Page 5 of Highball and Chain

Enzo

This is madness.I stood in the center of the kitchen surrounded by absolute chaos, and I loved every second of it. While I could do without the contaminated soup, there was no place I’d rather be than in my restaurant in complete control. I was the Sorcerer’s Apprentice waving a baton to command flood waters of his own making.

Head bowed, I listened to my assistant manager run through the revised menu for the evening. Not only had someone sabotaged the soup, the incident had sent the kitchen staff into panic mode.

I stopped her before she launched into alternative soup options. “Substitutions will take too long. We go with what we have.”

Her eyes widened and the color drained from her face. “But sir…”

“What am I missing?” I’d hired Hazel before the restaurant opened its doors. I trusted her implicitly. If she was worried, I had a problem.

“We planned for soup or salad. We don’t have enough greens and fruit prepped to serve all two-hundred and fifty guests.”

Son of a bitch.I had too much riding on this party to let something as inconsequential as pears and gorgonzola screw it up. I drew a deep breath and forced myself to speak at a normal volume. “Tell the prep crew I’ll pay bonuses if they get it done in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” Hazel spun around and ran directly into an enormous rack of pre-plated salads.

I witnessed the catastrophe in slow motion. Pears, field greens, and heavy stoneware dishes crashed onto the tile—along with Hazel.

She clutched her arm to her chest and went as white as my chef’s coat.

“Are you all right?” I knelt before her and picked chunks of cheese from her hair.

“My wrist.” She looked down and swayed to the side.

I caught her before she managed to do any additional harm to herself. A quick glance at the unnatural angle of her hand told me she’d broken something. My vision went blurry, but I refused to pass out in front of my staff. Instead, I averted my gaze, pulled her closer, and shouted, “Someone call 9-1-1.”

“I don’t need an ambulance.” Her voice shook.

I disagreed. No way in hell would I allow her to suffer. What’s one more screw up in my family’s eyes? “I’ll drive you. Can you make it to my car?”

“What about the party?” Hazel shook her head.

It killed me to imagine my father’s disapproval if the dinner went sideways, but Hazel’s health had to take priority. “Your wellbeing is more important.”

“I appreciate the offer, but someone else should drive me.”

“I’ll take her.” Tara, one of my long-time servers, stepped forward.

Helping Hazel to her feet, I said, “Thank you. Please stay with her and keep me informed. She has my personal cell number. I’ll pay you double-time for the entire night, but please stay with her.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Tara dipped her chin and stared at me through her lashes. “Should I expect you at the hospital later?”

My brain short-circuited. She’d worked for me for years without a hint of flirting. I made a mental note to keep an eye on the situation. If it continued, I’d have to fire her. What the hell else can go wrong tonight? “I’ll be tied up here for hours. Just call me when she’s out.”

“I’ll be fine, Enzo. Stop worrying and focus on the food.” Hazel shambled toward the service exit. Her slow, unsteady gait concerned me. Normally, my assistant manager had two speeds—fast and Mach 5.

I waited until the back door closed and frowned at the ruined salads. “Everyone, listen up. We’re skipping the antipasti and going straight to the first course.”

The sous chef called out, “You heard the boss. Serve the pasta with pesto and Pecorino-Romano.”

I walked into the cooler to check the desserts. The cold, sugar-tinged air felt good against my face, and reminded me of Shanna. I should never have canceled our date. Better yet, I should have manned-up and told her the truth.

Right, because every woman dreams of a man telling her he’s enamored with her, but the relationship can go nowhere.

Grinning like a kid at a candy buffet, a busboy poked his head inside the cooler. “Enzo, someone’s asking for you at the service door.”

I figured his goofy expression meant the person asking for me was female, likely a hot female. It wasn’t unusual for patrons to ask to see the chef. Maybe Shanna had decided to leave the party and check in? The mere thought made my pulse race. I hadn’t been so ass over teakettle for a woman since high school—another reason I should put her out of my mind.

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