𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐼𝑇𝐿𝐸𝑆𝑆 | 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐍

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

—𝐵𝑜𝑏𝑏𝑦—

𝐈

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 the first thing that Bobby had been assigned at Kings.

And that was all that he had been doing for the past few hours. He was the only one working at the sinks, so at first, he had felt a little rushed, given all the chefs yelling about needing clean pots and pans. It seemed like most of them held no pity for it being his first day, and the amount of dirty looks he had received were more than he could count.

He found his rhythm pretty quickly, and a couple of hours in, he had stacks of spotless plates waiting on metal racks.

It was a pretty boring job. To be fair, he had said to give him the jobs no one wanted—and he wasn't surprised in the least that washing dishes was one of them. The good thing was that this was a mindless task; it gave him plenty of time to think and observe his surroundings. It only took about an hour for all the clattering and shouts to become background noise.

Honestly, he didn't mind the little setup he had. The sinks were at the side of the room, and there were metal racks between him and most of the kitchen. It was like his own little space.

He blew some air out as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. The heat coming off the stoves was enough to make the room seem like they were in the middle of a terrible summer.

Bobby glanced to the centre of the kitchen as the supervisor shouted something, though it was to one of the chefs. He dried the dish he had just washed and placed it on top of the pile he had set out. He threw the rag over his shoulder as he grabbed another stack of dirty dishes and placed them beside the sink.

"New guy, huh?"

He turned to where the voice came from. A man, a few inches over five feet with his head barely peeking over the middle rack, was staring at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"What's your name?" he questioned once he caught Bobby's gaze.

"Bobby."

Bobby returned to scrubbing the plate with soap as the man walked around the racks. He groaned internally; he could already tell that this guy would be nothing but a disturbance.

"Wear your cap properly," the man chided one of the chefs, who had his ponytail sticking out. "We don't want one of your pubes in the curry, banchod!" His sour expression quickly changed into a grin as he came through the side where there was an opening. "Bobby! I think we met before, right?"

Bobby shook his head as he placed the finished dish down. He was sure he'd remember a face—and a voice—like his. "I don't think so."

"You like tequila, huh, Bobby?" He didn't seem to back down when Bobby gave him a strange look. "Patrón, Don Julio, the one with George Clooney in the photo?"

Bobby sighed, tossing the rag back over his shoulder. He walked over to the side, where there were a few pots waiting for him. "I just want to clean the dishes, okay?"

"Coke? Morphine? MDMA?"

Bobby didn't reply. Why couldn't this guy just leave him alone?

"Oi, Alphonso, eh," called the supervisor, annoyed. "I've told you many times to stop hassling my staff."

"Quality control, man! You're gonna thank me for this one day." Alphonso turned back to Bobby and gave him yet another grin. "Stay cool, Bobby. Stay cool, hmm?"

He walked away, and Bobby took note of the limp he had. He turned back to the dishes.

Obviously, this Alphonso guy had a little more power—at least, he was higher up than the rest of these chefs were. As annoying as he was, he could be useful. Bobby would have to keep an eye out for him.