A Slave to Broken Hearts (A Slave to Love Sequel)

Chapter 9: Average Joe

Kale, my hopefully potential future boss, was standing in front of me, counting one of three registers at the counter. He barely even looked at me as he balanced it, and instead cut straight to the chase as soon as I introduced myself.

"So instead of interviewing you and listening to you talk on and on about your supposed good points and how much you would love to work here and a bunch of other dishonest kiss-ass nonsense, I want you to put your skills where your mouth is. You will work here for an hour to prove to me how well you can handle it, we will show you the basics of what you'll need to know and then let you work. If I like what I see then you may just get called back to work for real. If I don't well, perhaps I'll see you on occasion as a paying customer."

My heart just about stopped. I had zero job experience and this guy wanted to unleash me on unsuspecting clients with very little training? While the hiring process seemed a little severe, shouldn't he be more concerned about the quality of customer service he'll be providing by letting a bunch of inexperienced strangers work his business?

"There's an apron in the back for you, so you can come behind the counter and get it and also to dump whatever stuff you brought with you. Cell phones are not allowed so leave that in the back as well, in case for whatever dumb reason you thought you could keep it on your person."

"Um...alright," I said, side stepping to lift the partition of the counter and pass through.

"I'll meet you in the back so be ready by the time I get there," he added as I walked in between the back wall full of jars of tea and coffee and the machines to make them and the glass compartment showcasing the various foods they sold.

I hurried to the end of the counter to where there was a swinging door and pushed through it to enter the kitchen area. It was beautiful. Ovens galore, mixers, pots and pans, ingredients all over the place and the delicious aroma of freshly baked cakes that made my mouth water and made me feel a pinch in my gut as I remembered baking with my mom back home. There were only a few people in here in white coats, stirring and mixing and chopping and doing a whole range of things that made the place smell absolutely delicious. I could cry. This was the best place ever.

"Are you here for an interview?" one of them asked, an older wrinkly man with flour on his nose asked.

"I...uh...yes...well not really an interview," I managed to get out, trying to draw my eyes away from a tray of chocolate chip cookies that just came out of the oven.

The old man barked out a laugh. "Apron is over there kid," he said, pointing with a wooden spoon to a row of hooks on the far right wall in the corner. "You can hang your bag up there for now since who knows how long you'll be staying. It might not be worth giving you a locker."

"Bernie, you're scaring the newbie," a younger black guy said as he waltzed into the kitchen. He swiped two mahogany colored aprons off the hooks and tied one around his waist before throwing the other at me. "Here. Don't listen to Bernie, he's just crabby because he missed his nap time."

"Hey! It's Bernard, not Bernie. And I'm not that old!" Bernard cried, shaking his wooden spoon at the guy, who just rolled his eyes.

"Come on, you've got about a minute before Kale gets in here, put that apron on and follow me," he said, waving a hand before he turned and left out the door he came in. I hurriedly followed him and he showed me to a small room with a few lockers. "Here's the key to this locker, you can keep it in your apron pocket once you've locked your stuff away."

I opened my hand and he dropped the tiny metal key onto my palm. I tossed my bag into the locker he had pointed out, locked it and then tied my apron on around my waist and dropped the key into my right pocket.