fits were not tolerated, and the motto in her kitchen varied from ‘just do it’, ‘suck it up’, to ‘customer satisfaction rules’.
The team comprised junior chefs and wait staff who worked well together, surmounting the inevitable daily hiccup with minimum angst and occasional humour.
By early afternoon Lara had apprised the staff of her temporary absence in New York, her marriage, and provided assurance their jobs were secure.
News which both Shontelle and Sally refused to accept without voiced concern, and they urged a confrontation as the staff returned to their positions.
‘Like, why … and why the rush?’ Sally quietly demanded.
‘Wolfe has to get back to New York, and he wants to get married before we leave.’
‘I can go with that. Except there are holes in the overall story,’ Shontelle pursued with a faint frown.
‘Uh-huh,’ Sally agreed. ‘You’re not exactly the ecstatic, starry-eyed bride-to-be. So what gives?’
They deserved her honesty, for they’d worked together, shared much, and had provided unstinting support when Paul, her business partner, had left her financially bereft.
Lara provided the expurgated version, encapsulating it in one sentence, and went on to explain, ‘I hated that my trust in Paul was totally misplaced … ashamed he managed to fool me so successfully. I’ve fought hard to hold on to Lara’s … something I couldn’t have managed without your support, and your willingness to go that extra mile for me,’ she added with sincerity. ‘I care for Wolfe, and I know he’s an honourable man with whom I’ll share a pleasant life. Our forthcoming marriage is a sensible solution,’ she concluded.
‘And you’re OK to settle with sensible?’ Sally queried with concern. ‘If he gives you grief, he’ll pay—big time,’ Sally promised.
Shontelle added fiercely, ‘When do we get to meet him?’
‘For the visual once-over and a verbal third degree?’ Lara teased.
***
A few phone calls resulted in two interviews arranged for mid-afternoon, each applicant presenting an impressive CV … although proof involved follow-up calls to their current or previous employers, which if satisfactory then relied heavily upon a hands-on trial. Something she organized to occur over the next two consecutive days.
Evening reservations ensured efficient handling in the kitchen. Not an easy task when operating on minimum staff.
However, they managed—just—and shortly after nine the orders for mains lessened and progressed towards desserts and coffee.
‘Party of five, and a gorgeous hunk—solo,’ Sally imparted with an appreciative rolling of her eyes as she presented their order. ‘On a score of one to ten, he’s an eleven.’
Lara merely lifted speculative eyebrows, checked the order and set to filling it.
Sally made a humorous game of according scores to the attractive men frequenting the restaurant.
‘Going to spread some charm.’ Sally grinned as she filched a bottle of still water from the display refrigerator then exited the kitchen.
Good luck, Lara offered silently as she seared a medallion of eye-fillet steak, selected the appropriate sauce and arranged the accompanying salad.
‘Think I’m in love,’ Sally enthused when she returned, and Lara shot her a telling look. ‘Yeah, I know. Like he’s going to even look at me. But a girl can fantasize.’ A telling sigh emerged, accompanied by a feigned dreamy expression.
‘You’re a riot.’
Sally offered an infectious grin as she collected the order. ‘Helps pass the time, darling.’
So it did. Lightening the load when stress threatened to reach the stratosphere, as it did, for one reason or another, on a reasonably regular basis.
Lara had worked the evening with efficient speed, clearing her mind of everything except the essential need to pay attention to detail, and the individual touches that made each dish on the menu special.
Events of the past few days were beginning to take their toll, and she rolled her shoulders in an attempt to ease the muscles in her upper body. Battling a tension headache didn’t help, and she looked forward to closing down for the night and sinking into bed.
Last night a medically prescribed sedative had ensured a good night’s sleep. What would the coming night bring?
Oh, for heaven’s sake! Take a reality check!
Sex with Wolfe was a given. It was just a matter of when. So get over it!
He was a man … like any other.
Sure he is.
A mental, mischievous little imp laughed uproariously until she silently chastised and banished him.
Lara stifled a faintly audible groan, and her hands flew as she gathered a dessert plate, cut a perfect portion of cheesecake, drizzled tangy strawberry sauce in a decorative pattern, added fresh flute-cut strawberries and placed the plate on the serving shelf.
Soon Sally would be able to handle the orders for tea and coffee, and Gina could move into the kitchen to help clean up.
Lara glanced towards the door as Shontelle entered the kitchen and moved close. ‘Compliments to the chef from gentleman at table seven.’
OK, so she’d swing by, smile, exchange a few words with their regular clientele and acknowledge the compliment.
It took a few minutes as she paused at one table, then another—until she saw just who was seated at table seven.
Wolfe, here? What game was he playing?
‘Don’t tell me,’ she managed equably as she reached his side. ‘You were at a loose end, and decided to observe my restaurant first-hand?’
‘No. I finished late, hadn’t eaten and decided to dine here instead of ordering room service.’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘I guess that’ll fly.’
‘Join me for coffee.’
She offered a slight mock-curtsy. ‘The kitchen awaits.’ A faint smile teased the edge of his mouth. ‘I’ll take a rain check.’
He did, until the last patron left, then Lara had no option but to effect an introduction to the remaining staff—which, she suspected, had been his intention—and at his request Shontelle retrieved two bottles of champagne.
The celebratory toast was almost surreal. So too were the voiced congratulations.
‘Wow,’ Sally accorded in a quiet aside. ‘His score exceeds ten, twice over. I hereby withdraw almost all reservations.’
It was midnight when Lara closed and locked the restaurant. Wolfe’s black
