She's With Me

3

"I've decided to discontinue the apple fritters," he looks at me with furrowed brows, as though it's the most stupidest thing to say.

"You can't be serious. It's one of our signature desserts."

"No one wants to buy it, because honestly speaking, it tastes terrible."

"I beg to differ," his jaw twitches, and I rub my temples. He's the head chef for the restaurant's kitchen, and he's getting on my last nerve, "it's your first day here and you're already making changes to the menu. That's pretty rushed, don't you think?"

I'm serious about business and I never beat around the bush. When I see something that needs correcting, I eliminate every problem, no matter who disagrees.

"Last time I checked, as of recent, I sign your paycheck," his eyes narrow, "anything else you'd like to say?" He shakes his head and walks away.

I'm sitting at a table with a bunch of dishes in front of me. I'd decided that the first thing to do to get this place up and running was to start with its food, and it's terrible. Nothing tastes great. Even the filet mignon tastes like trash, not something that I'd pay twenty bucks for at such a pricey restaurant.

"Can you take all of these away?" I call over a server, and get up. In a few days, I'll start renovating the place. A lot of things need updating, and financing it is not an issue. I know that when I'm done with this place, it'll make ten times as much as it is right now.

I'd like to call myself the Chef Ramsay of business turnover, except I don't broadcast it on television. The first thing that I need to do is fire the head chef and hire a new one, and I know exactly who I'm hiring. I already got in contact with him, and he'll come in tomorrow.

Looking around the restaurant, there are a few occupied tables. I can see, from the looks on their faces, that they're appreciating the food as much as I did. I wouldn't say that I feel embarrassed, more accurately, I feel obligated to provide them with a meal that's worth their money.

The menu needs to be reconstructed properly, and I can't have these doors open while it isn't. The server clears my table, while I sit back and think.

"What's your name?" I ask the server.

"Quincy, ma'am," he stands tall with a nervous glimmer in his eyes. He's intimidated, that's for sure.

"Quincy, all the meals are on the house. And no more orders should enter the kitchen. We're closing down until further notice," he puffs out his cheeks.

He's the only server other than the brunette girl, who won't stop texting on her phone, in the corner. No one really seems to give a damn in this place, and I'm going to change that, even if it means firing them.

Hope your day's going well. Just finished yoga and I'm heading to my doctor's appointment.

A smile graces my lips, easing some of the tension inside of my chest.

Tell me how it goes. I'll give you a call later.

I tuck my phone into my back pocket, as I watch Quincy notify everyone that they won't be receiving a bill for their meals. Some look relieved and others confused. I wouldn't pay a cent for anything that comes out of this kitchen, and I'm the freaking owner, so I don't expect them to.

It takes about half an hour for all of the customers to clear out of the restaurant. I sigh in relief, and decide to head into the kitchen. The executive chef is standing in the corner, with a cigarette in between his lips. As soon as he sees me, he fans the air in front of him and throws the cigarette onto the floor, probably hoping that I didn't see it.