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5.

"Bradley, can I see you in the office?"

If he hadn't been curious as to what his manager could possibly want to speak to him about, it would have amused him, as it never ceased to do, that he couldn't quite be bothered to actually step foot into the kitchen, other than to bark orders, belittle the crew for not moving swiftly enough, and then leave. He would stick a body part in the doorway instead; his head, a foot, his chest. It was ludicrous and they had all noticed and laughed about it.

He wasn't so much as curious as to what James could want as downright suspicious. He'd been acting weird, even for him, and he couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do the shit he'd been feeding to the crew the night he was out. Logically, he knew James had no grounds to fire him but the thought was cold comfort. They both were completely aware that the man could do whatever he wanted and the owner could give a shit. As long as he found a new chef that didn't cost him more money, then it was business as usual and James had the freedom to run the restaurant as he saw fit.

Calling to Lukas that he would be back, he headed out of the kitchen and down the hall to James's office.

The door was open but he knocked anyway, swallowing down annoyance that he'd been called away from prep to engage in what was most likely going to be some nitpicky thing he wasn't doing that James had noticed or some other fruitless nonsense.

"Come in," James said and Bradley bit the inside of his cheek, sending a reminder to his facial muscles to stay neutral.

"We're in the middle of lunch prep right now, so...can we make this fast, please?"

Where the hell did that come from?

James must have shared the sentiment because his eyebrows shot up, nearly into his hairline. When he'd sufficiently recovered from the shock, he turned to look at him glaringly.

"I could write you up, you know. Marina took a real chance hiring you three years ago. It certainly wouldn't have been my first choice to employ a drunk who couldn't hold down a job. I highly suggest you know your place, Bradley. She's not here anymore."

Fuck.

He stared at his feet, at the calendar across the room hanging on the wall, out the small window, anywhere but James's smug face so that he didn't go prove him right.

Taking a breath, he clenched his fingers inside the pockets of his apron, furling and unfurling them with each intake of air until he felt calm enough again to speak.

"I'm sorry. That was out of line. Won't happen again."

"Good." James looked slightly mollified and he gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Sit."

Bradley obeyed, stretching his lanky frame out in front of him, watching as James folded his hands, peering at him over the top of his glasses.

"Now, I don't know if you've noticed, but we've lost Annie."

"Lost Annie?" He shot up in the chair. "Oh my God, did something happen?"

"No, no," James made a face. "She put her notice in. She took a job in San Bernardino, of all places."

"Oh," Bradley was relieved. "Well, good for her. She's young. I knew she wouldn't stay here forever."

"Except she had four more months on her contract."

"Okay," he said slowly, not grasping what the other man was getting at. "What does that mean? Are you planning on suing her? Slandering her name all over the valley?"

"Very funny. You should leave the culinary world to become a comedian." He sighed and removed his glasses. "It means I let her go on the spot. And she's not entitled to a severance because she quit."