CHAPTER 81

MELANIE.

“SO, MARTIN, YOUR REPUTATION PRECEDES YOU”, I SAID.

Martin Price, one of the chefs on my shortlist for the factory's canteen, shifted to a more comfortable position in his seat and smiled bashfully.

“That’s a great compliment, ma'am”, he replied. He looked almost exactly like he had in his photo; caramel skin, black tightly curled hair and light brown eyes. His physique was good too, standing at 6 feet with a body that told stories of hours in the gym. He didn't look like a pushover, and his recommendations were excellent. All that remained to examine was his personality.

“Miss Hayes is fine please, otherwise nothing at all. And it's not just a compliment. It says here that you've been on Food Network and won multiple times, and you're well on your way to becoming a sous chef. I wonder why you came at all when it seems like you have everything figured out”.

I opened the floor for him to make his pitch, internally patting myself on the back for how smoothly I'd done so. All those hours on Google and YouTube searching on how to conduct an interview weren't wasted. Credit to Martin too, for recognising the cue.

He shifted again, an earnest look on his face.

“I know on paper my life looks amazing, but lately I've felt something missing. I felt like I was losing my passion, my drive and purpose. I couldn't get in touch with the reason I started to cook in the first place. I was in a really dark place. But when I saw the ad, I immediately recognized it for what it was: an opportunity to get back in touch with my roots. It wasn't a fancy job in a celebrity kitchen, or a competition with the whole world watching where I stood a chance to win a lot money. It's simple and uncomplicated. It's exactly what I need.”

I felt the urge to cry, but remembered the YouTube video that talked about not showing any telling emotions, so I blinked the tears back. That was beautiful. It might not be genuine, it might have been rehearsed, but he had delivered it so well I was tempted to just give him the job on the spot.

Besides, I've studied people for long enough to know their behavioral patterns, and lying he was not. I nodded solemnly. “That’s a commendable purpose, Mr. Price. I know firsthand what it means to not know why you do what you do” and that was the gospel truth.

“Why don't you tell me more about yourself?”, I prompted with another polite smile. I listened as he talked about his childhood and growing up in Connecticut, his racist encounters, how he started cooking, and so on. At the end of the interview I thanked him for coming in and gave him the usual line about getting back to him. After a five-minute break in which I put a big check mark next to Martin Price's name, rearranged the files and composed myself, I called in the next candidate.

The interviews went on all through the morning and a little into the afternoon. I doubt the office of the CEO's assistant had seen this much traffic since the building was constructed. As soon as the last candidate for the day stepped into the elevator I stood up and stretched, hearing my muscles creak and protest the hours of sitting I'd done. I got myself a cup of coffee, gathered all the files, and let myself into Jordan's office.

He was seated on his desk chair but faced the spread of windows that were normally behind him. I couldn't really see what he was doing, but my first guess was...nothing.

Odd. He was always doing something or other whenever I saw him. Now he just sat there staring off into space. I set down the files and coffee gently then went to stand beside him, saying nothing.

“Any word from him?”, Jordan spoke and I realized the reason for his inactivity.

“No”. I replied quietly, feeling a weight settle on my chest. It's been four days since Blaine left, and though he'd promised to let me know where he was, I hadn't heard from him since. I missed him terribly and while Jordan may act like he didn't care, I knew he missed his best friend too.

After a few minutes of shared silence, he cleared his throat and swiveled his chair back to the desk. I guess the vulnerable moment was over. I took a seat on the chair opposite his and pushed the files across. He took them and went through them while I sat back and drank my coffee. Minutes later he put them down.

“Exceptional work so far. I'd expected you to struggle a bit more since you've never handled anything like this before, but I guess I was wrong”, he said.

I took the compliment, ignoring the part of my brain that tried to remind me of the sleepless nights, countless headaches and time spent in the gym taking out my frustrations on the punching bag.

“Who are your strongest candidates so far?”, Jordan asked and I pointed them out. He went through their credentials and nodded.

“Cancel the other interviews and hire these. We don't need to look any further. I'll send you the list of candidates for the position of manager that HR compiled. Pick four and interview them, then appoint two as manager and assistant. There's no more time to waste, production has been stalled long enough”, he ordered. I nodded in agreement and gathered my files again.

I was about to step out when he called my name. I turned…“Not bad for a con artist”, he said and I smiled.

I went back to my desk and sat down just as the list Jordan had talked about came through. The man moved fast. I was reviewing it when the elevator pinged. My eyebrow rose as there were no visitors scheduled for the time frame and I prepared myself to turn whoever it was back. My second eyebrow rose to join the first when three people came out of the elevator.

Two of them I recognized as security from their uniforms and they were restraining the third, who looked to be a teenage girl with a mane of wild dark hair. Despite there being two of them, they seemed to have trouble holding on to the girl and as she fought and kicked, I could see why.

“Sorry, miss. She caught us off guard”, one of them gasped.

I narrowed my eyes. “Wait. Aren't you the same ones who caught that crazy guy months ago? The one who was ranting about killing Jordan?”, I questioned and they nodded sheepishly.

“I should give you both a query, because it seems like you've forgotten how to do your jobs. What's the point of security when the people you're meant to keep out get in here anyway?”, I scolded and they tried to look abashed but the girl was still bucking against them.

I sighed and took out my purse, remembering Jordan's rule about children in his office. “Sorry, sweetheart. I'll buy your cookies or chocolates or listen to your petition, but this is as far as you can go”, I said to the girl. She glared up at me in defiant, jarringly familiar green eyes and opened her mouth. “I’m not selling any fucking cookies. I demand to see my brother. Now.”