A Christmas Reservation (The Royale Series)
Page 11
“Well, you never call me into your office this late,” I said, staring out the full-length window. The city lights blinked and twinkled, and I fell in love with New York City all over again. In a way, I felt like it loved me in ways that nobody else could. It listened to my footsteps, the clicking of my heels as I hurried to work every morning. It soaked up the coffee I spilled on its pavements, and it forgave me. I loved the city because I knew it loved me back. It wasn’t until I was done daydreaming that I realized Frederick was smiling at me.
“I have news for you,” he said. “CapManager Expert’s a hit.”
“What, are you serious?” I blinked at him. I had helped develop this software, but up until last week I was too busy with Miles and the rest of the team to find out what had happened.
“Our stocks have risen by a full two percent,” he told me. “All thanks to you.”
“Don’t forget my wonderful team,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes at him.
“And Amy, that woman can sell you anything.”
“Anything,” I repeated. For a while we just sat there, staring at the night sky. A jet flew by, and I followed it with my eyes until it disappeared into the horizon. The two of us must’ve sat there for a full thirty minutes, staring at something, not saying a word. My relationship with Mr. Frederick was a strange one, but all in all, he treated me like a daughter.
“So, did you hear about Alex Bannings?” he asked me.
“Oh, he got married to that girl, what was her name?”
“Jasmine. She’s a sweet girl, their wedding was wonderful.”
“I’m happy for him,” I said, averting my eyes to the mountain of contracts on his desk. “I heard a lot of people are happy for him.”
“You know, Alex is like a son to me, and I would hate to see him end up with a woman he doesn’t love.”
There was silence. I fidgeted a little with my phone, and then I nodded. “You’re right, no one deserves that,” I said finally.
“He was strong to make this decision, his father’s a difficult man, a strong one, just like him.”
“Well, I guess it runs in the family,” I shrugged. “I heard he gave up his right to the family fortune?”
“He did, and Carol, his sister runs the company now. She’s the new heir.”
“Wow, and to think that someone would give all of this up for a shot at love,” I said, somewhat disbelieving. “I don’t know, would you do that?”
Mr. Frederick raised an eyebrow at me, then he swiveled around in his chair. I wondered if I had crossed the line. “I’m an old man, I don’t think about that stuff anymore,” he told me. “But what I do know is this; I wish my son would do what Alexander did, I wish he would wake up one day and realize that there’s more to life than money.”
I nodded, and at that moment the door swung open, and Ryan Callaway came waltzing in. “Dad,” he said, not acknowledging my presence. I remember he started mumbling things about stock exchanges, but his voice kind of faded into the background as I stared at his face. He was pretty tall with a pale face, and he was buff. Very buff. Even though he was fun to look at, I couldn’t help but feel turned off by him.
“I’m Ryan, by the way,” he said, reaching his hand out to me.
“We’ve met before,” I replied, smiling weakly. “Several times, actually.”
“This is Sarah, our head software developer,” Frederick said, and at that moment I saw Ryan’s eyes glaze over, almost like he wanted to sleep.
“Nice to meet you, Sarah. Sorry, I’m mentally incapable of keeping track of every employee in this company.” His eyes snapped sideways and I could tell he was throwing shade. He was gesturing around frantically, but I ignored him. “So?”
I muted him again. I thought I had heard something about CapManager Expert, so I tuned back in and blinked at Frederick, who was now staring at me. “I think Sarah here can answer all your questions,” he said.
“Alright, Sarah,” he started, almost as though he was challenging me. “Can you walk me through how the program works? I need to give a presentation about it to a new investor next week, so I have to have some idea.” He just stood there with his arms folded, like a kid waiting for answers.
“You know what, let’s schedule a meeting, you and I,” I said after a moment of silence. My brain was mostly on overdrive because I didn’t know what to say to him. “I’ll walk you through the program, functionalities and all. It’s just hard to explain on the spot.”
“Here’s the thing, Sarah,” Ryan said, sitting down on the desk across from me. “I’m a busy man with a busy schedule. I won’t be able to squeeze you in for at least another two weeks.”
“Well, I won’t be able to squeeze you in right now, either.” I rose to my feet and picked up my iPad off Frederick’s desk. “I have to go home and research some work, if you don’t mind, of course.”
“No, why would I mind?” he said through clenched teeth. I could tell he was annoyed, and for some reason, that satisfied me. Not because I was evil, but because I didn’t appreciate arrogance, especially from people like him who didn’t know what it was like to climb up a ladder. Mr. Frederick was gawking at me, but when I looked at him, he smiled. He smiled because he knew me like a daughter.
“Frederick, I’ll see you in the morning?” I said. He nodded and waved, and then so did I. “It was nice to meet you, too,” I said, shaking his son’s hand and then stepping out into the hallway. I walked a few steps and then stopped where they couldn’t see me.
“You just let her walk all over me like that?” Ryan’s voice was muffled like he was drowning.
“Well, son, you were quite rude yourself,” Frederick said, more like chuckled. At times it felt like he didn’t have time for his employees’ bullshit. Silence ensued, and I resumed walking until I got to the elevator. It was a long way down. I anticipated the moment I would walk out into the cold night air and feel it caress my bones. I loved walking through the city and feeling my dirty heels clicking against the pavement. I looked up and all I could see were skyscrapers, their windows reflecting the glow of the night, and that made me wonder about the lives of people. I wondered what every single person was doing up there, and it made me smile. Some cooking, some fucking, some having mundane arguments about stale dinners. Everyone was doing something, and I was down here marveling at their lives.
At one point I thought about Ryan, but then I dismissed him because, in all honesty, his smug smile had pissed me off.
A la Carte
CHAPTER ONE
Claire
It’s no secret that Laurence is good at his job. I love watching him cook. It’s like watching an intricate, heated dance. Every ingredient he adds, the way he handles his knives; they’re all well-practiced steps that he’s mastered with confidence and flare. It’s hard not to be distracted by him when he’s in his element. He has the sleeves of his chef’s jacket rolled up, exposing the coiling snake tattoo on his left forearm. His dark brown eyes are focused on the task at hand. His black hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place. He smells pleasantly like cooking oils and freshly ground herbs.
He commands the kitchen with self-assurance, voice always clear and booming. It’s the middle of the dinner rush, but he’s not even remotely fazed. Unlike me, he hasn’t even broken a sweat. Order after order, plate after plate. This is just another day of work, another shift that he’ll get through like any other. He expertly inspects dishes for presentation before he gives the waiters permission to run the entrées sitting out on the line. Everything has to be perfect or he’ll order a re-fire. He knows what he’s doing, that much is clear.
It’s just a shame that he can be a real asshole sometimes.
“Claire, you’re plating it wrong,” he frowns at me, disappointment clear in his tone. “You don’t need to drown the salmon in sauce. You’re the sous-chef, you should know this.”
He steps in, facing the plate and fixing what he can. I’m not a rookie anymore, but he talks to me like I
am. I take a step to the side, watching what he does so I know what to do for next time. He’s busy multi-tasking, looking up at the rail to read out the next chit being printed. He makes it look so easy.
“Fire two scallops and three steaks, all medium-rare,” he announces to the kitchen. Clear, concise. In total control.
“Yes, Chef,” several cooks respond back to him, their voices echoing off the kitchen’s tile walls.
The Royale is a five-star restaurant specializing in French cuisine. Its kitchen is alive with the sounds of sizzling oils, the metallic chopping of sharp knives against wood cutting boards, and the soft bubbling of boiling water. The rich aromas of fresh gravies, savory meats, and sweet pastries all mix together in the air. It’s enough to make my mouth water and stomach grumble.
About halfway through dinner service, there’s a small lull, which gives me more than enough time to make sure that everybody’s stations are clear. Nothing chokes up a kitchen like unorganized messes. I make my way over to Clarke, the kitchen’s newest entremetier. Her cheeks are flushed pink, brow sweaty from working near such hot stoves. She’s working on plating a side salad, but she manages to look up and smile when I approach her station.
“How’re you holding up?” I ask her, genuinely curious.
“Better now,” she admits.
I pat her on the shoulder and smile encouragingly. “You’re doing great.”
“You could pick up the pace a little,” comes Laurence’s flat comment. He’s wiping his hands on his apron.
I watch as Clarke shrinks into herself a little, shoulders hunched and sheepishly averting her eyes. I frown at him. “She’s doing fine,” I insist. “It’s only her fourth day.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s her fourth day or her hundredth. If you can’t handle something as simple as the salads, you may as well be a shoemaker.”
I take in a sharp breath. Being called a shoemaker in our circles is as harsh as it can get. “Stop it, Laurence,” I snap. “Why can’t you be more constructive?”
“I have a kitchen to run,” he argues. “I don’t have the time. Either get good fast, or get out.”
“I-I’ll do better,” stammers Clarke. “I promise. Sorry, Chef.”
With a huff and disapproving shake of his head, Laurence walks back up to the rail to check on the new chits off the printer.
“Is he always like that?” she asks me in a quiet voice.
“Like what?”
“Intense?”
I nod my head. “Yeah, he is. He was like that in culinary school, too. I’m surprised he hasn’t tripped over that stick in his ass.”
“You went to school together?” she asks, her eyes brightening up a bit.
I nod again. “He was a year ahead of me, but we had a lot of the same workshops.”
“It’s cool that you ended up working with someone you know. All of my classmates wound up at different restaurants out of state.”
“Yeah,” I bite down. “Cool.”
In the corner of my eye, I see Kate enter the kitchen from her office. She’s been cooped up in there all day. She wags a finger at me, beckoning me over. I give Clarke one more encouraging clap on the shoulder before starting towards the office. Up close, I can see exactly how exhausted Kate is. Her curly blonde hair is disheveled, tied messily into a loose bun. There are dark circles beneath her eyes. She recently took over as owner of the Royale from her father, but it’s plain to see that she’s been struggling to adjust to the role.
“Everything alright?” I ask her.
“I just got off the phone. There’s a last-minute party of forty coming in fifteen minutes.”
I feel my heart sink and my stomach flip. “Forty?” I echo in disbelief. “Do we even have enough seats? Why didn’t they make a reservation?”
Kate just shrugs, brows furrowed into a steep frown. “Do you think you can handle it?”
“We’re going to have to,” I sigh. “I’ll tell the kitchen now.”
“I’ll try talking them up when they get here,” she offers. “To give you a little more time to prepare.”
I turn on my heel and walk over to Laurence. He’s watching me attentively, arms folded across his chest.
“What is it?” he asks, words clipped and low.
“There’s a forty top on their way.”
“Reservation?”
“No.”
Table of Contents
Copyright
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
The Love Grind
Stronger Than Bonds
A la Carte