have high-stress jobs—surgeons, stockbrokers, pilots. But I’d never work in that kitchen.”

“Don’t like to cook?” she asked tiredly.

“I love to cook. I bet I’m the best one at the house.” Then he grinned. “Firehouse. And of course there’s stress in being a paramedic. But I saw a difference the minute I was in that kitchen. We work as a team. We can count on each other.”

Kelly was fading; she could hardly hold her eyes open. “Did you give me something?”

“Valium,” he said. “The ER doc ordered it. It’ll calm you down a little. You’re anxious, which could account for the rapid pulse and high blood pressure.”

“We work as a team, too. We have to in a five-star kitchen…”

“Yeah, but on your team, they kick the injured to one side. That can go hard on your nerves.”

“Hm. Well this Valium certainly fixes that.”

He smiled. “Have a little nap. We’re almost there.”

“Do you have my purse?” she asked. “Can I have my cell phone?”

“Let’s get you to ER and let the docs have a crack at you first,” he said. “We’ll dig out your cell phone later. You’re too groggy to make good use of it right now anyway.”



Apparently she wasn’t going to die. At least not yet. And she didn’t have her cell phone. It must have fallen out of her purse when she was taken to the ambulance.

After five hours in the ER, she was released to go home. She had follow-up appointments with a cardiologist for a stress test and an internist to give her a physical and deal with her elevated blood pressure, which could be stress-related. Blood work indicated she was also anemic; her head CT was negative—no concussion.

But the first thing she did in the morning was go to the restaurant in search of her cell phone. When she couldn’t find it, she called Phillip at home, waking him. “Who got my purse for the paramedics?” she asked him.

“Me,” he said with a tired groan. “I’m the only person who can get in all the lockers. I figured you’d need ID and your insurance card.”

“But my cell phone is gone. I don’t even have a landline in my flat, and all my numbers, address book, calendar and appointments are in that phone!”

“I’ll look around when I open up, but it didn’t turn up when we were shutting down.”

“I’m at the restaurant now,” she said. “I know the alarm code!”

“Listen,” the manager said, sounding as if he came awake slowly. “You need to take a couple of days to figure out why you crashed. That disruption cost us money. What did they say at the hospital?”

“No big deal,” she reported. “I’ll be fine. But I will take a day or two. I have follow-up appointments to get some…vitamins… And I obviously have to buy a phone.”

“Look under all the equipment, lockers, etcetera. Maybe it got kicked out of the way or something.”

She sighed. “I have, Phillip.”

“Sorry, then,” he said and hung up.

She continued to talk into the silence. “Thank you, I’m feeling fine, Phillip! I’m sure I’ll be all right, but it’s so sweet of you to ask if there’s anything you can do to help!” And then she clicked off the phone and slammed it down onto the desk.

She wasn’t feeling so fine; she was still a bit groggy from the effects of the Valium. The ER doc had pointed out that not only was her blood pressure too high, but her molars were flattening out from grinding her teeth. The light-headedness and heart palpitations had probably been due to an anxiety attack—that should be verified if possible. Stress, anemia and exhaustion all added up to her fainting spell.

“Is it going to kill me?” Kelly had asked. Perhaps she could blow off the follow-up appointments.

The ER doctor had shrugged and said, “It will at least seriously affect your quality of life. You should really consider slowing things down if you can.”

There was the little matter that her heart was broken; talk about a fatal injury to quality of life.

Fortunately, she could remember the most important numbers stored in the lost cell phone—her sister Jillian’s and Luca’s. To her supreme shame, she called Luca’s phone first. His voice mail came on. Her message was, “I lost my phone and have a new number. This new number should be recorded on your phone directory, but just in case it’s not, it’s the same area code, 555-7604. Please call me, I’ve had quite a shock. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll have to assume your wife was telling me the truth—that you sent her to speak to me, to inform me that we can no longer have a friendship of any kind—personal or professional.” Then she sent a text to his phone with the same message. Then she attempted to send him an email with the very same message, but she had to create a new account first. Losing the phone on which she carried all her information and email accounts was incredibly complicated.

But to her complete frustration, she didn’t hear from Luca all day.

After seeing both the internist and cardiologist, she placed a call to one of Luca’s personal assistants, Shannon. “Hi, Shannon, it’s Kelly Matlock, sous chef at La Touche. I seem to have misplaced my cell phone and have a new number and new email address. I’m trying to reach Luca. I have a business matter to discuss. Will you please pass on my new number, email, and ask him to call or something?”

“Absolutely, Ms. Matlock! I’d be happy to. I should see him in an hour or so.”

But the new cell phone didn’t ring.

Kelly called Jillian in Virgin River, but all she said was that she’d lost her phone and had a new number. She’d tell all when the doctors had had their say and the crisis had passed, but she didn’t want to worry her sister. Besides, Jillian had just gone through her own difficult time and was barely reunited with her man. Instead, Kelly holed up at home, waiting for that new cell phone to ring. She betrayed her pride by making a few more attempts on Luca’s cell, but to her credit she was as professional as ever with the messages she left.

The second day brought the results of tests, which, thankfully, were far from catastrophic. She was given a shot with an iron booster. Prescriptions were called in to the drug store for blood pressure and low-dosage antianxiety medications along with the name of a good over-the-counter vitamin with extra iron. Kelly was going to be just fine; all doctors recommended a better diet—better than what a five-star chef could provide?—more rest, less pressure, reduced stress.

She laughed to herself. Yeah, right.

She had kept her flat darkened so she’d rest, but sleep eluded her. She realized she hated the apartment. It was a small two-room efficiency that cost a fortune because it was in the city, but she had only leased this particular one because it was so close to the restaurant and she rarely had to use her car.

Loved the city, hated her place. But hell, she didn’t spend much time there anyway. It seemed her life had revolved around the restaurant for three years. She had friends, good friends, but rarely saw them; hardly ever made time to play or relax with them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to a movie. Work, work, work—and much of it was just to keep her position safe, not out of sheer joy. Even her love life seemed to begin and end at La Touche.

She returned after two whole days off. A couple of line cooks had beaten her to the kitchen and were slicing and dicing; they didn’t ask her how she was feeling. She got about the business of checking her inventory and the contents of the freezer while slowly the kitchen began to fill up with employees. She heard arguing and recognized the voices of Phillip and one of the cooks and resisted the urge to check it out; she wished Phillip would mind the front of the house and stay out of her territory, but he was always in everyone’s business. Before long Durant began verbally abusing a couple of cooks, then telling Phillip he was a useless idiot who should stay out of his kitchen.

Soon the kitchen was fully staffed; the noise escalated and the temperature rose along with the tension. Everyone had their territory, either vegetables or pasta or meat or fish or pastry. Durant saw something he didn’t like and poured the contents of a saute pan into the sink, calling the cook a stupid, incompetent bitch. It was a young female line cook he loved to berate because he could make her cry. “Matlock!” he yelled. “You watching this or just playing with yourself?”

She ignored him and brought out the filets and the salmon from the cooler.

Criticism poured from Durant; everything he saw sucked. Kelly felt her pulse pick up and her forehead bead with sweat. God, she hoped she wouldn’t pass out again. She was pretty sure she couldn’t afford another ambulance ride.

Her phone, which she was now keeping in her pants pocket, gave a short chime that announced a text had just come in. In spite of her good sense, she prayed it was Luca, texting her that the whole thing with his wife was untrue and that he loved her. She couldn’t imagine how that could be, but she hoped anyway. In this hot, packed, mean kitchen, she felt so alone. So alone she wanted to cry.

Funny, she hadn’t cried in the forty-eight hours since Luca’s wife had broken her down and ejected her from Luca’s life. Shouldn’t she have cried her heart out?

There was a picture in the text. A massive pile of pumpkins all tangled up in their vines came from Jillian. The message said, The leaves on the trees are changing as we watch! The pumpkins and melons are ripe and still growing! We sit on the back porch with lemonade and just soak it in—I’ve never seen such beauty. Wish you were here! xoxoxo

“Matlock!” Durant shouted. “No phones in the kitchen! Put it away or I’ll shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

She smiled and enlarged the photo of the pumpkins. I’ve never seen such beauty. Wish you were here!

“Matlock, you stupid cow, I said—”

And just like that, she’d had enough. She was done.

Kelly slipped the phone into her pocket and turned her back on Durant. She carefully slid her personal knives into the leather case, then she went to her locker. She never kept much there. She stuffed her large satchel with a couple of extra chef’s coats, a spare pair of kitchen pants, her second pair of clogs, printouts of the schedule and the menu. Her purse fit inside the satchel, though barely.

I have nothing here, she thought. I have no one. Luca isn’t going to find me my own restaurant. Durant is never going to let me get any farther ahead. Every day is going to be sheer abuse. Quality of life? Ha! All I have is high blood pressure, flat molars, anxiety attacks and no one.

She put the strap over her arm and headed through the kitchen toward the back door.

“Matlock, if you walk out of here, I’ll make sure you never work in this city again!”

She smiled over her shoulder. “Can you promise that?”

She walked out the door.

Applause and whoops of laughter coupled with Durant’s screaming and name-calling followed her exit. It was impossible to know if the line cooks were cheering because her position was opening up or because they admired her guts.

It didn’t matter. She went home to the apartment she hated to pack up her life.