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Fuck!

I need this. A review on Zest for Life could make or break me here. I know not everyone in Kraken Cove keeps up to date with the biggest food vlogger since Anthony Bourdain, but Sydneysiders do. And Sydneysiders are a cornerstone of my new business, since it’s them and the Canberra wankers from the capital who make up the bulk of the tourists in this area. Don’t even get me started on the Canberra wankers.

“N-nothing. I swear. She seemed fine when I seated her.” New Girl is practically trembling, and I tell myself to cool it. The last thing I need is her running to her parents saying I bullied her on her first job. Then it’ll get back to my mum, and she’ll never let me hear the end of it. I only hired her as a favor to Mum. Her family are long term friends of ours, and I was trying to do the right thing by them. How was I to know she’s clumsy as a fucking wombat wearing a softball glove?

Not exactly my first pick for front of house staff. Or kitchen staff. Maybe she’d be alright as the dish pig.

“Get back out there and find out what is wrong and fix it,” I tell her, spraying my overheated skin with another burst of cold water. I have to be careful not to dry out in the heat of the kitchen. As a kraken, my skin is delicate.

“Yes, chef.”

She scurries away and I turn back to my staff. “Billy, you’re in charge. I’m going to make this order myself. I don’t want to be disturbed unless the restaurant is actually on fire, you got it?”

“Yes, chef.”

She wants fish of the day. Of course she bloody does. There’s no fish of the day on the menu. Self-entitled fucking celebrity. Thinks she can custom design her own meal.

I guess she can, because here I am, scrambling around like a dog making it for her.

I growl to myself as I stalk into the walk-in fridge and dig out the fennel and some oranges.

Fucking fish of the day.

Lucky for me, Jess came up this morning with a fresh catch and the most beautiful snapper I’ve ever seen sitting on a big tray of ice, just glistening like a bloody princess. I bought it, along with half her catch of prawns and leatherjacket, just because it looked so good. Figured it’d be my dinner if nothing else.

Olivia Zeston wants fish of the day at The Snapper? She’s going to get snapper, isn’t she? And she’s going to get the best damn snapper she’s ever eaten.

I’m reducing the orange juice in the pan when I become aware of New Girl standing behind me again. “What?” I don’t even turn around.

“Um… it’s just that she’s…gone?”

“What!?” Now I turn, forgetting the orange juice and instead staring at New Girl’s pale face. “What do you mean she’s gone?” I have no doubt who she’s talking about. I just refuse to believe it. No way a major food critic does a walk out. Not unless there’s something very seriously wrong. And not ever in a restaurant I run.

“Well, I went back out there and I thought maybe she’d gone to the bathroom or something, but she’s been gone ages. What if she’s not coming back?”

I kill the gas on the stove with the tip of one tentacle and mutter every swear word I can think of under my breath. Stepping around New Girl, I slither out of the kitchen and into the restaurant. Curious eyes turn my way. I ignore them.

New Girl’s fucking right. Table’s empty.

Where the hell has she gone?

I scan the restaurant, but she’s nowhere in sight. I walk out the front and gaze along the walkway to the pier and into the carpark.

Nothing.

I try out back and come in through the rear entrance to the corridor where the bathrooms are. I pause when I see the door to the storage cupboard has been left ajar. I don’t know how many times I’ve told New Girl to close it properly. It looks untidy when guests walk down here to use the bathroom and all our shit is on display.

I’m just walking up to close it when a noise catches my attention and I freeze.

There’s a sniffling coming from inside the cupboard.

I sigh.

Great.

I suppose at least whoever I made cry this time had the good grace to find a private space to have their meltdown. Still, it’s a busy night. I need all hands on deck. I’m going to have to suck it up and apologize, aren’t I?

I reach out and take hold of the handle, pulling the door open. I do not expect what I find there, though.