Post by StoryGirl83 on Dec 29, 2008 21:10:27 GMT -5
Chapter Six - No Cooking Allowed
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Piper’s white sports car pulled into the back parking lot of her restaurant. The engine turned off and a moment later the door opened letting Wyatt out. Here goes nothing. He walked around the building toward the front. What if I hire someone Mom wouldn’t or I don’t hire someone she would? Why couldn’t she have postponed this? He sighed. Why? Because we don’t know how long this will take. It would be rather rude to tell someone “Sorry, but I can’t interview you for a while and no, I don’t know when I’ll be available.” It’s bound to annoy most. Besides, the business doesn’t go away just because we have problems. Hope Callie doesn’t mind staying. Hope no one wants me to cook. He grimaced as he stopped in front of the doors to the restaurant. Here goes nothing. He pulled open the doors and walked inside.
Just inside the entry way Drinka Deguilio stood behind the hostess booth. When Wyatt entered from outside she looked up, her usual smile on her lips. “Good morning, Mrs. Halliwell.
“Not good,” Wyatt mumbled, “and not Mrs. Halliwell.”
Drinka frowned. “What was that?”
Wyatt stopped and looked at her. He sighed. “I’m not Mrs. Halliwell. Our bodies got switched around.”
“Oh.” Drinka’s eyes widened. “Who are you then?”
“Wyatt.” His tone was flat.
“Oh,” Drinka blinked. “Is this permanent?”
“I hope not,” Wyatt groaned. “I like my body. I want it back.” And right now my brother has it.
Drinka frowned and considered his words. “You will stay away from the stove, won’t you?”
Wyatt sighed at the oft repeated words. “I have been warned several times about that. I’m to let Callie do the cooking while I interview someone and then I am to leave.” Realizing he didn’t know anything about the person he was interviewing he asked, “Is the person I am to interview here?”
“She is,” Drinka assured him. “Ty told me she is sitting at the booth near the kitchen. We aren’t too busy so you shouldn’t have a problem finding her.”
“Thanks,” he offered glad at least that part would be easy. This had better go well.
“Good luck, Mr. Halliwell,” Drinka wished him, all too cheery in his opinion.
He gave her a less than reassuring smile as he replied uncertainly, “Yeah.” Steeling himself he turned away and entered the main dining area.
He was halfway to the kitchen when he stopped to see if he could find his interview. Now, where is she? And who is she for that matter? No one has mentioned a name.
A young woman in her late teens, early twenties stood up from one of the booths. She had long blonde hair and delicate features. A grin grew on her face and walked over to Wyatt. “Hello, Mrs. Halliwell. I’m Emily. I’m here for the interview.” She extended her hand and Emily Colson smiled at him.
Wyatt gulped at he looked at her. No one mentioned she was pretty.
“Mrs. Halliwell?” Emily queried a little concerned.
He took her hand and shook it. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s nice to meet you. Why don’t you go sit down while I get some stuff from the back?”
“All right,” she smiled. “It’s good to meet you. I love this place.”
“Thank you,” was all he could think to say before he walked toward the kitchen as Emily sat down.
In the kitchen Callie Ranard was at the stove cooking when Wyatt entered the room from the dining area. She looked up at the sound of the doors swinging. “Hello, Mrs. Halliwell. Did you find your interview?”
“I did,” Wyatt acknowledged. “Do you know where her application and résumé are?”
“On your desk, I think?” Callie frowned at him. “Is everything okay?”
As if I can tell you, he thought before saying, “Something’s up, but don’t worry about it. It will get fixed, but I’m going to have to leave after the interview.”
“Leave?” she asked, frowning.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “can you stay longer today? I understand if you have plans, but I really can’t stay.” Understatement. If I stay, I’m caught, because I really can’t cook.
“Yeah, sure,” Callie agreed confused but amicable. “It’s Monday. I’m free. You know you might want to hire another cook."
“Chef,” Wyatt countered without thinking. It was an argument he had heard his mom have dozens of times, usually with Callie.
“Whatever,” Callie shrugged. “I cook. I don’t chef. Just think about it. I’ll get one of the waiters to help out in the kitchen today. One of the requirements of the job,” she added wryly.
To work at The Manor, you have to be able to cook even if you’re just a waiter or waitress, he mentally recited the words that more or less kept him from ever working for his mom. Yeah, yeah, I know. Let’s hope that this interview goes well. With that he headed toward his mom’s office ready to have this over with.