Page 42 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

As the waitstaff takes the desserts out, I stand by the serving window, keeping an eye on the room as each dish lands on the tables. The reaction from Luca's table is immediate; even from my standpoint, I can tell they're impressed.

The evening stretches on, the clock ticking past the usual closing hours, but the atmosphere at the party remains buoyant, fueled by good food and better wine. The waitstaff hovers close by; their service has been impeccable, and as the night finally begins to wind down, their efforts are rewarded—each one grinning as they pocket hefty tips from the appreciative guests.

I step out of the kitchen to see the last of the men preparing to leave. Their praise is effusive as they thank me, some even pulling out wads of cash, offering me a little something extra. I hold up a hand, stopping them with a friendly but firm shake of my head.

"Thank you, but Mr. Amato has already taken care of everything," I tell them.

I walk them to the door, the cool night air a welcome relief after the heat of the kitchen. "We'll see you all next month," I say.

Luca extends his hand with a warm smile. "Thank you, Patrick, for an outstanding evening. My assistant will be in touch with you later this week to iron out the details for our next meeting."

I grasp his hand firmly, matching his smile with my own. "It was my pleasure, Luca. We look forward to having you back."

As the last of the guests filter out, Donnie lingers behind, swaggering over with a grin that's too arrogant to be friendly. His speech is slightly slurred, the alcohol loosening his tongue more than usual. He leans in a bit too close, his breath heavy with the scent of expensive wine.

"Hey, Patrick, that sexy blonde chef of yours," he starts, his voice a low drawl, "she's something else. I’d like to get to know her better."

I feel my jaw tighten, the muscles in my neck tensing up. On the surface, I keep my expression smooth, offering him a polite smile. "Actually, she and I are together," I reply, my tone even but firm, hoping to cut this line of conversation short.

Donnie bursts into laughter, a loud, obnoxious sound that echoes slightly in the empty dining room. He claps me on the back with a bit too much force. "Good for you, man! But hey," he adds with a wink, "if things ever go south, you let me know. I'd take a shot at that."

I stiffen under the weight of Donnie's hand on my back, his laughter grating on my nerves. As he insinuates his interest in Allie, my patience snaps.

"Watch it, kid," I say sharply, my tone low and firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. "You will respect her when you're talking to me. She’s not up for discussion or for grabs."

Donnie pauses, his smile faltering as he meets my glare. He straightens up, the cockiness in his posture receding slightly. "All right," he says with a dismissive wave, but his eyes harden. "Just saying, a guy like me? I don't need to wait for permission. I can have my pick of the city, taken or not."

His words hang in the air, a veiled threat wrapped in a smirk. I hold his gaze, unyielding. "Let's keep it professional, Donnie. That’s best for everyone.”

“Careful, Chef,” he says. “Talking like that to a man like me is an easy way to end up pureed.”

I want to strangle the little prick on the spot, but one of us is going to have to be the bigger man if I don’t want this night to end in a fistfight with a Mafia boss’s son.

“Good night, Donnie.”

He finally heads out, leaving a trail of chuckles behind him. I lock the door with more force than necessary, the click of the deadbolt sounding overly loud in the quiet restaurant.

Alone, I lean against the door, taking a moment to gather myself. Disgust curdles in my stomach—not just at Donnie's words but at the reminder of the type of individuals my business now entertains. The decision comes easily; it's one I should have made earlier.

Shaking my head, I make my way back to the kitchen to oversee the final cleanup.

As I step through the doors, I notice Allie already elbow-deep in the post-service cleanup. There's a focus in her movements, a determination that's palpable even from across the room.

"Hey," I call out, crossing the kitchen to stand beside her. "You were amazing tonight, you know that?"

She glances up at me, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thanks, Chef," she replies, her voice carrying a hint of weariness. "It was a pleasure working with you, as always."

I feel a pang of disappointment at her subdued response. Normally, this would be the time for banter, for playful flirtation to cap off a successful evening. But tonight, the air between us feels heavy with unspoken tension.

I open my mouth to say something more, to inject a bit of levity into the moment, but a glance at Allie's expression gives me pause. There's a distance in her eyes, a barrier that tells me now's not the time for idle chatter.

Instead, I nod in understanding, giving her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before turning to join her in the cleanup. As we work side by side, the clatter of dishes and the swish of water filling the silence, I can't shake the nagging feeling that something's bothering her.

We should be celebrating tonight's success, reveling in the buzz of a job well done, but Allie's demeanor tells me otherwise.

I steal glances at her whenever I can, trying to decipher the thoughts swirling behind those expressive eyes. But she remains guarded, her focus locked on the task at hand.

As we wrap up the cleanup, Allie breaks the silence. "You know, you're right on the verge of getting that star," she says casually.

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