Chef

by Throsby, Lynda

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Reviews

  Also by Lynda Throsby

  Catfish

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  The Best Day of My Life

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  More about Lynda

  Acknowledgements

  Chef

  Copyright© Lynda Throsby Publishing 2019 All Rights Reserved

  Editing by Claire Allmendinger of BNWEditing

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you do, you are STEALING.

  I only distribute my work through Amazon and Ingram Spark. If you have received this book from anywhere else, it is a pirate copy, it is illegal, and you’ve really spoiled my day.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Lynda Throsby has asserted their rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The characters and names are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously

  All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and author except for the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without permission of the publisher and author nor be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph by Peter Throsby & Stuart Reardon

  Featuring Stuart Reardon

  Cover design by Sybil Wilson / Pop Kitty Designs

  Formatted by Cassy Roop @ PinkInk Designs

  ISBN: 978-1-9993150-3-0

  Lynda Throsby Publishing

  E-Mail ljtpublishing@gmail.com

  This one is for my Mum and Dad.

  Love you to bits.

  Thank you for always supporting and believing in me.

  Macen

  I’M SITTING, LOOKING at the cell in my hand. I can’t believe the call I just received from NYCS —the New York Culinary School — regarding a job opportunity. It’s always been my dream to work in one of the top restaurants in New York City, and I think from the conversation I just had, my aspiration could be about to become a reality. However, first, I have to go tomorrow and meet Caspian Kade for an informal interview. I did four weeks of work experience at Casper’s, his Michelin star restaurant, during the first year of my course.

  He won’t remember me, of that I’m sure, he hardly said a word to me when I was there, and, in my opinion, he was right up his own ass. Very cocky and arrogant when he did speak to me, which like I say, wasn’t much — I got the feeling he didn’t like me much. The fact that he looked like a God, with his brooding dark looks, made it even harder for me, and I used to blush every time he said something or even looked at me. I only really had to deal with the sous chef, Francois Hutterall. He was such a nice guy. I wonder if he still works there?

  But, this could be it finally: my chance. My first step.

  I’ve wanted to be a chef for so long. I’d bake with Grandma all the time. She made the best cookies, muffins, and cakes. I learned a lot from her. Then I used to help Mama cook meals. She was sick and needed help, and she wanted me to be independent and to be able to cook and clean.

  IT WAS JUST the two of us at home — my poppa left when I was a few months old, and I was only eight when she started to teach me. I loved it because we did it together. She would show me how to do a roast dinner, pot roasts, casserole dishes, mac & cheese, meatloaf, and all kinds of pasta. By the time I was eleven, I could cook almost anything, bake the best brownies and muffins, and do the laundry and clean the house.

  My Mama got really sick.

  She couldn't breathe properly, but she still insisted on smoking. She smoked a lot. My clothes always smelt of nicotine. She got so bad that she was coughing up blood. She never told me what was wrong with her. I loved my Mama, and I got sadder, the sicker she got. My grandma spent a lot of time at our house when Mama was in bed for a few days. She was so out of breath some days she couldn't even get up. She ended up having oxygen to help her breath. When I was twelve, she died. I found out from Grandma she had Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, COPD: a disease of the lungs. I was there when she took her last breath, and she whispered to me to look after myself, be good, and go to school to learn, but most of all, to do what I wanted to do in my life, and always be happy. She stroked my cheek and told me she loved me. Then she died as I sat crying, telling her I loved her so much. It broke my heart, and it’s something I will never forget.

  Grandma moved out of her small one-bedroom apartment into my house to look after me. She was all the family I had left.

  I never knew my poppa, although he sent Mama money every month. Mama told me they were never in love, not really. They were young and fooled around, and she got pregnant with me, and his parents made him stop seeing my Mama. He didn’t fight them. I think they were rich, important people, but she never told me who he was. With Mama gone, I could find out, but I didn’t want to. Not yet anyway.

  I’d missed a lot of school because I cared for Mama a lot towards the end, so Grandma made sure I started to go regularly. I promised Mama I would go and behave and get a good job.

  I started to have extra lessons. I found I was a quick learner and it didn't take me long to catch up and become top of my class. I excelled in academic studies, and as I got to fourteen, I enrolled in cooking school to be a chef. I excelled there too, always finishing top of my class.

  My grandma was so proud of me, and she said Mama would have been too. At sixteen, I had the opportunity to go to culinary school, but it was in New York City. That meant leaving Grandma alone because we lived in Atlanta, in a small town called Senoia, so moving to NYC was going to be a drastic change. Grandma was worried because I was so young, and NYC was a huge and overpopulated place. I didn’t want to leave Grandma, but she told me it was the best thing for me to do if I wanted to follow the career path I was taking. The school secured me a bedroom in a shared house with other students. At sixteen, I would be the youngest student in the school.

  I CAN’T WAIT to phone Grandma and tell her about my interview. She’s going to be so pleased for me.


  Caspian

  I’M THE OWNER and head chef at the world-famous Michelin star restaurant, Casper’s in New York City, and I’m in the process of opening one in LA, with London and Paris to follow. I’m twenty-nine, and one of the youngest Michelin star chefs in the world with 3 stars — the highest awarded by Michelin, and I’m proud of it.

  My New York restaurant is running like clockwork, and we are booked solid every night for the next six months. I have an amazing team behind me, but my current commis chef is leaving us soon. He’s just got a new job as the station chef at a new restaurant opening in Washington. That’s the next step up his career ladder, but it leaves me up shit creek.

  I could do without this right now. I have too much other shit going on. The LA restaurant is opening in four months, so I need to find a new reliable commis chef. I usually get my staff from recommendations or the New York Culinary School. That school is the best in the US. It's where I trained and was one of the youngest to get full honors on my course. One good thing about the school is they not only teach you everything from knife skills and food prep to nutritional information, but they put you into top restaurants to learn skills from real life chefs. That's what we do here. Each year, I take on two students for four weeks, and I teach them what I can in that time about the kitchen. I make them start right at the bottom, as dishwashers and gofers, progressing upwards to letting them be sous chef and station managers for a day.

  I remembered a few years back that I had a girl in for the four weeks of training. She was amazing. She reminded me of myself. She was enthusiastic and eager to learn anything. I was told she was the best the school had ever had, which put my nose out a bit. She was only four years younger than me, and she was stunning, I mean stiffy-causing stunning. She used to blush when I spoke to her, which did all kinds of things to me, including making me rock hard.

  I had to let Francois take control during those weeks and teach her most of the goings-on in the kitchen because I found it difficult being around her too long. I wanted to teach her more than what went on in the kitchen if you know what I mean. But I always keep it professional where the kitchen is concerned only she stuck in my mind, as she was so talented. I contacted the school to see if they could get in touch with her and ask her to come in to see me. It was a long shot as I was sure she would have been snapped up by now being that good.

  The NYCS knew exactly who I was talking about, and they contacted her and arranged for her to come and see me tomorrow for an informal interview. I already knew she was good at what she did, and Mrs. Webster from NYCS confirmed it, so the interview is just a formality. I have no doubts that I will hire her if she’s available. I only want the best.

  Mrs. Webster has just phoned me back to let me know that Ms. Macen Donald would be here to see me at 10.00 a.m. She told me I had the best student that she had ever seen and that included me. Well, that's saying something and being as competitive as I am, it had my hackles up a bit. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

  There are two things going against her before she even steps foot in the door. One: she is beautiful, and I can’t imagine she has changed too much in the last couple of years, at least I hope not, and number two: she’s being described as better than me. However, I desperately need a great commis chef.

  I'm supposed to be on a close tonight, but now I want to finish early and get ready for tomorrow and by that, I mean I need to call one of the many women that I have on speed dial for a quick fuck. I have a few that are no-nonsense, no frills — just sex — that I can count on. I'm sure some hang around hoping I will have a relationship with them, but that's not me. My business comes first. I don't do the whole relationship bullshit — why would I? I can have almost anyone I choose. Yes, I'm that arrogant, but I know who I am, and in the culinary world, I’m at the top: a God, a star, an A-lister.

  Last year, I had my own slot on Good Morning America. Every Monday and Thursday I demonstrated a different meal, and it made me even more popular and now, my restaurant is booked six months in advance. I'm in talks at the moment to have my own TV show, which will air sometime early next year when my LA, London, and Paris restaurants are up and running smoothly. But first I need to get me a new commis chef to make sure Casper's runs like the well-oiled machine it is today. I will not have any glitches or chinks in my armor. We will remain the top restaurant in New York City, of that I have no doubts.

  Macen

  I GET DIXON, my five-year-old, to bed as soon as I can, then I can concentrate on getting his things ready for the sitter tomorrow before I get my stuff sorted. I will not be late for my interview. I'm smelly from working at the diner, so I take a long soak in the bath.

  Since finishing NYCS three months ago, I took a waitressing position, working five hours a day while Dixon's was at Kindergarten.

  Tomorrow, I will need Becky to take him for me, so that I can get ready and get to my informal interview on time. I phoned the diner to let them know I wouldn’t be in work, which they weren’t pleased about, but this is far more important. This is the opportunity I’ve been holding out for since finishing NYCS. I could have taken jobs in restaurants, just not the ones I wanted to work in.

  I know working in a top restaurant will be long hours, and I will need someone to help look after Dixon with me, which will then take most of my earnings, but it will be worth it to get my foot on the career ladder. I want to own my own restaurant someday, just like Mr. Kade. I really look up to him and admire what he's achieved at such a young age. I know he didn't have a five-year-old to bring up, but I will make this work, no matter what it takes, as long as Dixon is not suffering or missing out in any way because he is, and will always be, my priority.

  Do I tell Mr. Kade I have a son, or should I wait to see if I get the job first? I’m worried if I tell him, he might think that I won't put 110% into my work, but he would be wrong. I can still bring Dixon up and be committed to my job. I will just have to prove it.

  All I can do if I get the job is to try and juggle my work life with my home life and see how it goes. If I think it's affecting Dixon too much, then I will have to reassess.

  I'm thinking of asking Grandma to come out and stay with us for a while if I get the job, just while I find my feet. I'm sure she would love to come and help out. I know she misses us both like crazy. We talk to her every night and Dixon keeps asking when she's coming to see us. If Grandma agrees, that helps me financially as well.

  I phone Grandma to sound her out and tell her about the interview, and she’s really excited for me. “Oh, Macen, love, this could be the break you need, the opportunities are endless if you get this job. I’m so proud of you.”

  I laugh at her. “Grandma, I haven’t gotten the job yet. It’s just an interview.”

  “I have no doubt you will get the job, love. No doubt at all.”

  I take a deep breath. “Grandma, if I do get the job, do you think you could come to New York and stay with us for a little while? Just until I get myself into a routine and make sure Dixon isn't affected by the job.” I hold my breath.

  “Macen, of course I will, you have no worries there. I miss you both so much, and I miss out on so much of Dixon's growing up. How is my little boy?”

  I tell her he got star pupil of the day today and has made another new friend at Kindergarten, but he misses her. We finish talking, and it makes me happy to hear her voice but sad when we say goodbye. She said she would come for a month or two and then decide what to do after that. She's a country girl, not a city girl, which is one of the reasons she didn't come to New York with us in the first place. I love Grandma, and she has helped me so much since Mama died. If it weren't for her, I dread to think where I would be in my life right now. She has supported me right from the get-go, and when I moved back and had Dixon, she was there for me. She was in my corner throughout the ordeal I endured.

  MOVING INTO the shared house at sixteen was daunting for me. All the other students were older, all eighteen plus, and
they all got on well and hung out together. I was kind of a loner. I talked when one of them talked to me, but I never struck up a conversation. I mostly kept myself to myself. If I wasn't in my room studying or making up new recipes, I was in one of the kitchens cooking and trying things out. Most of the time, I let one of the other housemates eat my offerings, which was good because I got opinions on my cooking from them.

  The house was big, with six bedrooms, a communal room with a TV, and three kitchens, because it was owned by the NYCS for the purpose of helping us cook at home as well as in the classrooms. There were four males and two females, including me: Mark, Julian, Sefton, Toby, and Lesley. Lesley was a flirt, and I'm sure she had slept with all four of the boys. I could walk past the communal room, and she would be with a different one each time.

  My room was right at the top of the house towards the back. It was quite secluded from the rest of the house. There were four floors in all, with two kitchens on the ground floor next to the communal room, one kitchen on the first floor with two bedrooms, three bedrooms on the second floor and then the one at the top of the house on the 3rd floor, which was mine. It was a converted attic, but I didn’t mind, as I got my own bathroom. I think the school put me up there because I was so young.

  My housemates hosted a lot of parties, but I didn't bother going to most of them. I just stayed in my room. The first year was the worst. So many couples would wander up to my room expecting it to be empty so they could have sex. I asked the school to replace the broken lock on my door, but it was taking forever. I ended up making a paper notice and sticking it on the door whenever they had a party, saying: room occupied.

  As the course progressed, I became more confident with the others in the house. We were all doing the same course, which helped, and the second year wasn't too bad. Most of the partygoers knew my room was out of bounds, and I did wander down to one or two of the parties. It was full of students, mostly making out, loud music and consequently, loud voices trying to be heard over the music, lots of raucous boys and very flirty girls. A few times, I walked in on couples having sex. That was an eye-opener for me, as I had never even been kissed. Sefton and Mark used to tease me for getting embarrassed and blushing.