The Key She Could Never Give Me Chapter 03

The Key She Could Never Give Me Chapter 03

After I went back to the flagship location, I kept working like usual.

Sloane came looking for me three times.

The first time, she called.

“Blake, send me the vendor contact information.”

I sent it over.

Not another word.

The second time, she came straight to the staff housing.

“Where’d you put the waste log?”

I stood in the doorway and looked at her.

“It’s archived on the computer.”

“Find it yourself.”

The third time, she came upstairs and knocked on my door.

She looked exhausted.

“Come back and help out for a while.”

“At this rate, a few of the locations are going to fall apart.”

I pulled the operations manual I’d put together from the cabinet. Then I put it in my suitcase right in front of her.

She reached for it.

I zipped the suitcase shut.

“Those are my own notes.”

Her face froze.

“Blake, seriously?”

“You’re still doing this because you’re upset?”

I didn’t explain.

Whether she called it sulking or holding a grudge didn’t really matter.

Not long after that, the location Jase was managing landed a large catering order.

Eight hundred meals in one day.

That location couldn’t handle it.

When Sloane called me, her voice was tight.

“Take some people from the flagship location and get over there.”

“We can’t screw this order up.”

I looked at the bandage wrapped around the back of my hand.

I paused for two seconds.

“I’m on the night shift today.”

“I know.”

She went quiet for a moment.

Then she lowered her voice.

“Blake, I’m begging you.”

That night, we worked until after midnight.

The kitchen was unbearably hot.

Every time water touched my hand, it hurt.

Sloane came in halfway through and saw blood seeping through the bandage.

She frowned.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

I pulled my hand back.

“Would it have mattered?”

She didn’t answer.

She just handed me a pair of gloves.

“Put these on.”

“Finish this first.”

“Then get your hand checked.”

Out in the front of house, Jase was talking to the custody evaluators.

Emma kept running up and down the aisle.

Then she slammed into the packing station.

The sealed takeout containers crashed to the floor.

Soup splattered across the wall.

The kitchen went dead silent.

One of the employees finally snapped.

“We told you not to let her run around back here!”

Jase put on his poor-me face.

“Raising a kid on my own is hard enough. What more do you want from me?”

Sloane strode in.

She looked at the mess covering the floor.

Then she turned on me.

“How did you let this happen?”

I looked at her.

“I manage the staff.”

“I don’t babysit.”

Her face darkened.

“Jase is under enough pressure already.”

“Do you really have to embarrass him in front of everyone?”

I pulled off my glove.

Blood covered the wound underneath.

“This is a restaurant.”

“His problems don’t mean everyone else has to keep bailing him out.”

Jase covered his face and ran out.

Sloane grabbed my wrist hard and dragged me into the storage room.

“Do you have to be this cruel?”

I yanked my hand free.

The wound split open again.

“I’ve been working all night.”

“My hand is bleeding.”

“And the first thing you care about is whether he was embarrassed?”

She looked down at my hand.

For a second, panic flashed in her eyes.

Then she said,

“You can handle it.”

“Jase is different.”

I didn’t argue with her again.

I turned around, left the restaurant, and went to the hospital by myself.

When they removed the bandage, the wound was badly infected.

The doctor’s face hardened.

“Keep getting dirty water on this wound and you could lose the hand.”

While I sat in the IV treatment area, I got a call from Claire Donovan, a director at a well-established restaurant group.

She invited me to join a six-month restaurant operations training program.

Room and board were covered, and I’d still receive my full salary.

I gave her one answer.

“I’m in.”

That night, I went back to the flagship location.

I’d just made myself a bowl of noodles when a video popped up on Instagram.

The new house was covered in colorful balloons.

Emma wore a birthday hat and clung to Sloane’s arm.

“Aunt Sloane, are you going to live with me and Dad forever?”

Sloane looked down and straightened Emma’s hat.

She didn’t deny it.

I called her.

The background was so loud I could barely hear her.

“I’m busy right now.”

“Cover purchasing for me tomorrow.”

Then she hung up.

I opened our chat and sent her my resignation letter.

At the end, I added one final line.

This time, I was done waiting.