Someone threw out a remark in Italian.
‘Sorry, guys, my Italian is purely culinary based. English and French are my limit. I love that challenge, don’t you, to use the ingredients at hand? I remember when I couldn’t make the chilli crab salsa to top a pea risotto that I had planned. Of course, the crabs arrived too late, which is typical.’ She paused to allow the mutter of rueful agreement. ‘But the coconut crab rice the next day proved a massive hit, and it actually became our signature dish.
‘As the newbie and as we’re on the clock, how about I’m the runner tonight? Any spare whites?’ Amy asked, teasing her ponytail into a knot and producing extra pins to secure it there.
‘Not that would fit you, Chef.’
Someone shook out a black apron. ‘Will this do for tonight?’
‘Perfect!’
Leo watched as the diminutive figure wrapped the apron strings three times around her narrow waist and smiled sunnily at her audience before she picked up the hot handle of the burnt copper saucepan using a cloth.
‘How about I put this pan in to soak and make another batch of…’ she arched a brow and picked up a bottle off the counter ‘…Marsala sauce?’ Amy said, picking up another bottle that lay beside a work station, glancing at the label with an approving nod before applying herself to a pile of shallots.
She was well aware that her knife skills were being marked out of ten by her audience. But as she was quietly confident that she was a twelve and a half out of ten, she was not bothered by the scrutiny.
After everyone had begun to drift away to quietly take up their own tasks, Leo watched her for a few more moments in silence. The other staff gave him some wary glances that managed to convey he was in the way. Amy, completely immersed in her task, appeared to have tuned him out completely.
His chagrin at the situation held a thread of self-mockery. He had orchestrated this and it had not produced the result he had anticipated. Far from finding herself thrown into a situation she couldn’t cope with, Amy hadn’t seemed even slightly stressed.
Cope?The woman hadconqueredwithout even raising her voice. She had turned his imagined scenario on its head. Instead of falling apart, she had calmly taken charge and seemed on the brink of winning over her very critical audience. An audience that had already managed to make three, that he knew of, very experienced chefs hang up their chef’s hats and walk.
Avoiding someone who was wildly whipping something in a massive metal bowl, he moved to where Amy stood, receiving several slightly nervous but distracted head nods on the way.
‘Don’t you want to see your room, unpack?’
Amy threw him a quick, incredulous glance over her shoulder. ‘Now?’ Her astonishment at the suggestion shone in her soft brown eyes. ‘I’m working, but fine, later…someone here can show me the way, I’m sure.’
Leo’s jaw clenched, shock and outrage flashing cold in his eyes, then his sense of the ridiculous reasserted itself as he tried to remember the last time he had been dismissed.
When was the last time he had laughed at himself?
‘Fine.’
Without looking at him, she waved a fluttering hand of dismissal.
His exercise in humiliation was not going to plan, but Leo was a long way from admitting defeat. Amy was in her element now, but there was a big difference between a dinner and the upcoming gala event.
His phone vibrated and he glanced at the caller identity, his mouth twitching into a smile as the image of a svelte six-foot blonde with a penchant for six-inch heels formed in his head. She was ambitious, voracious and enjoyed sex without emotionalmess,as she called it.
He continued to walk, ignoring the call and shoving the phone back into his pocket, the image swiftly fading from his mind and replaced by the small dynamic figure he had just left in the kitchen.
The kitchen was the one room in this building where people didn’t bow and scrape when he appeared, but today he had been totally invisible; there was another star shining too brightly. He had to admit to being surprised and, also albeit reluctantly, impressed.
Pretty hard not to admit that Amy had handled a room full of massive egos like a pro, which, of course, she was—a fact that was only just bedding in.
It might, he conceded, not be as easy as he had anticipated to make her want to run for cover. This Amy was not averse to a bit of manipulation herself… The acknowledgment made him smile. Though the smile faded as his thoughts made the leap to the other ways she might have changed and grown…and the people—the men in particular—who might have joined her on that journey.
Amy knew there could have been improvements—the chef basting the sirloin had been a bit stingy with the butter in her opinion—but the meal was apparently a success which, in this environment, seemed to amount to a win. Especially as Leo’s grandfather was visiting, a figure who, reading between the lines, seemed to inspire awe rather than affection.
Amy was not someone who thought a kitchen worked better on fear, insults and a lot of curses thrown into the mix. As with any organisation, the message at the top filtered down. It did not make her feelings warm towards Leo, who was boss here.
A boss, she had been mournfully told, who didn’t much care what he ate. He even came into the kitchen and made himself toast and things that he called sandwiches. She was amused by the complaints but hid it. It was always frustrating to cook for someone who thought of food as fuel and not a sensory experience.
Luckily, it seemed that he did entertain quite a lot when he was in residence. Amy wondered what this army of artists did when he wasn’t, but she didn’t want to stir up trouble so she kept her thoughts to herself.
It was fifteen minutes since the last of the staff had left at her suggestion. Her initial assessment was that they were a good bunch with a couple of personality clashes but nothing major.
