Romance Impossible(49)

I considered her statement for a moment. She was right, of course. What with his other restaurants, his hectic TV filming schedule, and all his other obligations, Max wasn't going to stay head chef of the Trattoria for very long. Somehow, that thought hadn't occurred to me. All his other restaurants had a head chef that he'd hand-picked to run the show whenever he couldn't be there - which was most of the time.

"I don't know if I like what you're implying," I told her, seeing the sly grin on her face.

"Come on," she said. "You said he seems impressed with you so far, right?"

I'd told her about the broad strokes of his illness, leaving out the part where I showed up at his door like a creepy stalker. "Yeah, but-"

"And," she went on, holding up her hand to stop me from demurring, "he picked you in the first place, right? And then he promoted you to sous chef right after you opened? Didn't that surprise you?"

"Well, yes, but Shelly-"

"And he hasn't even looked for a head chef yet. Doesn't that strike you as a little suspicious?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay!" I threw my hands up. "All right, Mr. Columbo, you've made your case. But I can't let myself think that way. I've got to focus on what my job actually is, right now. It's distracting enough, just working for a guy like Chef Dylan. I don't need to be thinking ten steps ahead."

"But you need to be prepared." Shelly shoved another handful of chip crumbs into her mouth. Crunch, crunch, crunch. "What if he offers you the head chef job? Will you say yes? All that pressure?"

Of course I didn't have an answer for her. How could I? Sure, like every kid in culinary school I'd dreamed of one day heading a restaurant like his. Something that would be a big deal, something you could really write home about. Yes, there'd be pressure, but on the flip side...running a restaurant of Chef Dylan's was the kind of career move you could live on forever. Nobody would turn you away, with that on your résumé.

Then again, being his sous chef was nothing to sneeze at, either.

"Seriously," I said to Shelly, who was still staring at me with a questioning smile on her face. "Stop it. How would you feel if I started cross-examining you about...whatever it is that accountants aspire to be in their wildest dreams?"

"Well, it's not as sexy as working for a celebrity chef, that's for damn sure." Shelly polished off her margarita. "You need to think about these things, Jilly. Doesn't he seem like the kind of guy who'd be offended if you wanted a week to think about it?"

"He'd be offended if I turned it down, too, so I might as well just say yes." I shook my head. "Why am I even considering this? You have got to stop. You're going to drive me nuts with this."

"Fine, but don't come crying to me when you get blindsided by a job offer you didn't expect," Shelly said, breezily. "Again."

Maybe she had a point. A teeny, tiny, infinitely small point. I mean - I still couldn't really explain why he'd hired me in the first place. Clearly, Max wasn't as predictable as I liked to pretend he was. He trusted me. He relied on me enough that he didn't feel he needed to look for a head chef right now. That felt...okay, that felt pretty good.#p#分页标题#e#

But I wasn't at the Trattoria to have my ego stroked. I was there to earn a living. I couldn't let myself lose sight of that in crazy ambitions that would probably never come to pass.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Apéritif





The purpose of an apéritif is to relax before dinner, to open the senses in preparation for the flavors. Any sort of alcoholic drink may be served, though champagne is often chosen for its lightness on the palate. A small amount of alcohol warms the stomach, heightening anticipation for the coming attraction.





- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes





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Max





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There's a lot of rumors about me. Some of them are true. Some are just mostly true. Some, of course, are made up completely - but not as many as I'd like.

Yes, I once challenged a food critic to a boxing match. He put up a valiant fight, but I won. And yes, it's true that beating him doesn't prove that my food isn't "pretentious, bland and overpriced," but it felt damn good anyway.

Yes, I once made the evening news because I fought with the hostess of a five-star restaurant in front of customers. Yes, it made the evening news. No, nobody was hurt. Every once in a while, I still run into a fan who thanks me for the night of entertainment, but I'm not particularly proud of it.

Yes, I made Chef Sully DePalma cry. He had it coming.

About the "trail of broken hearts" thing. I don't know that I'd use such a melodramatic term, but I won't play dumb. I know where the rumor comes from. I'm always on the move, going from one city to the next, meeting new women all the time, and most of them - yes, most of them - actually like me. I don't mind saying it. I'm not boasting, it's just a fact. Entanglements happen. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I have a hard time keeping it casual. Things tend to spiral out of control.