What a clusterfuck.
***
"Excuse me. Excuse me." I could hear the man's voice echoing through the whole dining room, even before I got close to the door. I picked up my pace, just as he began to bellow: "I want you to explain to me why I, a paying customer with a reservation, have to stand here and explain to my wife that we can't eat here tonight. She's been looking forward to this for months. Months!"
He was poking his finger dangerously close to Cat's chest. Swiftly, I stepped between them and caused the man to step backwards without actually touching him.
"Sir," I said. "I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. We'll be happy to have you any other night with openings still available, on the house. Tonight, unfortunately, things are very tight."
"But I have a reservation." The man was practically quivering with rage, and I found myself wondering, as I had during many similar encounters in the past, where he found the energy. I could understand a lot of emotions in conjunction with this situation, but pure, unadulterated fury?#p#分页标题#e#
Yes, yes, I know. Glass houses, throwing stones and all that.
But still, you have to conserve your energy for things that actually matter, don't you?
As I attempted to talk the man down, I had to fight the sinking realization that this was only the first of many similar arguments I'd be having tonight.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
***
"Well, we're all still alive."
Beckett was tossing a wine cork into the air and catching it, over and over again. Maddeningly.
"What are you, a cat?" I snapped at him, lifting my head from where it was resting in my hands. My elbows had slid so far on my desk that I was hardly upright anymore.
I'd had a more serious talk with Aiden once things slowed down, and I was now confident that he wouldn't touch the reservation book again. So, that was a small win. But still, tomorrow morning I'd just have to get up and do this all over again.
It was the best and worst thing about this business.
"Jill came through nicely for us," he pointed out, still tossing the cork in the air. "Lucky find, that one."
Nodding, I perked up a little. "I had no idea," I said. "Couldn't have. It's not exactly something you put on a resume, but it certainly did turn out to be useful."
Beckett was watching me, like he wanted to bring something up, but couldn't figure out how.
"Spit it out," I said.
"What is it about her?" he asked, finally.
My throat tightened.
"I don't know what you mean," I said, a little too forcefully.
"Thought you said you were going to be a priest," he pointed out, just softly enough that I could have ignored it, if I wanted to.
"It's not like that," I said. "I don't know what it is about her. But it's not...like that."
"Ah. So you admit there's something." Beckett swiveled in his chair. "Had you ever met her before the interview?"
"No," I said, not sure why I was bothering to lie. Beckett always knew.
"Bullshit," he said. "Was it really that bad?"
"Bad enough," I said. "I think she's only working for me because she's desperate."
"Well, that's true of plenty of people, isn't it?" He was grinning, but it wasn't really a joke.
"Could be," I said. "But this is different."
How, exactly, I didn't know. But thankfully, for once in his life, Beckett was content to let things lie.
CHAPTER NINE
Portefeuille
The portefeuille family is a diverse one, ranging anywhere from omelets to chicken cordon bleu. The basic principle is to fold, stuff, or place in layers, creating a delicious, unexpected surprise somewhere hidden underneath the outermost layers.
- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes
***
Jill
***
I could not figure this guy out.
Of course, I knew he was fond of mind games, bullying, manipulation, and pretty much everything I couldn't stand. But I still had trouble reading Chef Dylan, and it was becoming a major problem.
After opening night, I was feeling pretty good about saving the day. Shelly's father loved the extra business, and was very pleased to be supplying such a famous chef. It was a win-win-win. Still, though, I felt anxious about the whole thing. Had I overstepped my bounds? Was Chef going to see me as a threat now, instead of an asset?#p#分页标题#e#
I had no idea. With an ego that big, there was simply no telling.
By the first day of our third week in business, my mind was swirling with so many contradictory thoughts and feelings that it must have showed. On my lunch break, Beckett stopped in the back to ask me if I was all right.