Romance Impossible(56)

And, the hell with it - Max was picking up the tab. I grabbed the bottle of Evian, unscrewed the lid, and took a sizeable swig.

I was working for a celebrity, wasn't I? It was high time I started acting like it.

I flopped down on the bed, sinking into the plush duvet and the completely unnecessary pillows. My thoughts drifted to Max, probably just a few feet away from me right now. Unpacking, perhaps, or undressing for a quick shower before bed.

A deep blush spread across my face and neck. What a ridiculous thing to even think about. I'd seen him change for the kitchen enough times that I knew exactly what he looked like from the waist up - and okay, sure, I was curious about the rest. Wouldn't anyone be?

His legs, of course, would be as muscular as the rest of him. I had an idea of that, from our boxing match, but I hadn't seen everything. Not nearly as much as I wanted. My Google news alerts had informed me that somehow, with everything else he had on his plate, Max also managed to squeeze in some athletic training. He'd just run a marathon a few months ago, and made good time, too. I had to admit it was impressive. And it made his body look pretty impressive, too.#p#分页标题#e#

Now I was really blushing.

I knew it was just one of those inevitable workplace crushes that happen when you have to spend so much time around someone. Look at anybody for long enough, and you're bound to find something you like. And really, with Max - so long as he didn't open his mouth too much - it was pretty easy.

Shelly was right. He had a certain roughness to him that was very appealing. He looked more like a construction worker than a professional chef. Hell, for all I knew, he did build houses in his spare time. At this point, it wouldn't have surprised me. He looked perpetually sunburned, and really, as we plunged headlong into a northeastern winter, I couldn't explain that at all.

His colder, more distant attitude since the Michelin star debacle was almost a relief. I missed our friendly banter, on one hand - but on the other hand, when he acted like this, I felt like I knew where I stood.

Despite what Beckett had told me about taking him at face value, I still felt like we were constantly embroiled in some kind of elaborate cat-and-mouse game. And the worst part was, I wasn't sure if I was the mouse, or the cat.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Bouchée





Bouchées are small puff pastries, stuffed with a savory filling. They are a wonderfully indulgent hors d'oeuvre for almost any occasion, and are seldom as difficult to prepare as they might seem. Consider serving them to add richness to an otherwise light and healthful meal. There is nothing quite so important as building expectations for the main course. A crispy, delicious morsel will make your guests salivate with anticipation.





- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes





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Max





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I got the news at three o'clock in the morning. Fucking Europe. Fucking France. Fucking time zones. Lydia called me, because she knew I'd be even angrier if I woke up and found out later.

Thing was, I knew I'd been neglecting New York. I hadn't been back in far too long. By now, in this stage of opening the Trattoria, I should have had things well settled enough to take a quick trip over and check up on things. But I'd let myself become obsessed with the idea of grooming Jill for head chef, rather than actually filling the positions that needed to be filled. Hence, I felt like I couldn't get away.

Hence, reputation ruined.

Okay. So that's a little melodramatic. But for fuck's sake, to lose Michelin stars...

There was a time when even earning them in the first place was just a distant dream. But now that I had them, this felt like a slap in the face.

And it was, really. For once in my life, I knew without a doubt that I deserved every single criticism. Every blog article, every magazine headline, everything.

I'd done it again. And this time, it wasn't a silly bump in the road, like a public fight that just drummed up more business for the restaurant that immediately fired me anyway. This time, I had risked my career.

And for what? For a woman who hated me, no matter how much she wanted to get me in bed.

No, I wasn't stupid. I might have been deluding myself a little bit, for a while, but I wasn't stupid. Jill still resented me and she always would. She was returning my friendly overtures because she wanted to keep the peace, and she wanted to keep her job.

I didn't blame her. It probably wasn't calculated, she just instinctively tried to match my moods and act the way she thought I wanted her to act. Because I was her egotistical, asshole, impossible-to-please boss. She'd stand on her head if she thought it would make me happy. As long as I kept signing those paychecks.#p#分页标题#e#