Chapter 9

Jason

To the staff’s credit, everyone is helping with the big kitchen scrub-down.

Richard let many things slide in this place, and I’m shocked that Rushmore put up with it. He doesn’t let his hotels and resorts operate like this.

Everyone is helping except one person—the only person I care about.

I find her in Richard’s old office, which will soon be Cash’s, whenever I get around to ripping out the godawful wallpaper and replacing that tacky desk. Journey is leaning against said desk when I walk in, looking over my menu for tonight.

She barely looks up when I enter. “Are you sure you want to go with leek and onion soup?”

“Excuse me?”

Her mouth tight, she repeats herself, with the addition of “Chef,” dripping with sarcasm.

I let that go for now. “You’re supposed to be helping clean the kitchen.”

She stiffens. “Me? But I wasn’t even here yesterday to make a mess.”

I take a step closer. “This isn’t a daycare where everybody gets an Animal Cracker for picking up the toys they took out. I don’t think you understand. If I give you preferential treatment, it won’t look good.”

Journey pops off the desk and tosses the menu on the desk unceremoniously. Then she lifts her chin in defiance. “Why would you give me preferential treatment in the first place. But I’ll go ahead and grab a mop just so your ass is covered. Chef.”

She brushes past me, and I place one hand on her arm. “Wait, shortcake.”

“Don’t. Even. Try it.” Jerking her arm out of my reach, she marches out of the office.

And it feels like she’s just marched out of my life.

Cash saunters in as she leaves.

“What’s up with the sous chef?” Cash asks, glancing from her to me. “So help me god, if you make another one quit—on her first day no less—I’m undoing this whole deal.”

“I’ll make it right.”

Cash freezes with a stack of personnel files clutched in his hand. “What did you do?”

“I fucked up, Cash,” I say, scrubbing my face.

He closes the door and gives me a hard look.

“Jason. Don’t you dare tell me you need to back out of this deal. Rushmore came all this way to meet in person to shake my hand—you know how old-fashioned he is. Don’t make me look like a flake!”

“Calm down, it’s nothing that dramatic. It’s personal. And I’ll fix it. She won’t quit.”

Cash is not having it, and he’s gearing up for a rant, complete with wildly gesturing hands and finger-pointing. He plops the stack of personnel files on the desk. “Listen. I’m your business partner. In a legal sense, we are more linked than an old married couple. As much as Caroline loves you being my work husband, she is super pregnant and doesn’t appreciate you roping me into deals overnight that force me to travel all the way from Michigan on a late-night flight just so an old-fashioned billionaire and his team of lawyers can witness the signatures in person. That old man made reservations for tonight to see what he got himself into. Do you really want us to look like fools on day one in front of Nick Fucking Rushmore? So help me, if you don’t tell me every damn detail about what’s going on…”

“Alright!” I hate seeing Cash mad at me. I hate that both he and Journey are upset with me, which only reinforces the fact that my entire personality might need some minor adjustments.

And so, I tell him the truth. “We hooked up yesterday.”

“Who? You and Nick Rushmore?”

“No! Idiot. The sous chef. Journey,” My voice rasps out her name, a giveaway that I’m in way over my head, emotionally. I don’t like how she stormed out of here, but I have to come clean with my partner. “But she didn’t know who I was. I might have left off the detail of my last name.”

Cash is confused. “I’m sorry; how did you two know each other before this morning?”

“We met on the bus. It was purely by accident. It was one of those, what do you call them, meet-cutes.”

Rolling his eyes. “Why were you riding the bus when Ubers exist? It’s not safe for you.”

“First of all, very few people know what I look like unless they read Food Wine religiously. Two, most people do not care who I am. Third, the bus is way cheaper and better for the environment for getting to work every day. Three, the stop in Oak Cliff is right by the bodega that makes those tamales I like. My bus pass is a business expense because the bodega also keeps us supplied in masa. Wholesale.”

Cash presses his thumbs into his eye sockets and lists off all my alternatives. “DoorDash, Uber Eats, Lyft, hell, you’re rich enough to have a personal driver.”

“I didn’t get rich by spending my money on apps to run errands for me like I’m goddamn Queen Elizabeth.”

“You know you sound like a fucking lunatic right now, don’t you?” Cash says.

“That’s because I’m in here with you when I should be out there making things right with Journey.”

Cash rubs his palms together. “Right. Do what you have to do, but do it gently. Don’t make her cry. And don’t fucking let her quit. Not today. Please, I beg.”

I clap him on the shoulder and tell him, “I’ll have you back on a plane to Caroline in no time.”

“Five a.m. tomorrow. That’s my flight. Don’t fuck this up any further, Chef.”