Page 10 of Sawyer
“I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have dinner prep.”
“You don’t happen to have a table tonight, do you?” the woman pressed as she walked back to the door. “I know you must be booked, but I really do want to see those paintings in person. Unless you can let me peek. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
Okay, that did it. “Sorry. We are totally booked. For the next five months.”
“Seven, Chef,” Fabian filled in.
“But I can’t wait?—”
Madison slammed the door behind her and shoved the card in her pocket to give to Sawyer later, shelving her wild surge of emotion upon hearing they had reservations for seven months now.
Seven months! God, that made them one of the hottest restaurants in Paris.
The article had only been out for what, an hour? Yeah, the Michelin gods were coming. If they hadn’t already reserved a table, they’d do everything in their power to land a coveted reservation now, as soon as possible.
They had to be ready. Every freaking night.
Sweat ran down her back again. “Will someone please answer the phone?”
“We have been, Chef,” Fabian hastened to tell her as Madison stalked back to the stainless steel countertops. “The moment we put the phone down, it rings again. Not only with requests for reservations—despite the new online system—but inquiries about Dr. Jackson’s paintings and Chef Rogers’ new bakery and buying her breads.”
Madison sighed. She was thrilled for her friends, but it was distracting her people when they needed to concentrate on creating the muscle memory needed for nightly success.
Fame could be a real bitch sometimes. But first, there weremore important things to cover. She turned to her staff and crossed her arms. Any remaining chopping and conversation came to a halt. The room fell silent. “I take it you might have guessed thatLe Mondegave Nanine’s a very strong recommendation in the paper today. Congratulations. We’ll have a drink together after we close. Or two. Hell, maybe three.”
She allowed a short smile, and some of her staff smiled back at her. They were a mix of older battle-tested chefs and younger ambitious newcomers. All wanted what she did. A star. That bound them together.
“We’ve worked hard, and it’s great to have one critic’s confirmation that our menu is up to the standard of excellence we set. But now the pressure only increases. More critics will be coming, the Michelin people included. Any night. This is our time to shine. I trust you will remain up to the task.”
“Yes, Chef,” everyone answered with discernible head nods, making her proud.
She nodded right back. “Good. I will figure out what to do about these extra inquiries. The phone can’t keep ringing like that. It’s going to drive us crazy.”
“C’est fou !”Pierre echoed, flying from his wooden perch to her arm across the line of pumpkins being stuffed with Toulouse sausage.
She gave his shiny black beak an affectionate stroke, which led to him nuzzling her cheek. God, shewasbecoming a sap. Public displays of affection with her pet parrot. What was next?
Her mind dialed up Kyle.
Covered with a ribbon of dulce de leche on his rock-hard chest.
His blue eyes hot with desire.
She bit down on her lip.Not in the kitchen!
“With all the noise, Pierre could not nap,” Fabian told her, his mouth a straight line. “I apologize, Chef.”
“Why? You didn’t create this circus.”
Her staff laughed. Yeah, they’d gelled well. She felt like she could practically touch the Michelin star she craved.
The noise could not intrude.
Neither could sexcapades with Kyle, real or imagined.
“I’ll tell the front of the house as well, butno onegets into this restaurant unless they have a confirmed reservation. Keep the back door shut, and if you go out to smoke, do not engage with anyone. Direct them to the phone number or the online reservation system. Say you have nothing to do with such matters. I want everyone focused on what we’re here to do.”
Which meant she was going to have to hike back up the stairs and enlist Kyle’s help to fix the phone problem.
