Six years later

Colourful pieces of clothing laid strewn about her bedroom floor, along with hangers, hairpins and discarded sandals. The bed was the messiest of all, sporting Ankara dresses on hangers flung about the white, tumbled up sheets—most of which came from her closet, as she frantically searched for something that could be considered presentable for work. 

Zelah buttoned up her jeans in front of the mirror and fixed her white chiffon blouse over it. The sleeves stopped just above her elbows, and it was thin enough to allow air to pass through. The heat that morning got her to reconsider a thicker dress shirt. The jeans fitted more tightly than she had expected, due to the food marathon that she had been on for months. 

She had been cooking and eating, and cooking and eating, in a repetitive cycle. In her defence, she was perfecting certain meals which came as her requirement for work. But after perfecting, she ate.

Today was her first day of work and she was clueless when it came to what to put on her body. Her hair was one thing, but making a good impression was another. The Lebanese man, who had interviewed her, Balil, seemed nice enough. And pretty, but she chose not to dwell on that fact. But there was the entire kitchen staff that she was yet to meet.

The job that she had applied for was not exactly a low-key one. She was going to be second in command, a sous chef to one of the best hotels’ top chef. He or she could be tall or short, black, white or mixed. Even fat. She had no idea. 

Guess I’ll find out.

A message bubble popped up on her gold iPhone 6s+ that lay on the dresser in front of her as she tried to tame her unruly hair. Bad hair day on her first day. How cliché.

Jade: Still mad. Wear something presentable please, don’t embarrass me. I’ll see you after work.

Zelah just sighed and focused on the impossible task of getting her hairband around her thick hair. It hung low over her face and she cursed as strands found their way in her mouth. Even after damping it with water an hour before, it was still long—the only evidence was that it dripped water even after she patted it dry a few hundred times with her towel.

She now regretted not letting Jade sleep over the night before; she could’ve helped with her hair-situation. But the fact remained constant, and it was one of the reasons why she didn’t let her stay. The girl was a bad influence, which was refreshing for her close to boring life—but she didn’t need it the night before work. A sober mind and a clear head was the key to her success.

Sighing, she relented and did the one hairstyle that never failed her. A messy but not really messy bun at the top of her head. She had to do something about her hair, and fast.

Satisfied, she turned to the side one more time to see her backside. The trouser wasn’t supposed to fit her exact size, and it did. It hugged her thighs snuggly, and she felt a little uncomfortable and considered changing for a second. It lasted only a second though. She was glad that she was putting on a bit of weight and getting thick in all the right places. It was one positive thing about her recluse life. The one she tried to live, when Jade would let her.

She hurriedly gathered her black leather bag off the chair and threw a wistful glance at her room floor. It looked even messier than it was a minute ago. But she tore herself away from the door and left her apartment in a hurry. One of the pill bottles that decorated her dresser got taken and placed in her bag—there was no time to take it.

Where she lived was closer to the hotel so she took a little exercise that morning. The security booth was still closed, an indication that they were sleeping. But she knew better than to question it, it wasn’t her compound. Sure, she lived there but if anything happened because the old men that they hired had no idea what the word security meant—she knew how to defend herself.  A headache began as soon as she stepped outside of the compound, partly because of the relentless sunshine glaring down on everything. Her phone, safely tucked away in her bag, began to vibrate. 

When she checked it, her walking slowed and she closed her eyes briefly, in an effort to invoke calm. Her hands began to shake involuntarily and she clenched them at her sides, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It wasn’t going to bother her, not today. The day broke well, and she was going to make sure that it continued that way.

She trudged on and reached the hotel in a few minutes and entered through the back gate, marvelling at its beauty as it loomed over her head. The brownstone walls and tainted windows made the place feel at home every time she visited. It wasn’t massive, but the sheer size of it was accommodating enough. She had to tilt her head to see the top, but the sunlight blinded her momentarily. Kaldi’s Koffee, the coffee shop next door, she was a regular at. It was in the same yard as the hotel, more like an extension. And it attended to her needs well.

Jimmy, the barista, spotted her walking up the entranceway of the hotel and waved her over. She guessed that he was just arriving at work. She just smiled and shook her head before going inside.

Her stomach cursed at her for denying it the goodness of coffee, and the calmness that it provided. But she pushed on and ignored it, reaching the doors of the hotel. 

Today is not the day to be a coffee junkie.

The revolving doors always put her on edge for some reason. She thought that it reminded her of the rough playing that she and her brother did at her mother’s shop when they were kids. The door was a swinging one with a tight spring at the top that would bring it back swinging, no matter how hard it was pulled. They hurt each other a lot with the door, and even to today’s date—she could still feel the pain whenever she saw one of them. She chose to use the normal door over to the side, and stepped into the welcoming air conditioning of the lobby. It was mostly empty, except for the lobbyist behind her desk that she waved to before continuing down the hallway, and a pastry chef who was setting up his little work station on the other side.

Zelah found the office that she was interviewed in quickly, and knocked before opening. Balil, the man who interviewed her, was on the phone behind his desk, and he beckoned at her in a ‘come’ motion. The cold office enveloped her and she shivered involuntarily. She had had enough cold to last her the entire morning, and Balil’s office felt like the inside of a freezer. 

“Good morning, Miss Cooper, please sit down.” He had ended the call and now gestured at the seat across from him. “I trust that you are ready to start today?” 

“Yes, I’m ready. If that’s okay.” She bit her lower lip in nervousness when he averted his gaze from her face to check something on his phone. He was a beautiful man. His height was attractive, even the way his clothes held to him—she found mesmerizing. He was generous with his smiles, and his pearly white teeth never failed to get a response from her lips. There was almost no flaw on the man—except the fact that for a man his age, he was balding too soon. But she put it off to a generational curse—something he probably inherited from his father. This morning, he had on black jeans and a red tee shirt.

The sound of crinkling plastic was heard coming from behind his desk, and then the source surfaced as he lifted up the hand that was halfway hidden by the desk.

“Good. You came highly recommended from your alma mater, so the management decided to skip your training months and hire you full time. But if we see that you’re not fully ready to handle the pressure, we’ll have to revisit your contract.”

“Understandable.” She nodded.

“Great. I informed the top chef this morning of your supposed arrival so he’s expecting you. We weren’t sure if you would want to start today. Here are your uniforms. And you can let me know of any problems you might face anytime.” He smiled warmly and she nodded, accepting her uniform from his outstretched hand.

“Thank you so much, Balil.”

“Don’t mention it. Here is the contract. You can take it and read through it, before signing this evening. There’s a particular policy that we have which is very strict. We don’t allow dating between co-workers. If it happens, it’s a strike in your file. Two strikes of the same kind lead to immediate termination.”

That’s not going to be a problem.

“No dating. Got it. Is there anything else?”

“A few minor ones here and there, but I’m sure you’ll see them. Also, you have to work at The Restaurant for two months before considering the idea of quitting. In addition to that, we usually encourage our chefs to take the cooks who are interested in doing more under their wing, so that when they leave, their spaces can be occupied temporarily or permanently, depending on their skills and how well they learned. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly. Sounds good.”

His door opened and a pretty girl, dressed in a waitress uniform that she recognized, stepped in. It was the purple dashiki in an apron format, hung over her black shirt and black jeans. “You sent for me?” 

She glanced over at Zelah, but said nothing to her. It was a look of curiosity, she knew it anywhere. She was no psychic but that look hinted at something that was brewing between the girl and Balil. 

Interesting.

“Yes. Please take Zelah to Chef Holden, she’s starting work today. Zelah, this is Michaela, she’s our head waitress here.”

Zelah sent a small smile in her direction, noticing that her countenance became much calmer after the introduction was made. She was not that smart, but she knew women. After all, she was one herself.

 He stood up and extended a hand to Zelah, who shook it firmly. “Welcome to The Restaurant,” Balil said, flashing his dazzling smile that made his eyes crinkle around the corners.

“Thank you, Balil. I’m glad to be here.”

She left with Michaela and they walked down the hallway together. “You need to get changed,” Michaela said, scanning a list on a small notepad that she took out of her jeans back pocket. “Chef Holden is cranky today,” she paused then continued, “actually, he’s in a bad mood every day, so you don’t want to be on the wrong end of it—especially on your first day.” She pointed her in the direction of the changing room as they drew nearer. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

Zelah laughed nervously at her statement. “Sounds scary. I think five minutes is okay.”

“Okay, good. I’ll be back in time to take you into the kitchen so you can meet everyone.”

They parted ways and Zelah hurriedly undressed to change, thinking about her new boss. He sounded mean and bossy. But then again, every chef was mean and bossy. She just hoped to make a good impression and stay in the background as much as possible. 

Michaela had a few things up her sleeve, she was sure of it. It seemed like there was a lot of things going on, now that she was within their circle. Just need to stay far away from the drama.  She finished getting dressed in record time, and grabbed her bag off the table when a memory resurfaced; reminding her that she hadn’t done something. Her pills. 

The white bottle containing tablets of Adderall got opened and two of them were shaken into her hand. She swallowed them dry, and then drank from her water bottle—sighing softly. 

While straightening her torque in front of the mirror, her phone rang from the table beside her. The ringtone indicated that it wasn’t who she thought it was, so she answered. But the contact name made her heart do a little flutter in her chest. Fred.

“Isn’t it a little too early for you to be calling?” She hoped that the smile couldn’t be heard in her voice, as she was glad to hear from him. It had been a hot minute.

“Good morning to you too. Are you working? I wanted to talk to you before you started officially.” Fred’s voice sounded like he had just woken up. Ad she did not like the feelings that it elicited—the ones she had kept buried for years.

“I’m about to, soon. Thanks for thinking of me. But you don’t have to, I’m fine. Like I keep saying.” Michaela opened the door and peeked in, and Zelah mouthed ‘one minute’ to her.

“I know you are. I just wanted to wish you good luck and tell you how happy I am for you.” 

She frowned and leaned against the table, ticking away at a spot that had suddenly gotten her attention. “A text couldn’t have done that? I don’t want your girlfriend getting the wrong idea.” From his deep sigh, she decided that it wasn’t the right time to have the conversation they were heading into. “You know how she is. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

He sighed at her words, answering after a few seconds. “Okay, Zee. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

She smiled sheepishly at Michaela, and then followed her out of the room. “I’m sorry; the call wasn’t factored into the time.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re the boss, after all.” She smiled what Zelah hoped was a sincere one and pushed the double doors leading to the kitchen open. It wasn’t as grand as she’d originally thought but it was spacious enough. She spied a little black board at the entrance that said “A recipe has no soul. You, as the cook, must bring soul to the recipe.”

She agreed and applauded the thoughtful person who wrote that in such loopy, beautiful writing. The kitchen was bustling with activity, no one stood still at any minute. It smelt like a foodie’s heaven as the different spices and meaty fragrance danced through the air, and her stomach growled—reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything all morning. There were two rows in the kitchen, separated by a large four-sided steel stove with an exhaust hood above it, and two cooks in white uniforms with black aprons, were working side by side. There was a steel table near the stove with spoons and pans hanging from the overhead. 

She was, in a way, in the way. Most of the movement in the kitchen was in her direction because she stood a little ways away from the exit/entrance. A cook hit her squarely in the shoulders on his way out of the kitchen, and she learned her lesson and moved out of the way. An apology did not make its way to her ears, and she sighed internally. Typical male.

“Joel. Hold on.” 

The strong, orotund voice came from a few feet away from her, and she glanced over, her image and facial expression mirroring the man’s behind her.

Damn.

The man strolling towards them was large and beautiful, and his full chef’s uniform accentuated his physical features. His smooth, melanin skin tone coupled with his pure black uniform, made magic in her eyes. He was fit, like he exercised on the regular. His uniform fitted him well and she could see that his arms were huge—almost body builder-like. His brown eyes sent a hard stare over her shoulder, and she got scared for the guy. 

“Are you aware that you just hit a woman?” He stopped, inches away from her and she had to tilt her head to look at him.

He had a closely trimmed beard, and it looked so healthy that it took her a while to stop staring. The man standing in front of her was very attractive. And he knew it from the way he carried himself. Up close, she noticed the letters, “Top Chef” threaded in a bold font in the upper left corner of the shirt.

“I…I didn’t mean to, Chef,” Joel stuttered, while the look on his face explained that he knew and understood the authority of the person in whose presence he stood.

The man crossed his arms and pushed for more answers. “Oh, that I know. But did you apologize?”

“No, Chef.” Joel dropped his gaze; the staring game was too intense for him to keep up.

“I see.” His gaze finally rested on Zelah’s face as he stared at her, “Joel, this is Zelah Cooper. She not only happens to be my assistant, but she’s also your boss.”

“Chef Holden, I—”

“And even if she wasn’t, being polite doesn’t cost a thing. In fact, it could cost you your job, and we can’t have that, can we?”

He hesitated before answering. He understood perfectly. “No, sir.”

“Good. You can go.” Chef Holden said all this with his eyes on her, which had her squirming under his gaze. He crossed his arms across his chest and his tattooed arms bulged out from under the uniform sleeves.  “Cooper. Am I under the impression that you want me to wait for you?”

She licked her lips before answering. “Well… I wasn’t given a specific time to—”

“It was a rhetorical question. Be late again, and suffer the consequences. Clear?” He interjected, and waited patiently for her to respond. His brows arched at her long silence, and she straightened up—conducting herself accordingly.

“Yes sir, I mean—Chef Holden. I’m sorry.” He brushed past her, allowing her to get a whiff of his cologne. It was mild, but pleasing to the senses. She definitely wouldn’t mind hugging him a few times. God, now I sound like Jade.

She barely had time to gather her thoughts before her name was called from behind her. “When I move, you move. Pay attention, Cooper.”

Sighing to herself, she turned around with a stiff nod and followed the already-in-motion Chef to his station at the middle of the kitchen. The cluttered pathway parted like the Red Sea, almost immediately.  His two personal cooks stood over to the side—ready and waiting for his commands.

The table top was prepped with everything he would need to make the meal he was about to prepare. She had a good idea about most of the vegetables that littered the table, and her curiosity piqued. Most of them were already peeled or sliced, washed clean and ready for use. Cucumbers, tomatoes, radish, and lettuce lay there, accompanied by brightly coloured bell peppers. The spices were opposite them and the big, white bowl sat in the middle of the two sides. There were so many ways and meals that they could be used for, the beauty of fresh vegetables. It’s probably something with a French name, she thought.

“…basic stuff. There’s a recipe if you find yourself needing it. Ten minutes,” he paused and arched a brow at her, “I trust you know to make a salad?”

She missed the first half of what he said, but making that known was not an option. He would chew her up without question, she was sure of it. Besides, she got the second half and it sounded like absolute nonsense.

An ordinary salad? What am I, elementary?

“Yes but—”

“But what, Chef? I just gave you an instruction. Do you need special details on how to cut up vegetables?” 

She frowned at his tone—seemingly helpful but actually very condescending. “Of course not, Chef.” He nodded once and gesticulated towards the table.

“Good, hurry up. Now you have nine minutes. It’s just a vegetable salad, please don’t mess it up.” He said dryly, and walked away— leaving her staring after him.

Resigned to her fate, Zelah picked up the knife and started to cut up the peeled vegetables for the salad—quickly and efficiently. She didn’t expect him to be warm and considerate, that’s like expecting a dog not to bark. He was only doing his job, and it was hers to withstand it. But she knew that it was only a matter of time before she blew up.