Yes, Chef

Chapter 1: Temper, Temper

"Mr. Whitmer, to what do I owe this honor?" I answer my phone with genuine curiosity. Theodore Whitmer leads many business ventures in this city so when he calls it's a wise business decision to answer. Although I'm no longer in the business he knows me for...

"Mads, my little miracle worker! How've ya been?" He greets me congenially which often means he's looking to strike a deal.

"Well I've hung up my shingle, Teddy so I do hope you're calling to invite me to attend a gallery opening or a fundraiser event or something like that." I gently make him aware of my departure from performance counseling.

"You're far too young to be in retirement, Mads." He flatters me. "What happened? Run out of people to fix? Well good news...I got one for you."

"You don't know how to take no for an answer, do you?" I tease him with a laugh, although he strikes me as the type to persist.

"Seriously, sweetheart. I need you. This guy...he's a gift from God in the kitchen but he can't keep a staff because he's got a bit of a chip on his shoulder." Whitmer pitches the situation.

"Well that's a far cry from your usual pitch. Since when did you add a restaurant to your portfolio?" I inquire. I've worked primarily with professional athletes and performers through Whitmer's various business ventures. Seriously, the guy's philanthropic reach funds most if not all the entertainment venues around town but the restaurant industry is a departure for him.

"I don't own the restaurant. I'm doing a favor for his aunt. She and Holly go way back." Holly is Teddy's wife and the only thing that keeps him somewhat grounded.

"Well this is all fascinating and while I can refer other counselors or groups for him, I'm seriously out of the game."

I quit. I lost my taste for it. Some might call it burnout and maybe that's part of it but in all honesty, it didn't feel like I was doing it for the right reasons any more. I was helping people but not how I had always imagined. And granted, while I greatly benefited financially from a clientele of well-paid professionals, it was never supposed to be about the money. So I referred my patients out or terminated their care if they were in a good place and decided I was going to take time to truly figure out a new direction.

No one wants a mid-life crisis before the age of 32 but here I am. My family thinks I'm nuts. My friends are envious that I can just up and quit my lucrative career to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Many of them are married with kids and committed to their lifestyles so there's no quitting.

"Do you still have your license?" Whitmer retorts, bringing me back to the present request.

"I'm in my renewal window but..."

"Please, Mads. I'll pay you double what you were getting for Trey." He negotiates. Trey Youssef is a centre-back for the football club in town. The funds from his counseling fees helped me afford the down payment on my swanky condo.

"Why is it so important that it's me, Teddy? There are many other competent performance counselors. There are groups if he just needs help with anger management." I lob possible alternatives.

"Because of who he is and the hours he works. He refuses to take time away from the restaurant during business hours. He tried an after-hours group but he bailed after a single meeting because people found out who he was and turned the focus on that." Whitmer explains. "He needs someone who can accommodate a difficult schedule and do so with discretion."

"Well if he refuses to prioritize this, then why bother?" I challenge.

"It's court-mandated." Whitmer says so faintly I almost miss it.