Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 61: The Apprentice

It’s Friday afternoon before the dinner rush, both the best—and worst—time to get this over with. The

idea, planted in my head by Ethan, has been rolling around in my head for two days. Finally, I decide to

set it into motion.

I lean against the door frame of my office, taking a deep breath before calling out, “Karl, John, could

you both come in here for a moment?”

I don’t miss the sidelong glances exchanged between the two men as they cross the threshold. It’s as if

the air thickens, charged with an electricity that neither wants to acknowledge but can’t ignore.

“Please have a seat,” I instruct, nodding toward the two chairs across from my desk.

Karl takes a seat, folding his arms over his chest as if steeling himself for battle. John follows suit but

not before shooting Karl a disdainful look, one that he returns with equal measure. The atmosphere is

so tense I could snap it with a knife.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk, my eyes shifting from one to the other. “Listen, both of

you have been valuable members of this team. But we’ve got a problem—a serious one. Karl, you can

be as stubborn as a mule, and John, you have a knack for being, well, grating.” This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

The looks on their faces tell me they both want to protest, but I hold up a hand to stop them.

“And so I’ve made a decision,” I continue, locking eyes with each of them in turn. “Starting today, Karl,

you will be working under John to learn the ropes as a line cook.”

For a moment, stunned silence fills the room. And then, as if a fuse has been lit, both men spring to

their feet.

“No way, Abby,” Karl growls, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. “No way in hell am I working under

him.”

“You can’t be serious, Abby!” John chimes in, red-faced and incredulous. “I’d rather be fired than work

with this jackass!”

The tension escalates, each man bristling like a cornered animal, inches away from lunging at each

other. It’s a volatile stand-off, a powder keg ready to explode.

“Sit down,” I snap, my voice laced with a finality that allows no room for argument.

To my surprise, they both comply, although the atmosphere is still buzzing with palpable animosity. I

seize the moment to make my stance abundantly clear.

“Look, if either of you would rather walk out that door than make this work, then by all means go

ahead,” I say, gesturing toward the door with an outstretched arm. “But understand that this is a

restaurant, a team. If either of you can’t adapt, then you’re the ones who are out of place, not the

team.”

I can practically hear the gears grinding in their heads, weighing options, simmering egos. Karl’s eyes

meet mine, and I see it—the unspoken understanding, the awareness that there’s something more at

stake here for him.

For us.

As for John, he’s worked with me for years. I’ve seen him passionately involved in his work, genuinely

invested in the team. Quitting now would be admitting defeat, something I know goes against his very

core.

Neither of the men move to leave. I feel a slight twinge of both relief and trepidation in my core, and

take a deep breath.

“Starting today, Karl, you'll be apprenticing under John,” I say, setting my words in stone. “I expect you

both to put your differences aside for the good of this restaurant. And let me be perfectly clear—if there

are any issues, any at all, you’ll both answer for them. Am I understood?”

Both men lock eyes with me, the reality of my ultimatum sinking in. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but one

that comes with the territory of teamwork, of personal growth.

“We understand, Abby,” John finally mutters, albeit begrudgingly.

Karl simply nods, his eyes never leaving mine, sending a silent message that only I can decipher.

“Good,” I say, exhaling a tiny sigh of relief that feels like it’s been trapped inside of me for ages. “Then

you’re both dismissed. Get back to work.”

After Karl and John exit my office, I sink back into my chair with a sigh. My mind churns with second

thoughts and what-ifs, but it’s done. The decision is made. Only time will tell if I’ve set the stage for

disaster or growth. Or maybe a little bit of both.

I push myself out of the chair, needing to distance myself from the tense atmosphere still clinging to my

office. Stepping into the storeroom, I find Chloe knee-deep in bottles and cans, jotting down notes on a

clipboard as she takes inventory.

“Hey, Abbs,” she says, glancing up at me.

I sink onto the top of a crate, my shoulders sagging. “Hey, Chlo.”

She looks up, her eyes meeting mine. “You look like you’ve just been through a war. Is everything

okay?”

I rub my temples, hesitating before I finally spill. “It’s fine. I just had to sit Karl and John down in my

office. There’s been tension, and well, I’ve decided to make Karl apprentice under John as a line cook.

Figured it would force them to get along.”

Chloe’s eyebrows shoot up, her lips curling into a faintly incredulous expression. “You’re joking, right?

Abby, why are you so bent on making Karl fit in here? It just won’t happen.”

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, Chloe. He

deserves a chance to prove himself.”

Chloe’s eyes narrow, the clipboard now forgotten beside her. “Benefit of the doubt? Really? Correct me

if I’m wrong, but I don’t recall Karl ever giving you the benefit of the doubt, especially not when you two

were—”

I cut her off, my voice a little harsher than I intended. “That was different, Chloe.”

“How is it different now, Abby?” Chloe presses, clearly agitated. “Why extend a favor to him that he

never granted you?”

I open my mouth, but the words don’t come.

Because she’s right, in a way.

Karl never granted me leniency in the past, never gave me the space to make mistakes. But then

again, life’s messy, and people aren’t mathematical equations that can be balanced with ease. They’re

paradoxes, bundles of contradictions that rarely make perfect sense.

Chloe seems to pick up on my hesitation, my unspoken thoughts. She huffs, visibly frustrated. “Look,

Abby, if you don't want to talk about it, fine,” she snarls. “But I’ve got to get back to work.”

She starts to walk away, leaving me alone with a crate full of liquor and a head full of doubts. I watch

her go, my eyes tracing the tense set of her shoulders, the firm line of her back.

I’m left sitting there, my mind racing as I replay the confrontation with Karl and John, the tension with

Chloe, and the unspoken complexities of my past with Karl. Chloe’s words continue to echo in my

mind.

Why am I so adamant about giving Karl a chance?

Why am I risking the harmony of my kitchen, my team, for one man who may or may not deserve it?