“What part of keeping my options open suggests that I’m rushing into anything?” Gentry grabbed her purse. “I’ve got to run. I’ll read this report and come up with a plan. Maybe I’ll swing by the day after next and get some photos. I think it’s supposed to be sunny.”
“Thanks, Gentry.” Colby stood and offered her sister a hug. “This will be good for both of us.”
“Unless we end up like my mom and Hunter.” Gentry snickered. “Just kidding. See you later!”
She flounced off, her little skirt swishing around her thighs, loose curls flowing down her back. Colby sat and drew a deep breath to quiet the fear that hiring her sister might be the best and worst decision of her week.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Alec barked at the sous chef, Chris, his voice reverberating off the metal surfaces in the kitchen. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry!”
“Why?” Chris shot him a vexed look.
Alec pointed at the meunière sauce smeared on the outer lining of the dish. “Does that look spotless to you? Do you think any customer wants to pay thirty-eight dollars for a dish and have it served looking so sloppy?” He whirled around on the chef de entremetier. “And do these first courses look consistent? Don’t answer. I will. They don’t. This one, too much sauce. This one, wilted chiffonade. That one isn’t properly seared!”
“You didn’t even taste them.” Chris flipped his palms heavenward, defending his subordinate.
“I don’t need to, because I wouldn’t let any of these items leave this kitchen. Look at them!”
“No one but you would notice the chiffonade,” Chris challenged.
Pressure built up behind Alec’s eyes. “What did you say?”
“Most people toss that aside.” Chris shrank back a step or two.
Clearly, none of these cooks had trained under the masters in Europe. They hadn’t worked eighteen-hour shifts on their feet for twenty grand a year and slept on hostel floors just for the chance to learn from the best.
“How do you think a restaurant earns a James Beard Award, or, if Michelin ever expands its US review territories to include the Northwest, a star? By being lazy? By ignoring the little details? No. No!” Alec’s palm slammed against the metal counter. He needed each of them to adopt his perspective if he had any chance of making Colby’s restaurant the best, or of winning awards and proving to his dad and the world that his talent wasn’t a fluke or a joke. “Every single plate that leaves this kitchen must, must, meet the standard I set. It will be perfect. It will be clean. It will be consistent. No one knows which customer out there is a critic. You can’t afford not to be perfect every single time.”
Chris dimly stared back at Alec, as if Alec were a madman. “Okay.”
“Okay? Putain!” Alec turned toward the rest of the cook staff, voice tight and rough. “Do none of you have the passion required to be the best? To produce the finest meals in the area? Because if you don’t aim for perfection, then I don’t want you in this kitchen.”
“Alec?” Colby’s voice cut through the room.
He whipped his neck around. “Yes?”
She offered a conciliatory smile to his staff. “Could I please see you out here for a minute?”
Alec noticed Chris’s smug satisfaction. Whether intentional or not, Colby had undermined Alec at a critical moment. He forced a lid over his temper. “Of course.”
He followed her into the dining room, counting to three in his head while she straightened her pencil skirt. For chrissakes, did she think he had time for a lecture? He didn’t need to be micromanaged in his own kitchen. Her restaurant, his kitchen, dammit.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “I heard you yelling from out here.”
“The staff isn’t up to par, Colby, and I only have a couple of weeks to train them.”
“Training? It sounded like screaming to me.”
Alec inhaled slowly, reminding himself that Colby disliked conflict and had never once worked in any kitchen. She had no idea of the difficulty, the coordination, the trust and teamwork that needed to be pulled off, hour after endless hour. He resented the way she now looked at him with distaste. Her husband had been a loudmouth, so why Alec’s behavior bothered her, he couldn’t quite say. “I need them to do exactly as I say. Exactly. If they don’t learn to work like clockwork, you’ll have increased costs beginning with wasted inventory and ending with higher workers’ comp claims because of injuries. That means I can’t have you undercut my authority.”