Page 11 of Sizzle
It doesn’t help I tried looking up Joelle Munroe, but aside from that one headshot on her blog, there aren’t any photos of her at all. No social media accounts, except for the blog. No contact info, except that page on her blog. The only reason I found her home phone number was because Alex had the bright idea to check the phone book. The actual, physical paper one.
Who does that?
She’s standing just outside the front door, a long sweater wrapped around her against the autumn chill. A slouchy green hat obscures most of her hair but a few dark curls fall across her shoulders.
I realize she’s saying something at me through the glass and move to let her in.
Smooth as hell, that’s me. God, she’s pretty.
“Ms. Munroe?” I say, holding open the door for her.
“That’s me,” she says with a tentative smile. “Are you Elliot James?”
I nod and she brushes past me to get through the door. I catch a whiff of vanilla and my gut tightens. Of course she’d smell like dessert.
“This way,” I say, pointing to a booth in the bar. “Unless you’d like a tour first?” I hadn’t actually planned on offering, but what the hell?
I’m nervous. Who gets nervous before they interview a potential employee? I sure as hell don’t. Then again, there’s more at stake here than just a new hire.
That thought brings me up short.
“I would, actually,” says Ms. Munroe. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to see the kitchen.”
Just as well. It’ll give me a minute to get my shit together because, seriously, I don’t date employees. It’s been a rule from day one. Back at in my old tech firm, I had my share of office flings and not a single one of them ended well. Going into business myself, I knew I couldn’t take the chance professionally. And personally, it was a bad bet anyway. I work too damn much to be much of a boyfriend to anybody. These days it’s all I can do to take care of myself and look after Alex too, much less maintain a girlfriend.
“Back this way,” I say, changing course and leading her through the swinging kitchen doors. I point out the servers’ alley, drink station, front line, prep area. All the normal, boring restaurant stuff. When I reach the tiny office near the back door, I stop. It’s a little quieter back here so I can actually hear her response when I ask if she has any questions.
When I turn to look, though, she hasn’t spoken but her eyes are huge.
“What’s that for?”
“Hmm?” she says. She blinks a couple of times. “I’m sorry, what?”
“That look on your face. Have you never been in a restaurant kitchen before?”
“I haven’t, actually,” she says, looking away. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Okay,” I say. I mean, it’s not a deal-breaker. Yet. Except how the hell is somebody going to save my restaurant if she’s never even set foot in a real kitchen before?
Goddamn Alex. This is his fault. His idea equals his fault.
Already racking my brains on how to cut this interview short, I head back to the booth in the bar where I’d set the list of questions I’d planned to ask her.
Once we’re sitting in the booth, the scent of vanilla consumes me and I almost forget about her reaction in the kitchen. She’s digging in her bag, setting out a notebook and pencil.
“Look, Ms. Munroe,” I say, preparing to thank her for coming all this way for nothing. She holds up a finger to stop me. She pulls out a folder and sets it on the table between us.
“What’s this?” I ask, more out of politeness than curiosity. At this point, we’re wasting each other’s time.
Then again, if she’s not going to be working for me, maybe I can…
No. Declining to hire her isn’t exactly starting off on the right foot, so just shut that thought down now. ‘Sorry, I can’t hire you after all. Want to have dinner with me sometime?’ I’ve got moves, but even I can’t pull that one off.
Joelle taps the folder on the table.
“This is a list of potential items that might work for a healthier version of your current menu,” she says. “Is your online menu up to date?”
I nod, flipping open the folder to read.