Chapter 4

• SEAN
• Tasting the same meal cooked by different people isn't how I think I will be spending my day, but it is exactly what I'm doing. I should be resting, sleeping, talking, working.
• ‘You are working now.’
• My subconscious reminds me which makes me snort. Usually, I have someone who handles the interview process. But after having people want to kill me over the last nine months, it's best if I do this myself.
• Reina walks in, typing on her tab again. Something comes up pm the large screen on my TV and I take in the credentials of the next chef about to come in.
• “The details of the fifth chef,” she explains. “She's had quite an experience, eight years on the job already.”
• I hum as I read what is on the screen. Experienced chefs is exactly what I'm looking for anyway. Reina smiles and heads out, probably to call on the next chef. She's been working hard, and I think she needs to take a break.
• But I don't say that to her.
• The next chef walks in with her cart. She introduces herself before placing the plate of pasta in front of me. I stare at the steaming, hot plate of food for a second, hoping this won't be the one to send me to my demise.
• Not everybody can cook for me. My body is naturally selective of the chef. In all my life, I've only had three people who could successfully cook me a meal without my body reacting negatively to it and they are my mom, my previous chef who was murdered to get to me, and my best friend.
• It's a condition I haven't been able to find a solution to.
• I pick up the fork and start eating. From the first bite and the presentation, I can already see why the chef has eight years experience on her belt. She is excellent, the kind to work in a restaurant like mine. But I don't say anything to her, my face not betraying any emotions either.
• She leaves and Reina walks back in. “What do you think?” she asks me.
• “Mark her name,” is all I say.
• The next two chefs are a blur. They are also good but they don't stand out to me. It looks like I'm eating the same meal cooked by the same person. Nothing stands out which is a problem.
• Then the eighth and last chef comes in and I sit up. The blue curls framing her face before has been wrapped into a tight chef bun. I stare at her as she stop in front of me. I'm not ashamed to admit to myself that she had my attention while she was cooking. She kept freezing up in the kitchen which isn't a good look for her.
• She opens her mouth to speak but I raise up my hand to stop her. I don't want to hear the sound of her annoying voice right now.
• She nods and present me with her dish. The plating is not the best I've seen but u pick up the fork to eat. One taste and I stop, meeting her gaze. Something about the meal taste…Familiar. It's almost weird.
• I shrug off the feeling and take another bite of the food. The feeling persists, this time more prominent. This isn't restaurant worthy, but it reminds me of something. Her food reminds me of my mother's cooking and my past chefs meal. It's almost like comfort and that makes me frown.
• “Name?” I ask her.
• She sees my frown and immediately straightens, wringing those stupid fingers of her together. There is so much white on her nails, it's blinding.
• “November Wilson,” she tells me.
• I stop, surprised. “Is this a joke? Your parents couldn't decide what to name you so they named you your birth month?”
• Her smile is biting. “Funny, sir. But no, I wasn't born in November. I just have the name. I prefer to be called Nova.”
• “Hmm,” I hum, as I remember Reina mentioning something about a five year experience. “It's said on your file that you have a five year experience.”
• “Yes, sir.”
• I almost snort. She doesn't even look like a chef. Plus, no chef with that years of experience will be slicing up their fingers in the kitchen.
• I frown, narrowing my eyes at her. “You seem incompetent, freezing up in the kitchen while others are working.”
• Her eyes widen and she tries to speak again.
• “And your food is below par.”
• I reach for the button inserted into my table and press it. Reina rushes in. I don't look at November or whatever her name is as she takes the plate of food from the table to place it back on her cart.
• “Get everybody here,” I instruct Reina. She nods and leaves to do as I asked.
• “Sir, I–”
• I shoot her a glare and she keeps her mouth shut. She can't work at my restaurant, it's too demanding for a chef like her. But her food, I can't resist her food. It's not the best but it reminds me of home.
• What are you thinking Sean?
• I ask myself just as Reina return with the other chefs. I keep my words short, selecting my new employees first. There is a mixture of gloom and happiness across the room as Reina leads them out again.
• I wait for the door to close but it doesn't. Instead, someone comes back. When I look up, November is standing there, a determined look on her face.
• “I just gave my—”
• “Sorry to cut you off, sir,” she says, not looking sorry at all. “But you will listen to me.”
• I raise a brow at her arrogant tone.
• “I left my high paying job in Korea and flew here because I wanted a chance to expand and grow my wings under your supervision. You choosing to be mean to me is an inconvenience I can't accept.”
• There is a smile on her face, one that doesn't hide the fierceness in her eyes. She sighs and drops her hands at her sides. “Sir, I really need the job. I can't go back to Korea, there is nothing for me there. If I don't get a job, I eill end up on the streets. I understand that I screwed up in the kitchen but that happened because I was nervous. You kept watching me.”
• “I was watching everybody,” I snap at her.
• She sighs, her gaze lowered. “Please sir, give me a chance. I promise not to screw up.”
• She doesn't look at me as I remain quiet, watching her. She isn't fit to work at my restaurant, but maybe she is fit to work somewhere else. Her food…something about her cooking is exactly what I need. Not what my restaurant needs.
• I don't know if I'm making a mistake, but I say, “You aren't qualified enough to work here,” she looks deflated which makes me smile. “But maybe you're qualified to work somewhere else. It's dangerous, and chances are that your life will be targeted. You will be signing an NDA if you decide to work for me.”
• She nods, expectantly though suspicious. “What is the job sir?”
• I smile and lean back in my seat, looking her dead in the eyes. “My private chef. You say yes and you get to work as my private chef.”