Ruined By My Stepbrother novel · Chapter 6 of 32

Chapter 6: Back Door

"The morning it came out?" I said.

"Six-thirty," my fry cook said. "He called us both into the office before brunch."

"What did he say?"

She finally looked up at me.

"He said Low Tide was finished, so he didn't need us anymore."

Behind me, the flat-top scraper stopped.

Frankie came up at my shoulder, still holding a stack of twenties.

"He hired you to empty her kitchen," she said. "On the one night it mattered."

"We didn't know that," my grill cook said. "He said sous chef. He said a raise and a title. I've got a kid starting at Rowan in the fall."

"You walked out at four o'clock," I said. "In the middle of prep. On a Friday."

"I know."

"I cooked two turns alone. People waited fifty minutes for chowder."

"I know, Chef."

He didn't make one excuse.

He just stood there on the step and took it.

I'd hired him three summers ago, the week I opened.

He'd taught me to clean the grill grates with an onion.

"How much was he paying you?" I said.

"Eight more an hour."

"Then that's what I'm paying you."

Frankie made a noise.

"Hattie."

"Monday," I said to them. "Two o'clock. Bring your own knives."

My fry cook put her hand over her mouth.

My grill cook nodded once, hard.

They went down the dark alley, and I shut the door.

Frankie set the tips down on the steel very carefully.

"Two cooks at eight dollars more an hour," she said. "Fifty hours a week each."

"I can count."

"That's eight hundred dollars a week you don't have."

"I'll have it."

"From where?"

"From seventy-two covers on a Saturday."

"You had one Saturday."

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