Romance Impossible(82)

I did. Not too well, having only met the woman a few times, but I knew that Chef Shaw worshipped her, and she'd recently passed away after a long struggle with bone cancer. The fundraiser, as he explained to me, was for the American Cancer Society, and it meant a lot to him personally. He wasn't up to traveling again so soon after his trip, but he wanted to make sure that the catering was handled by someone he could trust.#p#分页标题#e#

Of course, I said I would. I didn't even hesitate.

I had no idea what I was walking into.





***



We'd arrived at the banquet hall a little on the late side. It was unavoidable, with traffic and luggage mix-ups at the airport, but I still felt vaguely responsible. Harried, I had no patience for the dour-faced woman who had to look at our vendor credentials for a full five minutes before she'd let us through to set up.

The place was gorgeous. Huge vaulted ceilings, beautiful round light fixtures hanging in just the right places. There was a loud, indistinct chatter echoing throughout the room, as everyone readied their wares.

As I approached our assigned spot, I heard a sound that made my heart drop into my stomach.

"...and put that one over there - no, over there, I fucking - I swear to God-"

I looked away just in time, before his eyes met mine.

"Wow," said one of the servers, her voice sounding remarkably distant for someone standing right behind me. "Look, it's Chef Maxwell Dylan."

Around me, the world slowed almost to a stop. But not quite. For a moment, all I could hear was my own heartbeat, pounding in my ears. Then all the sounds of the room slowly came back, first as low murmurs, then the dull roar that I suspected was closest to reality.

Someone took the totes I was carrying and set them down.

"Are you okay, Chef?" One of the servers was talking. To me, I realized belatedly.

"Yes," I said, automatically. "Are you guys okay to get started without me? I just need to run to the restroom."

"Yes, Chef."

I beat a hasty retreat, grateful that I'd opted for sensible kitchen shoes instead of something more formal. After some debate, I'd realized nobody would be seeing my feet anyway from the other side of the booth. Thank God. Otherwise, I definitely would have snagged my heel on something and gone ass over teakettle.

Ass over teakettle. Where the hell did I pick that expression up?

I knew the answer. As I splashed cold water on my face, I tried desperately to make myself forget.

Just ask someone organizing the conference to move you to another booth. It shouldn't be a problem, if you just explain...

But no. What kind of message would that send to him? I could dress it up any way I wanted with my staff, tell them I'd gotten a better location or that we were being moved because of some unavoidable organizational snafu. But Chef Dylan would know.

I walked back to our assigned spot, my head held high. There was simply nothing else to do.

The setting-up process was so hectic that I almost didn't have time to think about the man who was standing a few feet away. When I hadn't heard his voice in a while, I finally gained the courage to turn and look - he'd gone. Maybe he wasn't going to be working the whole night, after all. I breathed a premature sigh of relief.

Jaime, my sous chef, sidled up to me.

"Everything okay, boss?"

I nodded, not quite trusting my voice.

"You look nervous," he said. "You got nothing to be nervous about."

"It's not that," I said. "It's..." My eyes flicked over to the adjacent booth, but I didn't let myself look for long enough to tell if he was there.

Jaime was watching me carefully. "Oh yeah," he said, finally. "You used to work for him, didn't you?"

I nodded, twisting something over and over between my fingers. I had to look down to figure out what it was. A cocktail napkin. Where had that come from?

"Come on," Jaime said, finally, taking my elbow and guiding me back to our booth. "Don't even look at him. You're going to do great."#p#分页标题#e#

He wasn't going to ask what happened. It was none of his business anyway, and truth be told, I didn't know what I would say. Whatever he was assuming must be much, much worse than reality. Which was...what?

We fell in love, and we were both too scared to do anything about it, so I ran away.

That didn't sound very good.

I kept my mouth shut.





***



"Are you going to the after-party?"

Jaime was referring, somewhat wryly, to the complementary after-hours food and drink gala that all the staff of the event had been invited to. It was in the attached restaurant and bar, and I hadn't been planning on it, but a drink did sound awfully nice.

Surely, the likes of Chef Dylan wouldn't deign to be seen there.