Chapter 2

The boss's hand came down hard on the back of my head again.

I was still dazed, so this time I didn't dodge. It caught me square.

I pitched forward, clumsy and off-balance.

Only the fire hydrant beside me gave me something to grab, or I'd have gone down flat on my face.

"You get it now? If you get it, then get back to work!"

The garbage of a man was still yammering in my ear.

I straightened up and threw the empty pot down on the floor with a clang.

Every single person in the back kitchen turned to look at me.

"Boss, you're telling me to use yesterday's leftover sauce."

My voice wasn't loud, but the kitchen had gone strangely quiet, quiet enough that every word carried.

"But that's a day old. It already smells sour. You want me to stir it into today's fresh dishes, and if someone gets sick, whose fault is that?"

"Are you going to take the blame? If you are, then you can stir it in yourself. Save us both the trouble."

He'd probably never imagined I would talk back. His face went a deep, blotchy purple in an instant.

"What the hell are you spouting? I've been in the restaurant business twenty years. Every neighbor on this block will vouch for me. You think I'd serve people expired food? Don't you dare spread lies!"

He jabbed a finger at the broken shards on the floor, his face twisting uglier.

"I think you did that on purpose, didn't you? You smash my secret-recipe sauce, and now you want to flip it around and blame me?"

"Either you scoop that sauce back up and do it the way I told you, or you pay for it!"

"I won't—"

Before I could finish, Sidney James, the prep cook, cleared his throat and set down his knife.

"Rosie, take a word of advice from old Sidney. The boss says to use it, so use it. We just do the job we're told to do."

"If I remember right, don't you start college this September? Have you saved up enough for tuition? That's how it goes, working for someone. As employees we just go along with the boss and that's that."

Rudolph Finch, working the wok, nodded along too.

"That's right. We did it this way every day in the past, and nothing ever went wrong."

"You silly girl, what's a part-timer worrying herself over?"

Natalie Whitney, sorting vegetables, muttered it under her breath.

"Young girls always make such a fuss."

I looked around at them.

One familiar face after another, saying familiar things.

In my last life, they'd said the same things.

But when people actually died, when the boss dumped it all on me, every one of them changed their story.

"She's the one who always liked to cut corners."

"How was I supposed to know? We all told her not to use it, and she wouldn't listen."

"Part-timers, that's how they are, prone to mistakes, not like us longtime staff. It was kind of the boss, really, not firing her sooner."

Thinking of that, I pulled out my phone and started recording audio and video.

"Boss, would you mind saying it one more time? You're confirming you want that pot of yesterday's sauce used, correct?"

The boss's pupils shrank for a second.

Then his hand shot out to snatch it.

I twisted away.

I stumbled back two steps into the stove, my elbow cracking against the rim of the wok, and the pain made me suck in a sharp breath.

"What are you recording for? You think I won't fire you right now? Don't count on this month's pay either!"

He roared it at me.

I looked at his furious face, and suddenly I laughed.

"Fire me? Sure. Go ahead."