Trouble Finds Me

"Sweetie! Stop working!" Travis ran into the kitchen and recklessly tried to pull me from my station. "Seriously, hurry up and hide! Your father is here! He's already at the entrance!"

"Dad's here?" I paused my chopping, feeling a mix of surprise and apprehension.

"If he sees you, it's sure to cause a lot of drama!" Travis tried to pull me again, but I resisted, feeling a surge of defiance.

"No, I'm not hiding," I asserted, standing my ground. "I'm not going to let him dictate my life anymore."

I found no reason to stop what I was doing for him, and it wasn't like he would come in the kitchen. Besides, we had a lot of paying customers to handle still that weren't my dad.

As I continued my tasks, I couldn't shake the nagging curiosity about what he could possibly want. It's not like he came to see me; he probably heard about the restaurant from someone. We've been the talk of the town for a month and a half now, and I doubted my sister saw this much action in a day, so I'm really shocked Emily isn't here herself after her constant sabotage attempts kept failing.

"Why are you still chopping?" Travis's frantic demeanor was starting to wear on my nerves as he continued to pace around the kitchen. His panicked energy was contagious, but I refused to let it consume me.

"What did you do?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the rising tension.

"I sent a waitress to deal with him," Travis replied, his words rushed and breathless.

I couldn't help but shake my head at his overreaction. "What is there to be afraid of? Is he coming back here to make his own meal?" I questioned, hoping to inject some rationality into the situation.

"But now that we've interrupted a stream of income for him, what're you going to do? This is awful! I know, we'll close early and I'll tell him that everyone is going home early today!" Travis suggested, his voice tinged with desperation.

I reached out and gently pinched Travis's cheek, trying to bring him back to reality. "Stop coming up with crazy ideas on your own! My dad is here, and if we run, we show that we're scared of him. He has no power here!" I reassured him, my tone firm but comforting. "How am I supposed to do business with the doors closed?"

"He can't be here with pure motives! Are you going to let him see you alive?" Travis pressed, his tone tinged with urgency.

I paused, considering his words carefully. Despite my attempts to remain composed, a flicker of apprehension gnawed at the edges of my mind. My father was not known for his benevolence, and his sudden appearance undoubtedly heralded trouble.

"He's not some pristine leader of a country like he thinks. Should I go greet him myself? Ultimately, he's just another old sick man. Run business as usual. Nothing to be afraid of," I declared, my voice laced with determination.

But Travis wasn't convinced, his agitation bubbling to the surface. "At least monitor the situation so I can know you're taking this seriously! We've done too much shit to be this calm after the enemy walked in!" he snapped, his frustration evident in his tone.

The kitchen doors swung open with a bang, and a vision of fury stormed into the prep area. It was none other than Rose, our fiery blonde waitress, her usually cheerful demeanor replaced by a steely resolve and a flash of anger in her eyes.

"I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna break his nose, slap the smug grin off his face, and then kill him again." She ranted. I set my knife down and brushed my hands off. I walked around to where she was seething and grabbed hold of her arms facing her squarely.

"Listen, calm down," I urged, trying to steady her trembling form. She was radiating fury, I could feel the tension coursing through her body, and I knew I needed to diffuse the situation before it escalated further. "Rose, he's a pompous asshole who only knows how to look down on people. Once we find out his little "plan", I promise you can have the entire gratuity fee."

She nodded and dumped the wine out into the sink before grabbing two water glasses. She had that look on her face and I knew what she was thinking.

I would spit in the cup too and it makes me wonder how many people did that to me.

"Don't. We're better than that," I said firmly, my tone brooking no argument. She nodded reluctantly and filled up the glasses with tap water. As she walked past me, I leaned in close and whispered, "At least wait until it's not something transparent before you spit in it."

A mischievous grin flashed across her face before she headed back into the dining room, leaving me to ponder the potential fallout of my father's unexpected visit.

A few minutes later, she returned with my dad's plate in tow. "I swear if that fool tries to talk to me like I'm nothing anymore, I'm going to scream. And he better keep his eyes off my chest next time I lean over to put something on the table. Lollipop has a perfect view of him from the cameras and I won't even try to stop him from kicking that old man's ass!" she seethed, her frustration palpable in her voice.

"It's quite something, isn't it?" I chuckled, echoing the sentiment shared by everyone in the kitchen. We had all taken turns eavesdropping at the door of a private dining room, listening to my dad as he aired his entitled demands to anyone within earshot. His comments about the décor were particularly cringe-worthy, stirring up a wave of frustration, especially for Travis. As I paced back and forth, I found myself tempted to join Rose's fiery reaction to my father's antics. And if Mario happened to inch any closer to the fire detector, I suspected all the sprinklers would go off.

"Guess what he asked next," another waitress chimed in upon returning from her eavesdropping session. "Or rather, demanded to know."

"What was it?" Travis inquired.

"He wanted to know where the chef is from," she relayed.

"And what did you say?" Travis pressed for more details.

"I told him the owner is from out of town," the waitress responded. That should definitely shake things up. I wouldn't be surprised if my dad starts spinning wild theories about who the mysterious chef could be. He might even try to lure Mario away to salvage my sister's sinking ship of a restaurant.

Jessie approached the service area, her steps deliberate yet soft, as if she didn't want to draw too much attention. With a smile, she reached into her pocket and retrieved a medium-sized glass vial. I accepted it, feeling its weight between my thumb and index finger, and examined it closely.

I watched the fat brown insect inside the vial, its antennae flicking nervously as it attempted to crawl up the glass. A shiver ran down my spine at the mere thought of one of these creatures escaping into the kitchen and infesting my restaurant.

Was this Emily's next scheme? I pocketed the creepy critter, then donned my mask and sunglasses before making my way upstairs to eavesdrop on my father's conversation in the private dining room.

"Sir, Emily just called from her hotel in South Korea. She's almost done recovering from the plastic surgery and she says not to worry," a voice explained.

"She's putting way too much importance into her appearance. Even with a scar on her face, she can still find a good husband. I just don't want her to embarrass the family again," I heard my dad sigh. His frustration was evident in his tone. "Ugh, how can I bring her a good man when she's about to look half dead."

"Are you really planning on leaving everything to her?" the other voice inquired, incredulous.

"Leaving everything to her? She ran away from a massive debt and let my wife and I pay back everyone who tried to sue her after she lost her platform. We even bailed her out of prison, and how am I repaid? She runs off to Korea to fix her face with needles instead of cleaning up her own mess! If she loses out on the restaurant too, then I have an excuse to let go of her for good," my dad's voice dripped with frustration and disappointment.

"And if she manages to turn things around?" the other voice inquired cautiously.

"Then it'll be a win-win situation. She'll get her honor back and be eligible for marriage again, and I'll be able to accept her as my daughter again. Hopefully my grandchildren will show more promise," he replied, a hint of hope underlying his words.

I saw an annoyed Rose walk up with a large tray of assorted dishes. She stopped when she saw me, but I motioned for her to just bring the food into the room like normal. After she stepped out, I heard my dad immediately gasp in surprise.

"Sir?" the voice queried.

"It's exactly the same as my wife's," Dad exclaimed. I strained to imagine the expression on his face as silence permeated the room, only to be shattered by his sudden coughing fit. "My Helen, this is all her cooking. Only she can make a flavor like this! I remember it!"

Through the commotion, Rose returned with an extra side dish and rushed into the chaotic scene.

"Sir, do you need an ambulance?" Rose asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Let me ask you again... girl, who is the chef here?" My dad demanded from Rose.

"The chef can't help you, sir. You might need an ambulance," Rose insisted, her tone firm.

I heard a thud on the table. "Give this money to your boss and tell him to come out so I can ask him something, NOW!"

"This isn't a brothel that you can just throw money around, treat the staff like crap, and demand things," Rose retorted, her voice tinged with indignation.

"You better watch it!" My dad snapped, his tone turning threatening. "Do you know who I am?"

"Who cares who you are?! You think you can just walk in and see whoever as long as you throw money around? My boss is a very busy man!" Rose defended passionately, her voice laced with defiance.

I chose that moment to step into the room, my dad's gaze shifted to me, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He seemed to pause for a moment, as if trying to place me. I remained calm, my mask and sunglasses shielding my identity, but my heart raced with anticipation. I could sense my father's frustration and confusion as he tried to make sense of the situation. I've been photographed walking around the restaurant like this so many times before that my dad would know that I work here too automatically without recognizing who I am.

But would he be able to tell it's me?