I nodded, afraid that if I spoke, I would crack.
Derrek’s eyes narrowed on Wyatt and then me while I unlocked the door with shaky fingers and let Wyatt in. “Thank you,” I whispered when he stepped inside. As soon as he closed it, I reached past him to lock it.
“That guy is bothering you?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes. He won’t leave.”
“You text Killian. I’ll deal with him.”
Sending a quick message to Killian that explained I needed Wyatt’s help for a few minutes, I whispered a silent prayer of thanks that he’d intervened when he had. Derrek wouldn’t have listened to me. He would have stuck around until I gave in. Or called the cops.
I hovered in the corner of the brightly lit truck, wishing I could hide. Wyatt stepped up to the window, blocking Derrek from my sight. He was every inch of intimidating, huge male. Derrek might not have been intimidated, but he was forced to step back when Wyatt shoved the upper half of his body through the order window.
“Sir, you’re going to have to leave. This window is for paying customers only.”
“I have been trying to order something,” Derrek insisted. “I just needed to talk to Vera first. So, if you’d move out of the way—”
“Nope. Not an option. She has the right to refuse service to anyone, and unfortunately, she doesn’t like your face. You’re going to have to leave, or I’m going to call the cops and have you escorted from the premises.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will.”
Derrek’s voice turned to stone. “Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” He must have noticed Wyatt’s chef’s coat because he changed his tone from arrogant accolades to vicious threats. “You’re finished in this industry. Done. From now on you’ll be lucky to get a job bussing tables.”
“Is there a problem?” I couldn’t see him, but I heard him. Killian.
“This guy won’t leave,” Wyatt explained.
Now I wanted to throw myself on the ground and curl into a ball. I didn’t need Killian involved. Or witnessing my humiliation. Wasn’t he needed in his own damn kitchen?
“This guy is Derrek Hanover,” Killian growled. “What are you doing here, Derrek? Why are you harassing a food truck three hours from your kitchen?”
“You’d be wise to stay out of my business, Quinn,” Derrek warned.
Oh, God, they knew each other. Could this night get any worse?
“Not going to happen,” Killian countered. “So, unless you want the cops called and this headline splashed all over every blog on the internet, I suggest you leave now.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“Have you forgotten who I work for? One tweet from Ezra and your shit is viral. Do you really want to push me?”
A heavy silence followed Killian’s threat. Eventually, Derrek gave into the threat of public humiliation. At least for tonight. “I’ll talk to you later, Vera,” Derrek shouted at me. “This isn’t over.”
I couldn’t see him, but he must have left, because Wyatt eventually stepped back. He stood in the middle of my galley, arms crossed over his chest like the bouncers that stood outside of Greenlight and Verve.
“Thank you,” I told him. My voice had yet to recover, but a tiny bit of the panic had receded.
Killian’s face appeared in the window. “How quickly can you close up?”
It took me several moments before I could answer him. I wanted to leave everything and lock the doors tonight. TBD if I would ever return. But I couldn’t do that. Food was everywhere. I had fryers to turn off and messes to clean up.
“An hour. I can come back for most of it in the morning.”
Killian’s glare swung to his sous chef. “Wyatt, help her shut it down.” To me he said, “I’ll be back in thirty minutes to take you home.”
My abrupt hysteria propelled me forward a step. “You don’t have to do that—”
“Vera, whatever that shit was with Hanover, was not cool. I’m taking you home. End of discussion.”
“What about your kitchen?”
“Fuck the kitchen.” He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm down. “Besides, why do I hire the best sous chefs in the city if I can’t count on them to handle one goddamn night for me? Clean up. I’ll be back.”
He didn’t wait for my reply. Which was fine since I didn’t have one to give him.
I looked to Wyatt with wide eyes, desperate for him to save me.
Instead of sympathy, he grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
I glared at him. “Well, you’re not helping.” But I was afraid he was right.
Chapter Eighteen
Killian came back a half hour later just like he promised. He stalked across the street like an angry lion about to pounce on some poor, unsuspecting gazelle.
And I was the gazelle.
“What’s Killian like to work with?” I asked Wyatt while Killian waited on cars to move out of his way.
Wyatt stood at my stove, scrubbing it until it looked better than when it had been brand new. He didn’t cut corners or tackle the easy jobs. He went straight for the cooktop. That said something about the standard of work he was used to.
He kept scrubbing when he answered my question. “He’s an absolute dictator. He requires nothing less than utter perfection all the time. He’s not afraid to get in your face and yell. And he refuses to send anything out that isn’t up to his insane standards.”
I glared at his back. “You love working for him.”
He shot me a playful smile over his shoulder. “He’s the best, Vera. Yeah, he knows it, which makes him an asshole. But he can also back it up. I might plot his death in my head sometimes, but what I’ve learned in his kitchen is invaluable. I couldn’t get that experience working for anyone else.”
“There are other great chefs.”
He tilted his head back and forth, deliberating. “Fine, I don’t want this experience from anybody else. He’s the kind of chef I want to grow into. His style, his food, his command of the kitchen. I think it would be hard to find anyone that can rival him.”
“God, just marry him already and get it over with.”
He laughed at my lame joke and turned back to the stove. “Not that you wouldn’t be fun to work with too, V. But I doubt you’d whip everyone into shape quite like Quinn. I swear there are handprints on my ass when I leave there every night.”
“First of all, you’re ridiculous. Second of all, I don’t have room in my itty bitty kitchen to do any whipping.” He grunted a laugh. I’d lost all will to take care of my own stuff. It was so much easier to have Wyatt do it for me. “I didn’t mean to sound jealous by the way. I was so not comparing myself to Killian. I mean, there’s not even a comparison there. He’s, you know, him. And I’m just me.”
He didn’t look up. “Whatever you say, Vera.”
Killian approached the truck, so I stopped talking. I needed to open the door for him, but I couldn’t make myself move.