Chapter Text
The heat was suffocating.
A familiar, sticky sweat dampened Vi’s skin, buried underneath the thick white cotton of the standard uniform she’d come to both love and, tragically, hate over the years.
The clamor of the kitchen around her was also too much - voices barking at one another, the clanging of metal, the omnipresent drone of the ventilation above - all of it had been so easily ignored for most of her career, but tonight… Tonight, it was grating. It no longer melded smoothly into the background that composed her life, but instead stood out like an off-key melody, the sounds that dared to call itself music coming from a turntable she had no access to, no way to flip over to B side.
At least the dinner rush was approaching. She could feel it, looming and inevitable, like a storm in the distance. This was what she enjoyed.
She fucking loved cooking.
Vi checked her steaks. One was to be medium-rare and the other medium, both with the same black garlic butter served on top and served with the same sides. She pressed them gently over the pan, flames licking the metal underneath. She touched them with her fingertips and… yes, perfect. Medium-rare was done. She hastily brought it over to the cutting board resting on the counter behind her before flipping around to dump the right amount of gnocchi into the basket, dunking it once, twice, in the boiling water before letting it sit to cook. The greens were next. Vi grabbed the handle of the pan that sat in the back and flicked her wrist, tossing the broccolini over the fire to ensure each piece would cook evenly. She cracked some black pepper onto them, adding another small pinch of salt. She turned to the remaining steak and checked it; the medium was done.
“Time on steak?” Silco asked, terse.
“Done now, chef.” Vi swiveled on her heel, setting the steak down on the same cutting board next to the medium rare. “Slicing.” Vi grabbed her knife, slicing quickly against the grain on the medium rare before putting the meat on the empty plate waiting for her. She dolloped on the butter. Then she sliced the other steak, setting that on the other empty plate. More butter.
Vi spun back around for the greens and gnocchi. Gnocchi was cooked – she lifted the basket to let the water drain from the steaming pillows of potato pasta before dumping the lot into one of the pans she had sauce roiling in, flipping the pan to coat each gnocchi with sauce. She grabbed her other pan and flicked that one too. It took only a quick visual check to know the broccolini was ready.
“Behind,” Loris said just behind her, and Vi didn’t even process the word, her brain automatically captured the meaning without requiring any extra discernment to figure out how she should orient her body. She waited until she felt him brush by her again before she turned around with the hot pan, using a spatula to plate the greens next to the steak.
That pan discarded, she grabbed the other, plating the gnocchi.
“Time on onions?” Silco asked, adorning the steak and greens with a final sprinkle of coarse salt, and topping the pasta with parsley.
Vi glanced behind her at the small pan in the back. “Soon.”
“Vi,” Silco warned, and even Vi could hear the snarl on his lips from his tone alone, even with all the other clanging sounds and voices reverberating in the intense, LED-lit kitchen. “Now.”
She briefly moved to her other dishes that were next up, dumping more pasta in baskets to be lowered and adding another steak to the hot, oiled pan, resetting her mental timer.
Vi gave her attention now to the onions. She flipped them in the pan. Perfectly caramelized.
She grabbed the pan and added a serving of onions to the plates of steaming steak and pasta and greens. “These are finished,” she said, and she briefly met Silco’s disapproving look before he handed the plates off to be delivered to the front of house and went off to yell at some other station for somehow fucking something up.
Vi felt the tension coil in her shoulders where it lingered for the duration of her shift.
“C’mon Vi. You know how he is by now. He wants everythin’ quick and dirty. Efficient. Whereas you want everythin’…” Loris was careful with his words, trying to find the best one. “Perfect.”
Vi leaned back against the brick, allowing her head to fall onto it as she crossed her arms. It was a warm, smelly night out in the alley behind the kitchen next to the dumpsters, but it was better than being in that stifling place.
“No. That’s not it. He wants everything done his way.” Vi sighed, rubbing her eyes, as if she could rid herself of the tiredness that accompanied them. “I’m not serving undercooked onions. And I’m not underfilling the plates. He should know that about me by now, but I guess he just doesn’t give a fuck. I swear he’s gotten so much more anal with the new summer menu, it’s insane.”
“He is getting a bit worse,” Loris agreed, resting his own head against the brick behind him.
“At this point he probably sleeps in the walk-in every night so he can count the brussel sprouts just to tell us we’re plating too many and need to cut back to save money.”
Loris chuckled. He took a long drag of his cigarette. “I dunno, Vi. You ever think about how you care too much? This is just a job, after all. You get paid the same either way.”
Vi snorted. She considered going for a cheap answer in agreement with him. Tell me about it. But the more she thought about it the more the crinkle in her brow softened. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with caring.”
Loris assessed her silently. “Hey. Why don’t we go get a proper beer, eh? Just what you need after a shit shift like tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Vi glanced at her phone. “It’s already nearly midnight.”
“Aye, but yer off tomorrow.”
“But you’re not,” Vi countered.
“You think I can’t handle a beer? C’mon.” Loris swung his beefy arm over Vi’s shoulders to steer them in the opposite direction of the restaurant, leading out from the alley and back towards the main street in search for a draught that could help ease the strain that plagued her traps for the last six hours.
Over their beer Vi could only focus on what Loris had said.
Maybe she did care too much.
It was a week later when Vi realized the trajectory of her career was finally veering into uncharted territory.
It started as an average night. She burst through the front door of her apartment, tearing off her shoes that were adorned with a fresh layer of mushed up vegetables caked into the soles, hanging her keys on the rack next to the door, and battled drowsiness as she stumbled her way to the bathroom.
Vi stripped off her clothes and threw them in the general direction of her hamper before hopping in the shower. The water was a welcome sensation; she stood under the showerhead for a while, drinking in the wetness and warmth and steam that permeated the air, hanging around her like a thick fog. It was only when her skin began to turn a bright red that she touched the soap to start scrubbing away the scent of sauteed meat from her hair, sweat from her body, fresh grated garlic from her fingertips, and the weight of the day from her mind.
Finally cleaned and thoroughly flushed pink, Vi settled into bed, plugging in her phone to charge before scrolling mindlessly to decompress after the long evening.
She answered a few texts that she hadn’t been able to look at, scrolled through a few videos on boxing, weightlifting, and need-to-know recipes, and then, finally, checked her email.
Upon opening the app, one subject line stood out. One titled – PRIVATE CHEF INQUIRY.
Vi clicked on the email faster than her brain could register.
Dear Chef Lanes,
I am writing to inquire further about your private chef services as listed on your website. I am in need of a personal chef to tend to my estate and was hoping you’d be willing to explore my offer to you.
If you are interested in discussing the details of my offer as well as taking a tour of my estate to discuss personal needs, in addition to visiting the kitchen, amenities, and on-site suite, please do not hesitate to contact me.
It should be known that I have conducted strenuous research into a new staff member capable of attending to the culinary needs that satisfies the requirements of my house, and I must say that I find your portfolio most enticing.
The contact information for my assistant is below for scheduling. I appreciate your attention to my request.
Sincerely,
Caitlyn Kiramman
Vi’s heart was racing, and it took her a few moments to realize she was holding her breath.
Could this be it?
Her big break?
She huffed a sound of disbelief before grinning wide to herself in the dark, running a free hand through her newly-fluffed hair.
Before she did anything rash, she took a screenshot of the email attachment and sent it to Loris.
Vi: Yo check this out. Legit u think?
As she waited for his response, she reread the email once more. Then twice. It could be a phishing email that was trying to scam her out of her personal savings, but… it certainly seemed legit. Maybe that was her wishful thinking.
The request was for a private chef too, and Vi wasn’t sure what to think about that. She thought about her personal website she used to try to brand herself with, which, up until now had only collected tumbleweeds for the whole seven months it’s been up – even with her ever-growing social media following, meager as it still was. She was beginning to throw in the towel, to accept her fate as a permanent sous chef shackled to a restaurant.
Not that she could really complain, thinking about it. Thinking of how it all started.
Vi had started out as a dishwasher at the ripe old age of eighteen, fresh out of juvie. It was at some old diner, close enough to home that she could walk the couple miles commute. She needed a job, so she learned to grin and bear it. She learned to settle with the low wage, with the shit treatment, with the shit hours. She would have learned how to take being yelled at if that wasn’t something she was already well-versed in.
One day the staff asked Vi to help out in the kitchen. It took some getting used to, and she ended up burning her hand on the grill, but as the morning went on, it turned out she had a knack for timing – almost instinctually knowing how well done the eggs were cooked after putting them on the stove. The shocking thing was that she actually… enjoyed it? Sure it was greasy diner eggs and burgers, but there was something about the hustle of the lunch rush, of needing to get the orders out as fast as humanely possible while ensuring the food was cooked properly and looked just right, that enticed her. It gave her a sense of satisfaction that she had actually created something, a sense of satisfaction she didn’t realize was possible to have from something that seemed so menial.
She was put back on dishes, but what was done was done.
She had the itch.
Vi didn’t have much money, but she made do with what she had in terms of groceries. She found herself watching cooking shows, buying nicer ingredients from the store when she could, practiced cooking new recipes when she had the time. She asked her boss if she could take some kitchen shifts, who obliged, happy enough with both Vi’s diligence and the extra shift availability.
It only took a few of these shifts for everyone at the diner to realize her potential. To say she excelled was an understatement – and she knew it.
When she perfected eggs, she moved on to steaks, and although they were cheap cuts sliced thin, she could still make do. Soon enough she was easily running the kitchen by herself during rush hour breakfast time, barking out that orders were up, and calmly asking the new dishwasher for stacks of clean plates, offering to give him some tips after her shift that would help him speed up his process. That was when she realized she may be missing out on something. Something bigger. So she started applying.
Her next job was at a sit-down restaurant.
After she realized she got the job, she put two and two together and really started believing that she could do this, that she could do this whole, real life thing. After Vander and after juvie, to be an adult who had a passion and could finally afford to at least pay rent sounded like a miraculous achievement. Even if having enough money to get by was a stretch, in her mind, she could only go up.
This newfound knowledge exuded from her pores, and she urged it to consume her further. She drew power from this confidence. She used it to assert herself in situations where she needed it. She got a better, cooler haircut. She got tattoos and piercings that suited her personality. Vi had never felt more like herself.
At this new gig, she had to learn new things, new processes, how to play nice with coworkers and how to mince a whole onion in seconds. There were variations to recipes, new steps to memorize, and real, thick cuts of steak to figure out how to cook perfectly. But Vi stepped up to the challenge. After a year, she only wanted to learn more, never letting her sights dip below the horizon, so Vi looked into other places. There was a point in time where she received a lot of rejections from nice restaurants, a fancy country club – that one hurt the most – but eventually, she got an acceptance.
Her next job was at a high-end steakhouse.
She perfected the medium-rare. She perfected using the fond to create the mouthwatering pan sauce. She perfected her knife skills and offered tips to coworkers; the memory often leading her to remember the old dishwasher, and she wondered how well he was faring.
Vi’s confidence only grew, and she decided to branch out more outside of work, finally being able to say she had found her footing. She hit the gym more often and took up boxing more seriously as a hobby, and as her body grew, so too did her expertise.
Somehow along the way, she managed to land herself a spot at a small, upscale place downtown, one of those fancy restaurants you have to access by going down a hidden flight of stairs nestled inside the street building. The Ember. She was damn near late to her job interview trying to figure out where to go, but she made it. She’s been working there for five years as a sous, and while she could still gun for head chef, she didn’t really know how far “up” could go, or if she really even wanted to continue down this path.
Not with Silco being the asshole he was, demanding Vi cook his way and not hers.
The ultimate goal, for any chef really worth their salt, was to open up their own restaurant. The first time she’d thought about it, she remembered it was like a punch to the gut – thinking of Vander. Of how she failed him. But the longer she weighed the idea, the more it grew on her. Having no boss. No rules. No orders... Crafting her own menu and doing everything by her own goddamn self.
Being able to redeem herself…
It was the ultimate sign of success.
It would be a challenge, for sure, but Vi wasn’t one to back down. Not at this stage in her life, when everything was finally under her control.
Vi knew it required money, and sponsors, and investors, and a hell of a lot of risk with a high chance of failure… She knew she had to be strategic, which is why she set up a website that branded herself as a personal chef, with recipes she’d created, pictures, videos, links to her socials, and contact information for those who were interested. Maybe if she could work for some clients she could get some good reviews, maybe even someone who could set her up with an investor, or supplier. That’s what she needed.
And now, she actually received a fucking request.
Her vibrating phone broke her of her listless daydreaming.
Loris: Seems legit to me
Loris: Does this mean ur really gonna leave us??
Vi snorted. She’d had this conversation with Loris multiple times, the two of them commiserating plenty about how they were sick of getting home at one in the morning with no free weekends to themselves, regardless of how much they liked the work.
In fact, it had been Loris’s idea in the first place for Vi to put herself out there. He was the one with the bright idea of her becoming a personal chef, which is probably why he was her only friend; he noticed shit like that. He noticed that what Vi loved most was the dish creation, of crafting something delicious from scratch and presenting it in a flattering way, her passion bleeding into every ounce of its aesthetics. She adored the fast-paced nature of a kitchen too, but what came first to her was the food.
Vi: maybe…
Vi: but whats interesting to me is the request
Vi: Private chef? Like Id be working only for them?
Loris: Thats how it reads to me
Loris: U wanted multiple clients right?
Vi: yeah ideally. for the money
Vi gave it some thought; maybe it wouldn’t be too bad after all. Staying in the same place every day, familiarizing herself with only one kitchen, with the palate of a single person. And while she initially wanted multiple clients, perhaps it would be easier to stick with one, at least at first, until she got a real feel for the lifestyle change.
Vi: maybe it wouldn’t be so bad tho
Loris: I admit I’m jealous
Loris: cooking meals for some ritzy client while I have to tend to the bs here
Vi: they’ll likely offer to promote you man
Vi: Then you can compete with silco. Maybe end up running the place
Loris: Not too bad I guess
Loris: let me know how it goes
Vi shot him a thumbs up before she returned her attention back to the illustrious email. She’d supposedly be moving to their home, which apparently has an on-site suite just for a chef. She’d have to call them or apparently schedule a visit to get more details about what the living situation would look like, but honestly, the idea of having a legit excuse to move out of her apartment and into a nice home, even if it wasn’t really her own, had a certain appeal to it that she couldn’t deny.
God, was she really considering this?
Yeah. Yeah she was.
Vi breathed an excited huff of air from her pursed lips as she opened up the reply tab, and began typing away with her thumbs, but not before reading and re-reading it over for any typos. She hit send, set her phone on the nightstand, and stared up at her ceiling in thought for a while before she managed to find rest.
Vi sloped her shoulders to peer down through the windshield, both hands clenching the steering wheel with caution, as if a slight veer off course or movement of a pebble in the winding gravel driveway would cause a scene. Her jaw hinged open further and further the longer her eyes scanned the property.
To say it was grand was an understatement; thick, towering trees lined the long road that led up to the property, casting long shadows on Vi’s car, so dense only brief glimpses of sunlight could dapple through. The house itself was gorgeously built, clearly an innovative architect had been in charge of the design judging by the white columns that framed each entrance, the slate tile roof, windows that were welcoming yet still imposed a sense of stately grandeur. Not a detail seemed out of place, but it’s not like Vi could make any accurate judgment – she could fit at least five of her current apartments into this place alone.
This, Caitlyn Kiramman was old money, no doubt. Vi had to fucking press a call button just to get past the front gate and onto the winding, private road.
She carefully drove up onto the rounded, cobblestone driveway, still plenty of space away from the garage doors and the other car already parked there. Even her car – a Subaru Crosstrek, but hey, at least it wasn’t an Outback, not all stereotypes were 100% true – looked mediocre compared to the supped-up Jeep parked next to her.
After turning off the engine and glancing at the time to confirm yes, she was still fifteen minutes early to the interview, Vi took a couple of deep breaths and tried to convince herself that it was too late to go home and change her outfit; after all, khaki slacks and a white button-up were perfectly acceptable for this type of interview, even if the house looked like it hosted formal galas every evening that every politician and celebrity in the world was invited to.
Vi glanced at herself in the flip-down visor mirror. She half-debated removing her piercings, but there was obviously nothing she could do about the face and neck tattoos, nor the half-shaved pink hair, so it made no sense to try to alter any other aspect of her image right now – they either liked her the way she was, or they didn’t, the job be damned. Besides, Vi figured Miss Mrs? Kiramman would already be privy to how she looked anyway, considering her website and social media were plastered with videos and images of herself.
Vi huffed a breath and in one fluid motion, opened her car door and stepped outside, stuffing her keys in a deep pocket and squinted against the late afternoon sun.
Vi was faced with two options when she approached the front door – use the ornately designed door knocker or press the fancy doorbell. As tempting as the door knocker was, Vi assumed there was no way anyone in a house this big would be able to hear it, so she pressed the doorbell. She could hear its cheerful charm echo from within the house.
She admired the chateau-inspired architecture while she waited. A couple moments passed before Vi began to panic, wondering if she’d accidentally gotten the address wrong and was about to pull out her phone to triple check when one of the two grand doors opened, the sound heavy and imposing.
There stood a wiry man with an angular face, small nose and small lips and beady, observant eyes, yet stood with a stature no less commanding than an army captain. Seriously, how was his back so straight?
“Ah, Miss Violet, is it?” he inquired in a velvety smooth tone.
“Uh, it’s Vi. Yes.”
“Vi,” he corrected, and with a nearly imperceptible twitch of his lips, he formed a small smile. “I am Steb – Miss Kiramman’s butler and personal assistant. You are here for more information about our request, yes? We are expecting you.”
“Uh, yes! Yeah. I’m here for that.” Vi cleared her throat and offered a smile.
“Good. Please,” Steb invited, stepping aside and holding the door open wider, his free hand held out to the expanse of the foyer.
“Thank you.” Vi scarcely had time to take in the house before he said something else.
“If you would be so kind as to remove your shoes, they can be placed here,” he said, motioning to a shoe shelf in a small closet. “We have slippers to wear in the house if you would like a pair.”
“Oh, yes please,” Vi said, not wasting any time before removing her white sneakers. Steb handed her a pair of light grey cotton slippers that she slid on. She had to admit, they were pretty comfy.
“You wouldn’t be expected to cook in these, naturally,” Steb said with an easy grin, “just if you’re coming and going about the house. One of the Kiramman house rules. Also, we wouldn’t want anyone mucking up the freshly waxed floors.”
Vi nodded as if she understood the necessity.
“Shall we?” Steb added, immediately leading the way, Vi struggling to keep up with his briskness.
“As you can see, this is the entrance hall,” he announced, not bothering to slow his pace as an arm gestured around him, Vi taking in the grandiosity of the space. “Provided you elect to stay with us, you would be living in a separate suite with its own means of ingress, which I will show you later on; you needn’t enter the house this way in your comings and goings, but for the sake of the tour and this initial interview, it only makes sense to show you around.”
He led the way down the entry hall and past the open space formal room, a grand staircase leading upwards dominated the room with its presence. Everything was neat and tidy and decorated with care, as if inspired by a fancy European mansion that was built a hundred years ago. At least that’s what Vi pictured – she’d never so much as set foot inside a place as spacious as this, a place nearly as dignified.
“This way,” Steb called, already paces away from Vi, heading down another hallway past antiques tucked away on shelves and oil portraits that lined the walls while Vi stood staring around her, mouth agape. She caught on to how she must have looked and promptly closed it, trying to keep up with her speedy tour guide.
They walked past the dining room Vi only able to cast a cursory glance inside. Even still, she could tell the room reeked of elegance; the large table and its many accompanying chairs looked ripe for hosting, the huge windows behind the head of the table cast warm sunlight across the whole room, and while much of the furniture was sturdy in appearance, the overall tone was quite classic.
She turned back to face Steb, following as best as she could.
“This is the formal kitchen,” Steb announced when they left the great room. This room was quaint with its light cream colors and marble countertops, a tasteful bowl of fruit that appeared untouched, the yellows and reds in the bowl gleaming elegantly against the brightness of the room. “Used purely for quick meals and appearances,” Steb explained further with a slight nod of his head in Vi’s direction. “Not where you would be doing any cooking. That,” he began, already walking off again, this time through the small kitchen, “would be back here.”
Vi was right behind him now, getting with the program. He rounded the corner, now out of view from the dining room and into a space that opened up into what Vi could only describe as her dream kitchen. Cool, automatic lights flashed on with the detection of movement. Massive windows lined the far wall, perfectly designed so no sunlight would bother the chef’s eyes as they cooked, no matter the time of day. They provided a clear view of the acreage of greenery and gardens the estate housed right outside.
The kitchen itself was immense, and Vi couldn’t even sweep her eyes across the room and absorb everything fully before Steb launched into what was seemingly a pre-rehearsed breakdown of what all was there for her.
“Automatic lights,” Steb began, gesturing above, then guiding his hand towards a dial on the wall next to the way they entered from, “and adjustable. You can make them as bright,” he turned the dial in the opposite direction, the lights darkening, “or as dim as you like. As well as adjusting the color. Also, voice-controlled.” With the slight movement of the dial, the enveloping bright white muted, shifting down a few notches until the kitchen was bathed in soothing amber, perfect for capturing whichever mood Vi was in for cooking. Steb readjusted the lights back to bright.
“Starting over here,” he said, walking towards the appliances, “scratch-resistant, engineered quartz countertops – smooth and strong. Though be warned, messes will be quite easy to spot,” he smiled at Vi teasingly before continuing. “Top-of-the-line appliances – a six burner La Cornue gas range, pot filler, double ovens, warming drawers, hidden prep areas…” Steb talked while opening and closing various cabinets and drawers, indicating what he was showing, “sub-zero fridge with climate controlled drawers, large open pantry over here… two deep sinks… and within the various cabinetry I believe you’d find everything else you would need – stand mixers, butane torches, cutting boards… and the like. So on and so forth.” Steb paused there, and smiled warmly, bemused by Vi’s shock and awe.
Vi looked around her, feeling like a kid in a candy shop with their wealthy grandparents willing to bend the knee for any of the kid’s wishes or whims. She skimmed her fingertips along the countertops as she took careful, measured steps – Steb was right, they were smooth, sleek like the surface of water. She inspected the copper pots and pans hanging from a wrought iron rack above the island. She peered into the stocked pantry, balking at the quality of the few shelf-stable ingredients already in stock. She marveled at the intricate backsplash behind the range, tiles of earthy browns and greens inlaid with gold stenciling. Even the crown molding up above was luxurious, hand-crafted wood; the artistry here was evident.
And all of this would be to herself. No bickering with coworkers or trying to squeeze past them when handling a hot pan of oil. She could work at her own pace, by her own rules… In a space that had more than anything she could ever need…
“Miss Vi?”
She wheeled around, broken out of her reverie. “Yes?”
“Your thoughts? Is there anything not to your liking?”
“Oh god no,” Vi said on instinct. She cleared her throat. “I—I mean… It's fantastic. It’s perfect. I’ve never seen a kitchen better.”
“Splendid.” Steb reached to one end of the counter and picked up a manilla envelope that had already been perched there, Vi’s attention already drawn back to the rest of the kitchen once again. “Would you care to review the terms of the contract? In the suite perhaps, since that is the last place I’d like to show you.”
“Um, yeah sure—” but before Vi could finish her sentence, Steb was whisked off in another direction.
“This way.”
Reluctantly Vi followed, letting her lingering eyes commit to memory the image of the perfect kitchen.
She followed Steb down another long corridor. “This is what connects the rest of the house to your suite,” he explained over his shoulder. “See? Not a far walk at all from the kitchen,” he added cheekily, as if he were the individual who designed the home with that intent in mind.
Vi kept up, the sound of her slippered-feet shuffling along plush, Persian rugs the only sounds in the hallway.
Steb opened up another door, holding its heavy brass handle in his grasp. “After you,” he said, allowing Vi to pass through the open door before he did.
To say the suite was modestly designed would be the understatement of the century – Vi already thought it was better furnished and definitely bigger than her current apartment.
“Windows with a view of the gardens,” Steb started, “and thick, velvet curtains for privacy. The suite is fairly open concept, as you can see, not too many rooms. But there is the small sitting room there, a little dining area, bathroom, storage closets, and the bedroom is around the corner. Along with a private door for your personal egress on and off the property, as I mentioned earlier.”
The suite had markedly different décor than the rest of the house; but to Vi’s liking. The woods of the furniture were of a deep mahogany, the curtains a dark wine red, the lighting subtle and moodier. Even still, all the appliances, furniture, and even the television, were up-to-date and well beyond what she could have afforded for herself.
“Wow, Steb, this… this is great,” she said, knowing the word didn’t match at all how she truly perceived the space.
Steb gave an amused huff, the corners of his mouth pulled upward as he politely held his hands behind his back while Vi admired the room. “The erm, the contract?” he suggested, and when Vi turned towards him, he extended one of his arms out and handed her the manilla envelope.
She took it and opened the clasp, pulling out the couple sheets of paper.
“A few housekeeping rules, expectations of your role, dietary preferences, and such,” Steb explained. Vi skimmed the text:
- [Contractor] is to live on-site, ensuring three square meals are prepared (or at least made available, if other arrangements are agreed upon), 24/7
- [Contractor] may leave the property at their leisure, provided duties are maintained and meals made available ahead of time (with permission from the Client).
- [Contractor] must clean up after meals are prepared, ensuring both kitchens remain tidy and presentable when not in use. [Contractor] should note that no formal maid staff is available for these duties.
- [Contractor] will be asked to cater formal parties/events, or more private dinners per the Client’s request/schedule.[Client] will take care to provide reasonable notice in advance for adequate preparations.
- [Contractor] may be asked to travel and accompany the Client along necessary business trips at the bequest of the Client. As stated above, proper notice shall be given.
- [Contractor] is expected to perform all necessary shopping for food preparation and clean up. [Contractor] may use their own discretion when purchasing ingredients but will assume common sense pertaining to cost.
- A company card will be provided for these expenses.
- [Contractor] may utilize common facilities as part of the estate, provided [contractor] uses discretion when traversing the property.
- Any form of theft, bribery, invasion of privacy, and the like, (not an exhaustive list), will be investigated and escalated to authorities if necessary, per the Client.
Dietary Preferences:
- Client is partial to Ionian cuisine, finding traditional recipes and ingredients most reliable.
- Client is partial to high tea preparations, including but not limited to: finger sandwiches, biscuits, scones, and other various confections and entremets.
- Client is open to experiencing a variety of cuisines, finding monotonous schedules least appealing.
- Client has no food allergies, with the exception of a mild lactose intolerance.
- Client prefers light, fresh, and balanced meals crafted from whole ingredients, with no aversion to spice, sourness, or other variations in palate.
Final Notes:
- Contract is set to begin on [date] expiring on [date], for a term of twelve months. Upon the expiration of the term, Client and [Contractor] may agree on an extension.
- Salary offered: $220,000 for the duration of the term (open to extension, as stated above).
Signed:
Client: Caitlyn Kiramman [Contractor]:
“You can prepare a high tea, yes?”
Vi stuttered over the words she was reading, finishing the fine print. Was that the fucking salary? Was it a typo? She’d read and reread it again, before it registered to her that Steb had asked a question.
“Oh, um, a high tea? I… I guess I haven’t ever prepared one. But I bet I could… I was mentored by a pâtissier a few years ago. We catered a wedding and made about a thousand mini pastries.” Vi’s head hurt from just the memory of the event, but her thoughts instantly scrambled back to the salary offered, the number tumbling around in her head.
Steb nodded. “Excellent. That should do.”
“Um, so…” Vi started, addressing a question she had come across while reading – an obvious one. “I guess I’m a little confused… It looks like Miss Kiramman already signed this. You uh, you want me to sign this right now? Before even meeting her?”
“Oh! Yes, silly me. How could I have forgotten that detail,” Steb said exasperatedly. Vi could only twitch her lips, unsure of what he was getting at. “Miss Kiramman is not here at the moment – she will be arriving late this evening. Held up with business, I’m afraid. But yes, she did sign before she left. She had no qualms at all about hiring you.”
“That’s, I mean…” Vi said, looking down at the papers in her hand. “That’s great and all. I’d love to work. It’s just, I’d feel more comfortable if I met her first, I think.”
Vi had nothing to go off of other than a name and what little she’d seen of the woman’s estate – the last thing she wanted was to sign some contract and be working for some crazy person who was super nitpicky or had some other glaring flaw. Then she’d be wishing she could crawl back to her old restaurant job.
“Quite understandable, Miss Vi,” Steb said with a single nod. “I can schedule you in for a meeting with her tomorrow morning. A tea, perhaps? At nine? You are welcome to stay here for the evening.”
“Um, are you sure?”
“Quite! We have any and all accommodations you might need. Wouldn’t want you to have to travel back home and then back here again tomorrow morning if it isn’t necessary. After all, it’s my mistake for not notifying you in advance that she wouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t want to be a bother. I haven’t even accepted yet, there’s no way you can let me stay here—”
“Please, I insist! Miss Kiramman would have my head if I didn’t insist. It’s really no trouble at all.”
Vi let her gaze wander, looking about the rooms around her. She eyed the roomy walk-in shower with stone tiles in the bathroom, the fancy ass espresso maker in the mini kitchen, what she could only guess to be a large, inviting, and freshly-made bed in the bedroom. She thought of her own place, a thirty minute drive away, with her half-made bed covered in blankets strewn about, and her Mr. Coffee maker that somehow she just never got around to upgrading.
“Well… I guess I can—”
“Wonderful!”
Vi was at a loss for words. The hospitality and outright welcome for someone who he’d only just met felt, strange? But at the same time, feeling overwhelmed by the incredible kitchen and the, upon first glance, very low stakes contract had her practically jittering in place at the thought of such a positive career shift.
Hopefully it would all be revealed tomorrow morning and her nerves could settle. Everything just felt too good to be true. She probably needed to sleep on it, too.
Steb showed her the rest of the suite, including the amenities made available in the bathroom, and food stocked in the kitchenette.
“Don’t hesitate to ring me if you need anything – there are phones on the walls of your sitting room and bedroom. Just follow the directory.” He gave one final smile, and with the shut of the suite door behind him, Vi was left to her own, jumbled thoughts.
Dressed in only her boxers – upon discovery that the complementary silk pajamas were simply not her thing – Vi lay in bed, going over the terms of the contract again and again in her mind, most of which she had already committed to memory by reading it repeatedly after Steb left her to her own devices.
Nothing in the contract screamed red flag. In fact, it seemed very lax for what she was expecting. Initially, Vi thought she would have to request time off if she ever wanted to leave to, say, visit her family, but according to the terms she only had to check in beforehand and ensure meals were prepped for the amount of time she’d be gone for. Also being completely in charge of the shopping and not having any restrictions on what she was able to buy was a big plus in her book. To others it may seem like a pain, but Vi preferred to be involved in the cooking process from start to finish, and the beginning of a meal started with the type and the quality of its ingredients.
The only thing that had her hung up was the fact that Miss Kiramman had already signed it, as if knowing there wouldn’t be an issue. Why wouldn’t she have wanted to meet Vi first? After all, Vi would be living in her house… you would think you’d want to make extra extra positively sure you’re okay with that person when they would be sleeping under the same roof as you.
She shot a few texts off, to Loris for a status update and to her sister, informing her of the events of the day, before she charged her phone and went to sleep in a perfectly air-conditioned room with satin sheets.
After waking up at seven, taking a shower, and getting dressed in the outfit she arrived in yesterday, Vi started up the fancy ass espresso machine in her kitchenette to make herself an Americano to sit on the porch with.
The coffee, steaming in a tiny, white mug, emitted vapors that wafted up towards Vi’s nose as she took in the morning light. The beans were of good quality, Vi could tell. She took a sip, and smiled. Yep. The piquancy was perfect - not too bitter or watered down.
Vi sat on the patio chair that was provided, taking in the scene of the garden. Birds were chirping jubilantly, darting from tree to tree. Vi ogled the flowers, the greenery, and the rest of the house of which she could see in its entirety from her little porch. And then she caught movement.
At the far end of the estate, on the second level, a back patio door opened up to a rounded balcony and out stepped a woman. It was far enough away that Vi couldn’t make out any extraordinary details, but she could see dark hair blowing gently in the morning breeze, and a sheer lilac robe billowing about the length of a lithe, feminine body.
Vi let her gaze linger, curious. The woman stood there for a few moments, seemingly taking in the beauty of the morning much like Vi was. The woman’s arms were braced casually against the handrail of the porch as she peered out, like a siren at sea, a captain of her domain.
Eventually the woman returned back into the house, letting the doors fall closed behind her. She was gone, and Vi might as well have been dreaming. Vi returned to her coffee, surprised to find out how much it had cooled. She sipped at it and resumed her leisure enjoyment of the garden.
Steb came to collect her at eight-fifty. He greeted her politely, asked her how she slept, and immediately began his swift walk again, leading Vi throughout the house. She made sure to bring the paperwork along with her.
Steb led Vi through the living room that she had only quickly passed through yesterday, taking her to a new area of the house. Vi’s curiosity was short-lived however, when Steb opened up the double-doors leading outside to the primary back porch overlooking the entire outdoor area behind the house.
This porch put the one in Vi’s suite to shame; its size was immense, still sitting up high - about a story above ground - with a set of two matching staircases on either end of the wide stone patio that led down to the green expanse and gardens.. In the center of the patio was a glass table, and at that table sat the woman Vi must have seen that morning.
The first thing Vi’s mind registered was blue – lustrous dark blue hair, kept smooth and tucked to one side. She was sitting ramrod straight, (maybe that’s where Steb got it from?), her legs crossed elegantly underneath the table. She adorned a pair of straight-legged beige trousers and a baby blue boyfriend shirt, the collar open and sleeves rolled up three quarters, exposing her wrists and part of her forearms. The woman was typing on a laptop perched on the table in front of her, gaze clearly focused on the screen, and when she turned to pick up her teacup from its saucer, she noticed her guest.
Again, Vi was hit with blue – this time in the form of two breathtakingly bright gemstone eyes. The woman smiled, her nude-colored lips pulled upward in a warm greeting, complimented by sharp cheekbones, an angular jaw, and a soft, pouty chin.
Vi broke eye contact on instinct, overwhelmed. She licked her lips, taking a deep breath in before looking back at her. That was when the woman spoke.
“You must be Violet.”
That accent – so proper. And her voice, clear and sharp, and a hair deeper than Vi expected. Delicate, yet commanding.
Vi opened her mouth to greet her back before Steb interjected, “Oh, actually it’s Vi, Miss Kiramman.”
Caitlyn’s eyebrows raised slightly as she heard Steb’s comment, before turning back to Vi. “My apologies. Vi,” she corrected, then smiled warmly.
Vi swallowed. Nodded. “Yes. You must be Miss Kira—”
“Please, call me Caitlyn. Steb here only calls me that because he refuses otherwise. It’s hard to unlearn certain formalities I suppose,” she said while staring at Steb with a smile. She then placed her teacup back on its saucer to gesture with a free hand, motioning to the chair in front of her. “Please, sit.”
Vi obeyed, taking a seat in the chair directly across from Caitlyn, setting the manilla envelope on the table.
“I invite you to tea,” Caitlyn said. “Steb,” she added, turning to him, “feel free to join us as well.”
“No, thank you.”
Caitlyn leaned in towards Vi, giving a half-assed attempt to shield what she was about to say. “He always declines. Thinks himself better than the rest of us.” Caitlyn side-eyed Steb with a knowing smirk, to which he only rolled his eyes before smiling back. Vi however, was still sat captive, mind locked on the heady scent of what must have been Caitlyn’s conditioner, the clean, floral aroma hanging in the air between them, along with the lingering sweetness that was on her breath. Vi licked her lips, feeling warm. She glanced up at the sky briefly, the morning sun only barely piercing the garden – must be a hot one today if she felt this warm already. She quickly pressed the backs of a few fingers to her cheek to check.
“So,” Caitlyn started again, filling a new cup with tea, “the contract… is everything in the kitchen to your liking? Anything worded in a way that needs clarification? Steb indicated to me that you preferred to meet in person.”
“Oh! Yes, um,” Vi began before Caitlyn held out the cup and saucer to her. “Oh, thank you,” Vi said, careful to grab hold of the saucer with one hand, balancing the teacup between a couple fingers of her other. She set it down in front of her. “And no, nothing at all wrong with the kitchen, or the suite, or anything really in the contract. Everything seems reasonable.”
Caitlyn hummed, picking up a dainty looking tart from the top layer of the tier stand perched on the table with slender fingers. “So,” she inquired further. “You wished to meet in person? Was it to make sure I’m not mad?” she smirked before taking a careful bite, nary a crumb to be found, despite the flaky texture of the shortbread.
Vi was wondering if this woman was a mind reader. And with those enchanting eyes, who knew. She just might be.
“I mean, I wouldn’t word it like that,” Vi defended. “This is just my first time doing this… h-having clients I mean.” She shrugged. “Only wanted to break the ice. Figured you’d want to meet me too, considering… I’ll be living here.” Vi cleared her throat. “In your house.”
In an effort to not seem rude, Vi carefully picked up the teacup and took a sip, hoping the warm liquid would moisturize her parched throat. The porcelain felt extremely fragile between her fingers. She set it back down shakily on the saucer, spilling a bit with the movement.
“Of course, that’s very thoughtful of you. Although I’m sure you know we did a thorough examination of your profile before reaching out. I didn’t have any qualms from the start.”
“You did a background check on me? Who do you work for, the FBI?” Vi said, confident enough now to joke. “Or will I be cooking for the mafia? I guess it’s a good thing I can make a mean Bolognese.”
A charming giggle bubbled out of Caitlyn’s lips, and Vi smirked, her chest tightening.
“I promise, nothing like that. We just need a new chef,” Caitlyn answered matter-of-factly, taking another perfect bite of her tart. “This estate hasn’t had one in quite some time.” She motioned to the last remaining bit of her tart in the air. “Courtesy of the local bakery,” she explained. “I certainly do not have the skill to make these myself. Nor Steb.”
Vi smiled politely.
Steb had migrated over to the planters hanging off the edges of the patio, and was refreshing them with a watering can, either trying not to listen in or pretending like he wasn’t.
“So, with that out of the way… was there anything else you had concerns about?” Caitlyn asked.
Vi thought about the contract, the various components flashing through her mind like steps she’d memorized to craft a homemade recipe. “Well… no. Not really. When would I start? I saw the dates weren’t filled out in the paperwork.”
“Tomorrow?” Caitlyn answered, the lilt in her tone questioning, indicative of her ensuring Vi was okay with that information. “Sorry if that is too short of notice. But we’re happy to accommodate.”
Goddamn… As soon as tomorrow?
She could be free from Silco, free from her obligations, from her shitty apartment, all by tomorrow?
And the new fucking salary…
She could save up all her money and maybe get to know some important people to finally get things moving with her dream.
And hey… working for this woman for a year didn’t seem so bad either.
Vi had to take the briefest of moments to stare at Caitlyn. To really marvel at her. Because if Vi agreed to this, that meant she agreed to work for this woman. To live in her house. To cook all her meals…
“That works,” Vi said, trying not to sound so eager. “I have to clear up some things with my previous job, and my old apartment, and get all my stuff of course, but I don’t think that would be a problem. I can do most of that today if I need to.”
Caitlyn beamed. “Excellent. Take all the time you need to settle in – we’ll be sure to get you an entry code for the front gate, as well as a key to your suite. I’ll also have Steb issue a credit card so you can do the grocery shopping.”
Vi nodded along with each item Caitlyn mentioned.
“I travel quite frequently for business, mainly within the city, so I never usually plan on being away for long periods of time. Even still, I’ll plan on having an email sent to you weekly indicating my schedule so you know when to expect me and you can plan meals accordingly.”
“Got it.”
“Anything else, Steb?” Caitlyn asked as Steb set down the watering can in the corner and strode back towards the table.
“Nothing I can think of, Miss.”
“You showed her all the amenities yesterday? The sauna, library, gym…?”
Vi’s eyes grew slightly with that comment. “You have a gym?”
Caitlyn turned towards Steb. “You didn’t show her the gym?”
Steb’s mouth formed a straight line. “My apologies – I suppose we were caught up with the kitchen and the suite yesterday.”
“Not a problem,” Caitlyn answered before turning to Vi. “Yes, we have a gym.” She shrugged. “Nothing too fancy. But you are welcome to use it as you like.”
Vi made a sound that was almost a snort. “That sounds amazing.”
“Good,” Caitlyn flashed another smile. “Care to sign then? A pen, Steb?”
Steb opened his jacket to procure a fancy blue pen, laced with gold. He handed it to Vi, who took it with no hesitation. Vi flipped through the pages until she reached the final one, and signed her name in sloppy lettering in the Contractor’s section, right next to the impeccable loops of Caitlyn Kiramman’s signature.
“Done and done,” Vi said, screwing the pen back closed.
“Excellent.”
“Just one question,” Vi began.
Caitlyn’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Yes?”
“What are your favorite meals?”