Chapter 9

You’re late, he was saying, not in words but in action. I’m having to do your job as well as mine.

God, Preston couldn’t stand the man.

He knew Roger was angling for an argument, but he wouldn’t give his boss that satisfaction. He’d seen line cooks get drawn into shouting matches with the man, and the rules were simple—go up against the boss and you never won. He owned the place; he had the last word. Sometimes that meant telling a belligerent employee to get out. Preston had seen it happen.

As much as he hated his job, he needed the paycheck, so he tightened his apron straps, grabbed another spatula, and took a close look at the food already underway on the grill. He wouldn’t give Roger the satisfaction of asking what ticket to work on next. He’d figure it out himself.

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