Chapter 3 - The Sabotage at the Pass
By eleven o'clock that morning, the test kitchen had descended into a battlefield.
Evelyn sat at the high table, systematically dissecting six different courses. She caught a red-wine reduction that had been scorched at the bottom of the pot, an over-salted duck breast, and a dessert tart where the pastry chef had substituted salted butter for unsalted, ruining the balance of a dark chocolate ganache.
John stood beside her the entire time, scribbling notes, firing two line cooks who were caught hiding pre-packaged stocks, and stripping Moreau of his authority over the Grand Meridian event.
"You're taking over the pass for the gala tomorrow night," John told his corporate director of operations, a stern woman named Sarah Vance. "Moreau will follow Miss Collins's palatal corrections, or he will be terminated before the first appetizer hits the tables."
Moreau stood in the corner of the kitchen, staring at Evelyn with pure venom.
As John stepped out to take an urgent phone call from his board of directors, Evelyn walked over to the handwashing station. Her hands were trembling from adrenaline. She couldn't believe what was happening. In less than twelve hours, she had gone from sleeping on a bathroom floor to wielding veto power over a thirty-million-dollar event.
"You think you're clever, little girl?"
Evelyn turned around to find Moreau blocking her path. His eyes were bloodshot, his tall frame looming over her.
"I am a master of classical French cuisine," Moreau hissed, leaning in close. "I studied under Bocuse. You are a dirty little maid who got lucky because John Scott is having an existential crisis. You will fail tomorrow. I will make sure of it."
"I don't care about your ego, Chef," Evelyn said firmly, refusing to back down. "I care about good food. And right now, your food tastes like laziness and corner-cutting."
Moreau sneered, turning on his heel and walking back toward the walk-in cooler.
When John returned, he carried a heavy black leather portfolio. He motioned for Evelyn to follow him into his private glass office overlooking the kitchen floor.
"Sit," he said.
Evelyn sat down in the plush leather chair.
John opened the portfolio and slid a contract across the desk. "Effective immediately, your employment as a housekeeper at the Halston Grand is terminated."
Evelyn’s heart sank, despite everything that had just happened. "Mr. Scott—"
"You are being hired as the Quality Control Director for Scott Hospitality Group," John continued without missing a beat. "Base salary: one hundred and twenty thousand dollars a year, full health benefits, and an immediate ten-thousand-dollar signing bonus credited to your account today."
Evelyn froze. She stared at the numbers printed on the white paper. 120,000 USD.
"Is this a joke?" she stammered.
"I don't joke about money, Miss Collins," John said, leaning over his desk, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "You saved me from a catastrophic failure today. But tomorrow night is the real test. Three hundred guests. The mayor, five food critics from the Chicago Tribune and The New York Times, and my primary venture capital partners."
He slid a heavy gold pen toward her.
May you like
"Sign the contract, Evelyn. Help me pull off tomorrow night, and your life changes forever."
Evelyn looked at the pen. She thought of her brother Caleb working overtime shifts at the warehouse, her mother’s unpaid medical bills, her worn-out sneakers. She picked up the pen and signed her name.
