“Really?” I ask. “I would have thought being unemployed would give you a little downtime.”
She grimaces, too to even glare at me the way she usually does. “Do you know how hard I worked to get to sous chef?”
“If you worked half as hard to become sous chef as you have at fighting me, then I’m sure you earned it and then some.”
She closes her eyes, lets her head loll back, and exhales deeply. “It’s necessary to fight back against a bully. Strength is the only language they understand.”
“Now, you’re starting to sound like my father.”
“He must’ve been a wise man.”
“There were times when he was,” I admit. “But more often than not, he let his greed blind him.”
“What was he greedy for?” she asks, sitting up and looking at me.
“What most men are greedy for,” I say. “Power.”
“You know all
