CHAPTER 1 — RUNNING LATE

The alarm bell went off, and a hand covered in scars and band aids reached out to turn it off. A groan came from underneath the white flowery sheets, and the giant body under them moved, adjusting its position before evening out and falling back to deep sleep.

"Where is he? Does he really want to pull his stupid pranks on such an important day?"

A tall man with specks of gray in his light brown hair, a slim face graced with a roman nose, and dark beady eyes clenched his fist, hitting the kitchen worktable. Everyone watching him flinched, knowing it would hurt, but it was obvious his anger was worse than the pain.

"Call him again."

Seth, the kitchen's chief assistant, shakily took out his phone from his apron pocket, tapped a few times and waited a bit, then the sound of ringing filled the room. Everyone's breath hitched, waiting in anticipation as the phone kept ringing. Adrian, the grey-haired man had his hands tight on his waist. His knuckles were white, but his hands looked really red. He was biting his lip as the phone rang.

"What the...Hello?"

The groggy voice on the other end cut through Adrian's string of curses. Realizing that he had picked up, Adrian grabbed the phone from Seth who was just about to get it to his ear and firmly placed it on his own ear, breathing hard and closing his eyes.

"Where the hell are you?" he asked, his voice low, but threatening to burst.

"At home. Why are you calling so early? What's up, oldie?"

Adrian pinched his nose. "You sick bastard. It’s past ten and the guests have been waiting two hours. You incompetent..." The phone suddenly beeped as the call was ended and a pissed Adrian flung the phone, hitting an array of shiny silver kitchen spoons on the far end, shattering the phone. Seth gasped and Adrian gave him a look.

"You will get a new one from him," he said and walked out.

What? Ten? No way. Dale had set multiple alarms on the gold vintage alarm clock that sat on his bedside, and on his phone. He donned a hoodie and joggers and ran out, grabbing his car keys and barely closing the door. Today was everything for his restaurant. A high-class chef like him was never late. He raked his hand through his hair, the traffic was thick, and he was stuck. He tapped on the little screen on the car and the phone started ringing.

"Sir…" The nervous sounding voice on the other end started to say.

"Start the menu without me. Stir fry filleted fish on low heat. No chilis. No hot sauce. Marinate the fish well enough. Have the taste be clear. I'll be there in fifteen. Don’t give them too much wine. Just enough," he said, and without letting the other person say a word, he hung up. He trusted his employees, and he knew they could do a good job. Just that...the main course was his own. His recipe. His secret. And it was what had made his restaurant famous. No one else served it. No one else made it. He punched the gas pedal hard. How did this happen?

Adrian walked in again, his lips drawn in a stiff line, and his hair scattered. "They are gone," he said, shrugging. Seth gasped and reclined against the giant freezer with his left hand supporting him. The three girls, Maria, Susan, and Riley swallowed and exchanged glances. The other staff stared uncomfortably.

Dale pumped himself up, getting ready to leave his car in the traffic jam, not caring that the cars behind him would not be able to move, and his expensive Ferrari would probably be towed. He would only be able to afford another one if he ran with all his might to save his restaurant. And he had to do it now. Stretching a bit on the sidewalk, he started to run, the hood of his hoodie fell off and bounced on his back as he ran with careless abandon.

Adrian was sitting cross legged, pouting, while the rest stood around the massive black and gold themed kitchen when the doors burst open, and Dale came in. All eyes turned to him, mostly with sympathy or just sadness.

Dale was tall, and his jet-black hair was soft and curly like a baby. His lips were bright red, and his jawline was prominent. His face was bathed in sweat and his hair was dripping. 

He had started his own street side restaurant at the age of 17, holding onto the memories of his mother's food. When she died, Dale was left with a drunk father and a 3-year-old brother whom he knew he had to take care of. He carried carts of food around, and soon enough had regular customers. In five years, he had started his restaurant, Grandeur, and by the time he was twenty-five, it was a world class, highly patronized restaurant with its own independent menu, employees, and everything. Featured on magazines and TV shows, his face was easily recognized. The previous night had been his 25th birthday, and they had drinks with his brother, his brother's girlfriend, and Adrian, who had been his mother's first love. Adrian had always stuck by her and her kids, who he loved like his own even after she died.

Dale was never good with alcohol, and it had made him pass out, making him forget that it was the assessment test the next day. He had looked forward to it, and always joked that he would celebrate his birthday in arrears because he knew by the end of the assessment test, he would have two things to be grateful for. But now, watching his employees' sad expressions, he doubted it. He also doubted that he would want to be sober by the end of the day. He calmly let go of the door handles and walked in, scanning their faces one by one, before settling on Adrian.

"I gave instructions. Where are the already prepared side dishes? The appetizer? The dessert? If you have done all of those, I will make the main course now," he said, his hand reaching for his shiny black apron with Dale inscribed on it in gold. Adrian stood.

"No need for that, Dale."

His outstretched hand froze in place as he turned to him.

"What do you mean by that?"

Adrian bit his lower lip and sighed, his anger mostly diminished and sadness in its place.

"They left. We failed, Dale."