Hot Potato

10. My New Empire

There was no reply from Duncan before Marcy and I had gone to bed. Nor was there any when I checked my phone as soon as I awoke. I did a hard refresh in case it hadn't loaded, but still nothing. Then I looked at the time – not yet seven. Hah! Of course not.

Marcy woke when I crawled back into bed from my trip to the bathroom, and as we cuddled, I asked her, "When do you need to be at the restaurant?"

"Not until eleven, so we can snuggle for a long while before I need to go home, shower and change."

"You could move some clothes over here again."

"Ummm. I'd like that, Gigi."

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Much later, after breakfast, when Marcy had left, I sat with another coffee at my computer. Still nothing on the opening menus, and it's almost ten. Likely too busy with more important stuff. Anyway, time to take some initiative.

Hi, Duncan;
When would be convenient to sign the contract?
GG

I hesitated only a few seconds before clicking Send. Seems my mind has finally accepted the reality of this – or my gut has bashed it into submission.

I had barely gotten back into the chapter on menu planning when my email pinged, and I scrambled to open it.

Hello, Gianna;
I'll be there in five minutes, so from then onward.
Duncan
      Sent from my iPhone

This is it, Gigi. Am I certain?

Yes, dammit. I clicked Reply, then typed and sent:

See you in fifteen.

Done! Committed.

I quickly undressed, and as I took a pair of skinny jeans from the drawer, I thought of Duncan and paused. Panties today, Gigi. Absorbent ones, just in case. With them and the jeans on, I added a clean fleece hoodie. Then I bagged my clogs, set them at the bottom of a backpack and folded a set of whites on top of them. Need to buy a chef's toque. Later. More important things, now. With my wallet and phone in the hoodie pouch, I slung the pack and headed out.

As I neared, I puzzled at the patio chairs and tables all stacked in a corner and chained. Then it dawned. Yes, of course. Still well before opening time. Inside, I was surprised to see a few people sitting at tables. Then in the corner, I saw Duncan and Devin or Kevin seated in the same place as yesterday. This time, I didn't hesitate.

Duncan looked up as I approached. Then he opened a leather portfolio, riffled through the tabbed papers, selected a bundle, and pulled it out. "Gallini. Here we are, the printed versions of what I had sent you." He pointed to the tables across the room. "Sit over there and read through them to ensure they're correct. A standard fill-in-the-blanks boilerplate with the additions all in bold, so they're easy to find. Then, when you're ready, come back here to sign, and Kevin will witness."

"Thank you." As I walked across the room, I ran Kevin through my mind several times. Remember, with a K, not a D like Duncan.

While I sat reading, a man arrived and went to the corner table, got his contract and took a seat. Then a short while later, a young woman did the same, and I admired Duncan's smooth hiring machine.

I finished reading, finding the printed version identical to the emailed attachment in my phone, yet I remained as if glued to the chair. What's the risk? No, think instead, what's the gain? The creative possibilities.

Do it, Gigi. I rose and walked across toward Duncan and Kevin – briskly, to give my mind less time to question. "Ready," I said as I approached.

"Great! Please, sit here."

As I sat and placed the contracts on the table, Duncan held out a pen and pointed. "Your initials in the boxes at the bottom of each page and your signature above your name at the end of each document."

After Duncan had added his initials and signature, Kevin filled in the witness details and signed as Duncan rose and extended his hand. "Welcome aboard, Gianna."

"Thank you. How should I begin?"

"We've decided to close for the next two days so we can sort out identity and goals and organise an opening menu." He pointed toward the people sitting at the tables. "There are still some new ones to sign, and the staff from all our branches have been told to gather here for an eleven o'clock meeting."

"Oh!" I pulled out my phone to check the time. "Another twenty-five minutes. May I go examine the kitchen? I had only a brief glimpse yesterday."

"Yes, certainly."

As I entered, I found the kitchen empty, the stoves and ovens all cold. Guess there's no sense baking the bread, creating the soup or starting the sauces if we're closed. I opened the door to the walk-in freezer, startled by its large size. Only a few shelves being used – business must be way down. So much wasted space. But why so big?

I read the label on one of the boxes, Chicken Nugget MSM 240 count. Oh, God! Moulded white slime chunks. The shelf above had boxes labelled, Breaded Pork Schnitzel (reconstituted) 120 count, and I nodded, recalling the menu. But why pink slime? Beside it was a box labelled Battered Fish (surimi) 90 count. I winced. What have I gotten myself into?

To not catch a chill without proper clothes, I stepped out and closed the door. Then in the first fridge, I saw boxes labelled, Wrap Ham/Cheese and Wrap Imitation Crab. I closed my eyes, shaking my head in disbelief. All pre-assembled. No wonder the horrid reviews.

Back outside, I examined the equipment. Dust. Except for the central counter, the area around one stove, the deep-frier and the microwaves, dust. Oh, dear, God!

In a back corner stood a small office with waist-high walls and windows above, so I crossed the kitchen to look, finding a desk, tidy but covered in dust. On the wall beside it hung a shelf of books – and dust. Everything covered in dust. From the appearance, likely not been used since the accident.

Beneath one end of the desk was a two-drawer file cabinet. Thinking the original menus might be in there, I pulled, finding it locked, so I tried the drawer below the desktop. Also locked.

I blew out a deep breath as I turned to examine my new empire, my mind screaming, Told you so.

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Points to consider in this chapter:

Does Gigi's relationship with Marcy appear strong?

Did you catch Gigi's continuing sexual attraction to Duncan?

Do you understand that MSM and Reconstituted are commercial euphemisms for the moulded slime from ground animal carcases after they have been trimmed of meat? Think Chicken McNuggets and the supermarket crusted schnitzels and patties.

What are your thoughts on her first detailed examination of the kitchen? 

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