The tight-fitted black skirt hits me mid-thigh. And the black shirt and vest, also tight-fitted, cuts in a ridiculously low V across my chest. I also have to swap out my comfy kitchen clogs for a pair of worn-looking black pumps that just so happen to be in my size.
“f*****g bastard,” I mutter every few seconds.
I’ve just finished changing when Eloise walks into the dressing room. She nods with satisfaction and gives me the once-over.
She ignores me. “I think you should let down your hair.”
“Jesse, you realize that I have to write performance reviews at the end of each and every job we do, right? So far, I’ve never had to write anything other than praise where you’re concerned. Don’t let this night be any different.”
“I’m a chef, not a waiter,” I say, sticking my chin out. “This is no
