Chop Easy Restaurant: A Taste of Tension
The kitchen of Chop Easy was a symphony of controlled chaos, a humid ballet of sizzling pans and shouted orders.
Reggie, her smooth golden fair skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat, moved with the grace of a conductor. She wasn't just overseeing; she was feeling every order. Her senses tuned to the precise aroma of garlic hitting hot oil, the rapid-fire chop of knives on cutting boards, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a tenderizer. The air was thick with the rich scent of spices, a testament to the inverse restaurant's unique menu.
"Table five, Pan-Seared Salmon with Lemon-Dill Sauce! And a side of roasted asparagus!" The waiter's voice, a clear call from the main restaurant, cut through the din.
Reggie nodded, already at the pass, inspecting a plate. The salmon, perfectly flaky, glinted under the heat lamps, steam rising in delicate tendrils.
"Almost there, Marco!" she called back, her voice a rich contralto that somehow carried over the clamor. She moved on, checking a bubbling pot of Spicy Shrimp and Grits, its rich, savory scent making her stomach rumble. Next to it, a Smoked Brisket Sandwich, piled high with tender meat and tangy slaw, waited for its journey to a hungry customer. Reggie adjusted a stray piece of brisket, a small, unconscious gesture of perfectionism.
"Order up! Chicken and Waffles for two, extra syrup!" another cook shouted. Reggie grinned.
That was one of their best-sellers, a perfect blend of sweet and savory. She could almost taste the crisp, golden waffle and the juicy, fried chicken.
Then, a familiar, comforting aroma drifted over, one she knew well from her grandmother's kitchen and from her own treasured trip to Nigeria.
"And table seven wants the Efo Riro and Pounded Yam!" the waiter announced.
Reggie's smile broadened.
She loved seeing her culture celebrated here, a taste of home for her Nigerian side, a bridge to the vibrant country she'd only visited once but carried deep in her heart.
A few minutes later, the relentless rhythm of the kitchen still humming in her ears, Reggie pushed through the swinging doors into the main dining area. The air immediately felt cooler, less dense with cooking smells, though the tempting aroma of various dishes, from smoky barbecue to the distinct richness of Jollof Rice, still lingered, a promise of satisfaction. Her eyes scanned the bustling room, filled with the murmur of conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter.
Her gaze settled on the bar. There, perched on a stool, was Jay. He looked relaxed, a half-empty glass of amber liquid in his hand, a contented smirk playing on his lips. Beside him, an empty plate held the last smears of a well-devoured meal – clearly, his favorite Jollof Rice and Chicken had met its delicious end. His eyes, the color of warm honey, were already on her, a familiar, comforting presence in the lively space. A genuine smile bloomed on Reggie's face, softening the focused intensity she wore in the kitchen. She started toward him, a lightness entering her step.
"Jay, still loitering, aburo?" she teased playfully, using the Yoruba term for "younger brother," that sound so foreign in her mouth, despite their mere three-year age gap. She ruffled his hair as she slid onto the stool beside him, an unconscious, affectionate gesture she'd done countless times.
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Told you to stop treating me like a kid," he spat while she touched his hair, but Reggie dismissed his word with a funny face. He let out a smile, then went on, "Wouldn't miss out on the post-rush calm, Reggie. Besides, the Jollof was stellar, as always." He leaned in, a conspiratorial glint in his eye.
"Though I could do with another plate of those Suya skewers they just sent out. Smells divine." He winked, and Reggie laughed, a bright, unrestrained sound that made heads turn subtly at nearby tables.
They chatted easily, the conversation flowing like the drinks Jay was sipping. He loved watching her like this, relaxed and radiant, her passion for Chop Easy evident in every line of her beaming face.
A warmth, both comforting and agonizing, spread through his chest. He reached for his glass, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around it. He hated how easily she saw him as a little brother, even when every fiber of his being screamed for her to see him as more.
"Reggie?"
The voice, deep and resonant, cut through their laughter. Reggie froze, her smile faltering for a split second before a new, almost incandescent one replaced it. Her head snapped in the direction of the voice.
Jay, following her gaze, felt a familiar, unwelcome tightening in his gut. The casual way her hand had fallen from his hair now felt like a stark absence.
Standing a few feet away, by a table near the window, was a man. He was tall, with a lean build and a smile that had clearly charmed many. Reggie's eyes widened, a vivid spark igniting in their depths.
"Aiden? Oh my god! Is that really you?" Her voice was higher than usual, laced with an unmistakable delight. She practically bounced off her stool, moving towards him with an eagerness that hit Jay like a physical blow.
Aiden chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he met her halfway. "The one and only! Wow, Reggie, you haven't changed a bit! Still as beautiful!"
Reggie was beaming, a blush rising on her cheeks that wasn't from the kitchen heat. She laughed, a giddy, almost girlish sound Jay rarely heard directed at him.
"Look at you! What are you doing here?" She gestured around Chop Easy, her pride in the restaurant momentarily forgotten, replaced by pure, unadulterated nostalgia and something else – something that made Jay's jaw clench.
Jay watched them, a storm brewing behind his outwardly calm demeanor. His hand, still wrapped around his glass, now pressed so hard that his knuckles were stark white. The easy warmth that had filled his chest just moments ago was replaced by a cold, sharp ache. He could hear their animated chatter, see Reggie's unrestrained smiles, the way she kept looking at Aiden, her eyes shining. It was the kind of look he secretly, desperately, wished she'd direct at him.
The aroma of the food around him, once inviting, now felt heavy, almost suffocating. He swallowed, a dry, bitter sensation in his throat, the delicious memory of the Jollof rice fading into bitter ashes.
He wished he could just disappear, become invisible, melt into the polished wood of the bar. The music from the speakers, previously a pleasant background hum, now sounded like a mocking, jumbled noise. He took a long, slow sip of his drink, the cool liquid doing nothing to quench the fiery jealousy starting to consume him.
* * * * * *
The call from Everest Group came two days later to Joey. A cold hand reaching from a past she barely remembered. They were delighted, they said, eager for her to resume her position.
Joey's heart didn't just thump; it hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of strange excitement and gnawing trepidation.
This was her job, her career, her life. Yet, the very name of the company now felt like a brand, a heavy, silent warning pressed against her skin.
The morning she returned to work was crisp and bright, the city a vibrant canvas of rushing commuters. As the taxi pulled up to the sleek, glass facade of the Everest Group building, a profound jolt, almost an electric current, shot through Joey. It wasn't just familiarity; it was a staggering sense of ownership, as if the towering structure itself was an extension of her, its very essence pulsing with her energy.
This building, the beating heart of Lyra's father's legacy, felt more like home than her own compound ever had. This feeling, this strange, consuming connection, transcended mere recognition. It was an innate understanding of every angle, every glinting panel, every intricate detail, as if she'd breathed life into its blueprints herself.
The sensations were undeniably powerful, and unequivocally not her own, leaving her breathless with a nameless dread.
Taking a ragged breath, she reached for the door, her hand hovering over the cool, unforgiving metal. This was it. A new beginning, or the continuation of a story she couldn't yet comprehend, a story where she was merely a pawn.
Just as her fingers brushed the handle, a sleek, black luxury sedan pulled up with a silent hiss. The back door opened with an almost theatrical grace, and a man stepped out. He was impeccably dressed, every line of his suit screaming power, an aura of unshakeable confidence radiating from him.
As he emerged, the small crowd gathered near the entrance shifted, a ripple of deferential murmurs following him.
"Mr. Vale!"
"Good morning, Mr. Vale!"
"Congratulations on the interim presidency, sir!"
A sharp, blinding lance of pain ripped through Joey's chest, stealing her breath. Edric! Lyra's brother. The name reverberated in her mind, a discordant bell. But why the pain? It wasn't just physical; it was a sudden, crushing weight of betrayal, sharp and agonizing, slamming into her with the force of a physical blow.
An overwhelming certainty, absolute and chilling, demanded she unravel this knot of torment.
Have I truly never met him? Joey's mind screamed, even as a phantom ache bloomed behind her eyes.
Why does every fiber of my being scream betrayal when I look at him? I have no memory of ever meeting any of the Vale family before, except for Lyra from that evening. So why this gut-wrenching sense of treachery? How am I inextricably linked to these people, to this man?
This man, she dimly registered through a haze of pain, was intrinsically linked to the "wrongness" inside her, a pulsating source of profound agony. But she had no name for it, no memory of seeing him before, except for the cold, sterile facts unearthed during her research two days back. If she hadn't even saw him on the Lyra's family tree that day, he wouldn't have knew who he is.
The old Joey, timid and shy, rarely looked anyone in the face, especially strangers, or bothered to learn about people she didn't expect to interact with.
So why did this intense pain grip her now, a searing, unfamiliar anguish, for someone she felt utterly foreign to, yet chillingly familiar with?
Edric glanced up, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like a king surveying his subjects, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, cold and dismissive as shards of ice, briefly flickered over Joey, dismissing her as nothing more than a forgotten shadow, just another insignificant employee. He turned to enter the building, the murmur of respectful greetings trailing in his wake like a subservient echo.
Joey stood frozen, unable to move, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. The pain in her chest was almost unbearable, a raw, physical manifestation of a betrayal she couldn't fully comprehend, all directed at a man whose face she barely registered, yet whose presence tore at her very soul.
The Everest Group building, once a gleaming symbol of her own ambition, now felt like a gilded cage, its polished facade hiding secrets darker than she could ever imagine.
* * * * * *
Upstairs, the familiar buzz of the design department greeted her, a jarring contrast to the turmoil within. Her colleagues, a mix of younger architects and seasoned designers, looked up as she entered.
"Joey! Welcome back!"
"It's great to see you!"
They greeted her warmly, a genuine relief in their voices. But within ten minutes, the familiar, timid Joey they knew was put to the test.
"Hey, Joey, could you be a darling and grab me a coffee while you're out?" one asked, waving a hand vaguely towards the cafeteria, a dismissive gesture that grated on her nerves.
"Oh, and Joey, since you're heading out, could you quickly print these for me? It's for that last big project you assigned us," another chimed in, pushing a USB stick across her desk. Her own workstation, left untidy and unattended in her absence, a testament to their casual expectations, only fueled the growing fire inside her.
Joey stared at them, her newfound composure momentarily shattered, replaced by a wave of pure, simmering disbelief. Her face, usually soft and pliable, hardened into an unfamiliar mask.
"Coffee?"
She articulated slowly, her voice surprisingly deep, resonant with an undeniable, bossy confidence that brooked no argument.
"Print this?"
She gestured to the USB stick, her gaze cutting, then swept her hand across her own cluttered desk, a silent challenge.
"Before I even consider getting anything for myself, you two will have my workstation tidied up. And I mean spotless. Understand?"
The two architects flinched, their faces blanching, caught utterly off guard by the seismic shift in her demeanor. They exchanged wide-eyed glances, a mixture of shock and dawning fear in their eyes.
The timid, shy Joey they knew had vanished, replaced by someone utterly formidable, a woman whose authority crackled in the air. They stiffened, shuddering inwardly at her unexpected, chilling tone.
"Yes, Ms. Valerie! Right away, Ms. Valerie!" they stammered, scrambling to their feet with an uncharacteristic urgency.
Joey gave a curt nod, her eyes still holding that unfamiliar, sharp glint, a silent promise of future expectations. "Good," she said, before turning and striding out the door, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.
_
Down in the company's lobby cafeteria, the aroma of coffee mingled with the low hum of conversation. Joey moved through the crowd, a strange, undeniable magnetism pulling her gaze towards the elevators. There, a man and a woman were walking towards them, their face not so clear from afar, their hands interlocked, an open, almost ostentatious display of affection.
Her head rang, a sudden, piercing chill running through her veins. A scene, disjointed and fleeting, played before her eyes like a broken film reel: the same man he's seeing now, his hand entwined with another, the woman's face a tantalizing blur of soft features and light hair, but the overwhelming presence of herself in that memory, of Joey's raw emotion, was undeniably strong, a silent scream.
Then, the vision shifted, a jarring cut. Another scene of the woman she just saw with him, her face still a blur, turned her head slightly, and Joey instinctively felt a wave of cold, piercing disdain emanating from her, a chill that seeped into her bones.
Instinctively, Joey started to follow them, her pace quickening, a primal urge driving her forward. They were already at the elevators, waiting for the doors to open. Just as she was almost upon them, a figure stepped into her path, subtly, deliberately blocking her way.
It was Stiles.
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes, heavy with unspoken knowledge, following the man and woman as they stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft chime, sealing away their secret.
He then turned his full attention to Joey, whose face was now etched with urgency for him to move. His gaze unreadable, but with a familiar, almost painful intensity that promised shared secrets, a burden he carried for her.
There's no mistaken now! He has to be right! This is definitely Lyra! It must be. A Lyra with no memories of her past, now living with someone else's, but with figments of hers!
Stiles thought, his eyes filled with so much explainable pain, a silent plea for her to understand.