Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [27]
Grant shrugged. “To tell the truth, I think interviews are a waste of time when it comes to most restaurant positions. You could answer all my questions and smile like a pro, get through the whole conversation slicker than deer guts on a doorknob, but I won’t have a clue if you can really do the job until I see you do the job. Handle the pressure, keep your cool, don’t sass the customers when they get demanding, and you’ll do fine.”
Jess bounced on the sofa cushions, relieved and happy. “I will, I promise. Hey, can I go tell Miranda?”
Grant laughed, but not in a mean way. “Sure thing. They’ll be up in the kitchen, I bet. That’ll be good, you can get the rest of the tour, meet the rest of the . . . oh. Hell.” He studied Jess through suddenly wide eyes.
“What?” The big eyes were freaking Jess out. “Meet who?”
Grant’s gaze was moving quickly over Jess’s features, his apparent dismay growing by the second.
“Hell’s bells,” he said. “Just what we need.”
“What is it?” Nerves rushed back in a torrent.
Grant blew out a breath, loud in the quiet hallway. “Nothing. Maybe. Anyway, it can’t be helped. Like my mama always says, these things are sent to test us. Come on, let’s go find your sister.”
Jess wanted to push Grant for a less cryptic answer, but long-standing habit kept him quiet.
Don’t push. You might not like what you find out.
Of course, the silence on the way back up the stairs gave Jess plenty of time to get worked up again. A couple of times, Grant started to say something but stopped himself, and Jess felt himself getting wound tighter than a drum.
As they neared the kitchen, he could hear that same throbbing bass beat from before, punctuated by the sounds of metal pots and pans clattering.
“So, kitchen, right?” he prompted Grant, who’d slowed down.
Grant shook himself like a dog coming out of the water, and said, “That’s right. It’s an open kitchen so the guests can peek in. Part of Adam’s food philosophy is about the value of knowing where your food comes from. Listen, Jess . . .”
“Yeah?” Jess pressed his lips together. Here it comes.
“Maybe . . .” Grant appeared to settle something with himself and faced Jess openly. “I don’t know what the kitchen crews were like in other places you worked.”
He paused, obviously waiting for something, so Jess shrugged. “Pretty standard, I guess. What you’d expect from a bunch of guys under pressure in a confined space. Lots of swearing, lots of sweating.”
“Right. Well, here . . . I’ve worked with most of these people a long time. Adam’s known all of them for years, worked with all of them in different kitchens. Whenever he’d move and start running a new kitchen, he’d skim off the best cooks and bring them with him. They’re like family at this point.”
“So. You’re saying I shouldn’t worry if they treat me like an outsider?”
“No. Well, yes, you shouldn’t worry about that, and if anyone tries any hazing, you let me know, especially if there’s talk about a goat.”
Jess’s mouth dropped open, but Grant wasn’t done.
“No, what I mean is that I don’t think that’s going to be your problem. And I just want you to know, if you feel pressured at any time or uncomfortable with how anyone treats you, if anyone’s too friendly, you can come to me. It’s not your job to provide the kitchen with entertainment—your only job is to wait on company and shuttle the food from kitchen to table. Okay?”
Jess didn’t really get how anyone being too friendly could be a problem, but now Grant was the one looking anxious, so he said, “Sure. It’s cool.”
Grant lifted his eyes to the ceiling like he was praying for patience, but then he smiled at Jess and motioned him into the kitchen.
Jess didn’t see what Grant was making such a big deal about. It looked pretty much like every professional kitchen Jess had ever seen, from the chain family place at the mall where he’d worked during high school, to the pretentious bistro in Brandewine that had taught him what a bad idea it was to let anyone really know him. Maybe Market was cleaner and all the tools were more