The Man Behind The Beast (BWWM) ✓

Chapter 4: Prepare The Food And Get Your Job Back

"Now, Mr. DeGramont-" Mrs. Potts started, as I stood there in total shock.

"It's final. Dinner is dismissed." He spoke, standing up from where he sat at the head of the table, and walking out of the room.

"D-Did he just... Fire me?" I asked, finally tearing my eyes away from the leftover dessert to look at Mrs. Potts.

"Listen honey, just clear up the table and kitchen, I'll go have a word with him." She nodded, patting my back gently as she waddled down the now darkened hallway. I hadn't even noticed the hallway had grown so dark until my eyes caught sight of Lumiere literally blowing out every candle.

"What has happened?" He asked, as he approached me.

"I've been fired." I replied, as I unconsciously began to clear the table.

"Wow. I cannot say I'm surprised." He admitted, as he started to help me with the plates. Being this close to him, I had only now noticed just how handsome he was. He looked like he was... From a different era entirely. His long hair and chiseled face wasn't something familiar. Then again, neither was his accent.

"Where are you from, Lumiere?" I asked, pouring the lemon scented kitchen soap onto the wash rag before he handed me my first plate.

"You've just been fired... And you want to know about my heritage?" He asked, while neatly stacking the dishes for me before moving to the other side to act as my dryer.

"My mother always believed me to be the optimist. Besides, the second I met the man, I knew he was a bit..."

"Rough around the edges?" Lumiere offered.

"Exactly. I'll figure something out... I hope." I replied, picking the the plate that held the cup which had the remaining frozen yogurt inside. "What should I do with this?" I asked.

"Place it in the fridge for now. We can toss it out tomorrow morning." He instructed. "And to answer your previous question, I am from Burgandy, France."

"Oh wow," I whispered, "if I remember right, Burgandy is known for its châteaux (castles)."

"Y-Yes... Your pronunciation... It's almost spot on." He noted, stalling for a second to glance at me. "Where are you from?"

"I was born in New York City. My mother is- was a very well known artist. For some time, she accepted a job in France to paint a very intricate mural. What was supposed to be a few weeks, quickly stretched into a year and a half when she and I both fell in love with the country. I finished Highschool there, so naturally, I caught on with the language." I explained, closing the fridge, and returning to the sink area.

"Your mother passed?" He asked, placing a few plates onto the drying racks.

"Breast cancer. A year ago."

"I'm sorry to hear about that." He sighed.

"It's not something one gets over, but it is something one learns to deal with. I decided to get serious about cooking. Her artistic specialty was creating something from nothing. Essentially, that's what cooking is. Ingredients were my form of paint, and the plate was my canvas. I finished culinary school a year later."

"That's impressive." He commemorated. "Why would you choose this job? I'm sure you could get a better one, where your boss isn't a prick." He joked. I chuckled slightly from our similar word choice.

"I don't want to work in a kitchen. I don't want to have to prepare the same meal every day for a high end restaurant, and I can promise you from experience, most of my potential bosses in the culinary world all have the same spatula shoved up their ass." I explained. "My mom never signed on to a company, she just did what she loved, whenever she wanted. I guess you could say I want the same for myself."

"That's understandable." Lumiere nodded, as we continued to work on the measuring cups and blender parts.

"So what brings you here, to Mr. DeGramont's lonely castle?" I asked, steering the questions back towards him.

"Well, I am from a very influential family, as you may have guessed by my hometown. Mr. DeGramont is from an even more influential family. My family has an... Agreement of sorts, to serve his family. I am here, attesting to said agreement." He spoke. His explanation was very vague.

"So this "agreement." It has you lighting and blowing out candles?" I asked incredulously, as we cleaned the last of the dishes and supplies.

"I actually requested this job." He admitted. "I have a certain... Appreciation, for a flame."

"I'm not even going to ask." I shook my head, placing the last dish on the drying rack. Our conversation was interrupted by someone clearing their throat from somewhere behind us. Both Lumiere and I turned around to find Mr. DeGramont at the entryway.

"S-Sir. May I be of assistance?" Lumiere asked.

"Leave us." Mr. DeGramont answered shortly. Lumiere bowed slightly, then left immediately after. I just glared at the man as he stared back at me. His once beautiful eyes were now just annoying.

"What." I snapped, not even trying to conceal the resentment anymore.

"You're angry." He noted.

Was he fucking serious right now?

"Yes. One tends to get that way after they've been fired." I hissed, wiping my wet hands on my sweater.

"Yes. About that." He started, walking further in, to lean against the kitchen island. I only just now noticed it was almost 8 and this man was still in a crisp, just ironed, suit. Talk about weird.

I heart began to beat uncontrollably once again. Why did I have to notice how perfect this man was while I was mad?

"It has come to my attention-" I heard someone clear their throat from somewhere out in the hallway. "Mrs. Potts has brought to my attention, the fact that I may have jumped the gun with my decision to fire you."

I just stared at him. Was this happening? Was I dreaming? Was this man about to actually... Dare I say, apologize?

"Now I won't apologize for my actions-"

I spoke too soon.

"But I will give you another chance. The same rules apply. If you make something I don't like, you will be fired."

"Why should I accept those terms?" I asked, as I crossed my arms.

"Because I rather not live off dinner boxes until I can find another cook. Because I'm not sure if any other cook is as desperate for this position as you are."

"Desperate?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You crave the freedom and free will to create a masterpiece that is your own. You don't want structure, you want to experiment, to experience a new kind of art. There is no room for that in restaurants. Here, I will allow you to create whatever you wish for me, provided I like it. It's a high risk, high reward, but I'm willing to bet you will take me up on my offer."

I stood still and thought. There really was no "thinking about it" though, I needed the job, and it paid well.

"Fine. The uniform is still off the table."

"Fine. Consider wearing an apron though, you'll ruin that cashmere sweater." He noted, before pushing himself away from the table. "Goodnight, Ms. Mallerie."

"Breakfast will be served at 8." I reminded him as he disappeared around the corner.

"7:30. Any later and you're fired." He called back from somewhere down the hallway.

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