“I'm helping with the menu, Cheryl.”
“Right, helping with the menu. . .” Her voice trails off as she veers her stare. “I know what's going on here. I'm not stupid.”
“I don't know what you're trying to say, but I'm not playing your games.” I turn my attention back to the white board. I'm not doing this with her. It's none of her business, even if she is right. “Don't you have something you should be doing right now?”
She takes long sweeping steps toward me. Her lips curl up into a snotty smile. “Does that make you nervous? The fact that I know what's going on between you two?”
“There's nothing going on, Cheryl.”
“So, you're telling me I didn't see you two kissing in the kitchen the other day? Was that just my imagination?”
Shit. She saw us? But when?
My mind begins to tumble, searching for when and how. Then it hits me. The day I thought I heard a noise. The noise was her.
“What's your problem, Cheryl? Why do you even care?”
She lets out a soft, devious chuckle. “Oh, I don't care.” Shaking her head, she brings herself closer. She's so close I can hear her breathing, and almost feel it on the back of my neck. “I just think it's a slutty way to work your way to the top. Get in your boss's pants and he gives you special treatment. That's low. You must not be very confident in your skills.”
“Screw you, Cheryl. This has nothing to do with that. Whatever happened between Monroe and me has nothing to do with you or my place here. It's not my fault I'm a better cook than you.”
“Yeah, that must be what it is. I'm sure it's not the fact that he was paid by your brother to hire you.” She grins, an evil, shit-eating grin. Her thin fingers reach past me and pluck a toothpick from the holder. She rolls it between her teeth as she watches the blood drain from my face.
“What did you just say?”
“I said, your brother Tom paid Monroe to hire you. A good chunk of cash too, from what I heard.”
She's lying. She's just trying to get under my skin.
“No, that's not true. You're making it up. You don't even know my brother.”
“I know him pretty well, actually. He's our alcohol supplier, has been for years.”
“You're lying,” I snap through clenched teeth.
There's no way my brother paid him. And there's no way that Monroe would have accepted it even if he offered. This business is his life, why the hell would he put it on the line for money?
No, she's full of shit. I earned this!
“I wish I was, Arisa, but I'm not. Why do you think Monroe picked you over me? You're here barely a day, I've been here far longer. Only someone who's been paid off does something like that. Tell me you're not too stupid to see that?”
My eyes start to tear up and my cheeks are heating with embarrassment. Have I been played? Am I only here because of a bribe?
“I don't believe you, my brother—”
“Your brother might have a side you don't know about. Maybe he didn't want to hear his little sister bitch and moan about not being good enough to get hired anywhere. Maybe he just wanted to get rid of you, and this was the easiest way. We all know you can't cook for shit, Arisa. Even you know that, but you're too afraid to admit it to yourself.”
Tears fall easily with a single blink, rolling down my cheeks and dropping onto the white board. They splash against the words, causing the marker to melt down the surface. I can't breathe. The room around me waxes and wanes as oxygen becomes scarce and crying takes over.
“Aw,” she sings out. “Poor baby. The truth hurts, doesn't it?”
“Why? Why would he do this?” My words are all weepy, bleeding together with desperate breaths for air. “Why would either of them do this?”
“Because of this right here.” She circles her finger in the air, gesturing at all of me. “When you're not good enough, family will make you believe you are.”
I don't want to believe her, but what she's saying is making sense. My brother pushed me into culinary school. He's been my test victim for new dishes and new techniques. Maybe she's right. Maybe he didn't want to hurt my feelings and tell me I suck.
But why Monroe? Why would he risk his name to hire a newbie like me?
Money talks.
And my brother has plenty of it. He's done well for himself. I'm sure he made him an offer that was worthwhile. One that would void any mistakes I might make.
Holy shit. . .
That night at dinner, Monroe got all weird when I brought up my brother. It makes sense. Fuck, it makes sense.