Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [72]
“Get out.”
That brought Rob’s head up.
“What?”
“You heard me. Get out of my kitchen. And don’t come back, you piece of shit excuse for a cook. I won’t have you slopping around here day after day, dragging down the whole crew with that chip on your shoulder. You’ve never been satisfied with the way we’ve treated you—so fine. Go.”
Rob’s mouth dropped open, his narrow face blotched with shock. He looked around the kitchen and zeroed in on Miranda as if he wanted her to speak up in his defense.
Which Adam, of course, noticed. Miranda cursed inwardly and tried to look innocent. Her heart beat out a fast tattoo against her ribs.
Rob’s imploring of Miranda only seemed to further enrage Adam, who roared, “Get out!” one last time and accompanied it with a quick shake of the hapless extern by the scruff of his neck.
Gasping and flopping like a landed trout, Rob shook himself free of Adam’s big paw and hurried for the back alley door.
“Haven’t seen him move that fast in days,” Frankie drawled, and everyone laughed, more out of relief at the broken tension than anything else.
Adam blew out a breath and shook himself like a dog coming out of the water. “Okay, that’s over. Kick ass at tonight’s service and drinks are on me at Chapel tonight!”
He’s inviting us all to church?
The crew cheered long and loud, sounding like a gaggle of pirates straight out of an old Errol Flynn movie. Miranda caught her breath as her heart started to pound out of control.
Everything was happening so fast! One minute she was agonizing over her use of a cranky employee’s insider info and the next minute that crank was out the door. She hardly knew how to feel. But when Adam caught her gaze and lifted his brows slightly, Miranda couldn’t stop herself from smiling back at him and making the line of his shoulders relax away from the tense set of the last few minutes.
She supposed that might be her answer, right there.
Adam made his way back over to the pass as activity in the kitchen spun up into controlled chaos once more.
“Feel better?” Miranda asked him.
“Surprisingly, I do, yeah,” Adam responded, laughing and running his hands through his hair. It was all messed up, sort of endearingly bedheadish, and it made Miranda long to smooth it down.
“You’re not fooling around, are you?” she said, shaking her head. “That poor kid.”
Adam scrunched up his face. “That poor kid, nothing! He cocked up everything he touched for weeks.”
Ignoring the exaggeration—Rob Meeks wasn’t a culinary genius, but he wasn’t a total moron, either—Miranda said, “It doesn’t look like he’ll be much missed.” She gestured to the steadily humming kitchen where ex-dishwasher Billy Perez was skimming the top of the stock like he’d been born to it.
“Meeks never fit in here. I thought it would be okay, since it was just an externship from the ACA, a temporary thing, but no. He had to go. Why?” He peered at her suspiciously. “You gonna miss him?”
And then it hit her.
Rob Meeks’s departure from Market was the perfect excuse to cancel the book deal. Her heart beat faster, pulling enough blood from her head to make her dizzy with elation at the thought.
She didn’t have to do the book. She could throw out the manuscript—so what if it was half done already?—and tell the publisher she was out. She’d lose the advance money, sure, but Jess was happy with his job at Market. He’d mentioned taking a year off school and working full-time to save up. Or Miranda could go back to doing freelance reviews in addition to her job at Délicieux. She’d scrape together collateral and get a loan. They’d make it work.
Miranda felt lighter than she had in days, as if fate had just handed her a big bunch of helium balloons. She smiled up at Adam, who was still watching her expectantly.
“I really won’t miss him at all.”
“Good,” he said, a bit more firmly than Miranda thought the situation warranted.
Before she could do more than raise a brow, Grant pushed into the kitchen. He spared Miranda a quick hello before dragging Adam into an intense, low-voiced conference a few feet away.