Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 21: Reprimanding the Alpha

Karl

I cross my arms and take a glance around the kitchen. The tiles sparkle like they’re brand new, and the

entire place smells like lemon cleaning solution; I’ve just finished mopping the floor, and although I

would never admit it to anyone, it’s… the first time I’ve ever used a mop.

“Maybe I’m a bit out of my depth here,” I think to myself as I look around. “But I want to do a good job.

For Abby.”

I might not know a great deal about mopping floors, but I do know a lot about running a business. I just

hope that Abby will let me help more in the future. She said she doesn’t need another leader, but that

doesn’t mean that I can’t give her ideas, right?

“Karl,” Abby shouts from across the kitchen, her voice commanding over the din of kitchen noises. “Put

the mop away. We need you over here cleaning dishes.”

She points to the growing pile of dishes on the far counter, then the dishwasher beside it. Ethan had

given me a long-winded tutorial on how the machine worked earlier, but I was really hoping to avoid

that particular job. The idea of touching soggy food and getting hot water all over myself isn’t the most

appealing of ideas, but I know that it needs to be done.

I nod and return the mop to the place I found it. The current dishwasher meets me at the back sink,

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where the dirty plates are overflowing.

“Excess food goes in there,” he says, pointing to a nearby garbage bin. “You scrape that off and I’ll

rinse.” Until now, he’s been doing all three jobs himself. It’s clear he’s struggling to keep up with the

never-ending piles of dirty plates that the busboys keep bringing in.

“Geez,” I think to myself. If Abby was worried about losing business and having to close down, she

needn’t have bothered. Now that the place is up and running again, the dinner rush has been nonstop.

Without a word, the dishwasher hands me one of the plates. There’s a half-eaten steak on top, gravy

everywhere, what looks like mashed potatoes that someone swirled around with their fork before

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deciding that they didn’t want them. I can’t help but scrunch up my nose at the mess; who orders a

steak and then only eats half of it? It feels like a waste.

“What’s your name again?” I ask the dishwasher, wanting to fill the silence as we work.

“Never said it. It’s Jack.”

I nod, taking Jack’s name to memory. I’ve always been good with names, and I’ve already got most of

the names in the kitchen down. “Here, Jack,” I say, handing him the plate.

Jack shakes his head at me and points at the garbage again. “What’s wrong with it?” I ask, taking a

look at the plate. I’ve already scraped it.

With a huff, Jack shoots me an annoyed look. “There’s still mashed potatoes on the plate. Are you

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trying to gum up my dishwasher or something? Scrape stuff properly.”

I’m not thrilled by the dishwasher’s attitude, but I decide not to argue. “Erm, sorry,” I say, before giving

the plate another good scrape over the trash can. When I’m satisfied, I turn to hand it back to Jack—

but he just makes another face, snat ches it out of my hand, and scrapes it himself.

I can’t help but let out a small sigh of annoyance at Jack’s attitude. But I’m determined to get through

this; I’ve never lost a bet in my life, and there’s too much on the line for me to screw up now. Abby has

to go to that party with me.

“You know, it would be faster if you spent less time rinsing off each plate,” I say, noticing the growing

pile of dishes on the counter. If we don’t start moving faster, the dirty plates are going to start to tower

over us.

Jack gives me a look that makes me bristle. “You have to rinse them well, or there will be food bits

crusted to the plates.”

“I’m just saying. I’m getting the plates ready for you a lot faster than you’re able to rinse them. Maybe I

should rinse them.”

“That wouldn’t make sense.”

I scrape off another plate and stack it next to the sink. “It makes a lot of sense.”

“Well, I’m in charge here, and I say we do it this way.” Jack shoots me an angry look, his cold eyes

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filled with annoyance.

I open my mouth again to say more, but before I can, Abby’s voice cuts through the kitchen once more.

Jack smirks and turns back to his work, and I brace myself for more orders or a solid scolding.

“What’s up?” I say, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.

“Stop starting arguments with Jack,” she says. “He’s busy and you’re not helping.”

I can’t help but frown. “I was just trying to make the process more efficient.”

She smirks and points back at the dishwasher. “It’s your job to shut up and follow orders. He’s worked

as a dishwasher before, and you haven’t. Just do what he tells you. Unless you’re trying to lose that

bet.”

I grit my teeth, but nod. If that’s what she wants, then I’ll do it.

Even if it’s stupid.

…

Abby

I glance at Karl. He’s focused on his work, scraping food scraps into the garbage. I watch him work for

a minute, my brows pulling together. He’s saying something to Jack that I can’t hear, but judging by the

tense look on Jack’s face, it’s

probably something he has no business having an opinion on. For some reason, he can’t accept that

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he’s not the one in charge here.

I know it’s just who he is. He’s used to being in charge, and dominance is not something you can just

switch off, but if he keeps this up, it’s going to cause problems. The last thing I need is another mutiny

on my hands. And besides, he could use a little bit of humility in his life. Maybe after tonight, he’ll learn

that he’s not always the top dog everywhere he goes. Restaurant kitchens always teach people hard

lessons like that, which is part of the reason why I love them.

“Abby,” Daisy says, drawing my attention back to the plate in front of me.

I slide the plate to her, and she takes it with a smile. Daisy was a bit of an unusual hire, but I haven’t

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regretted it for a second. During her interview, she was super upfront about her previous job as a sex

worker. She told me she didn’t hate it, but that she wanted to try something new.

I know some people would judge her for her previous job, but not me. People do what they have to do

to survive, and everyone has the right to change who they are and what they do. It’s really not my place

to judge.

I move on to the next set of plates. Two more steaks. We’re not a steakhouse by any means, but it’s a

specialty of John’s, one of my new chefs. He’s abrasive, swears like a sailor, and could use a filter, but

his food is to die for.

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Karl glances up as Daisy returns to the kitchen. He hands Jack a plate, then waves her over. She gave

him a curious look and approaches cautiously. I’ve noticed that a lot of my employees are nervous

around him. Maybe they sense the power that radiates off him.

He says something to her, and she frowns. I consider going over there to see what’s going on, but John

hands me another plate, forcing me to turn away.

When we’ve finally closed for the night, I retreat into my office to check my schedule for tomorrow.

We’re getting a shipment of meat early in the morning.

There’s a timid knock on the door.

“Come in,” I call, turning in my chair.

Daisy slips into the room, closing the door behind her. She stands in front of me, wringing her hands.

There’s a tattoo of a daisy along the side of her wrist.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask.

She bites her lip. “Can I talk to you about something?” she says, her voice a little shaky.

“Of course.” I gesture to the chair I have against the far wall. She drags it over and sits on the edge. “Is

everything all right?” I ask.

She shakes her head, and a tear slips free.

“Hey, don’t cry,” I say.

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“It’s that guy, Karl.” She wipes her tears, sniffling a little.

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