“You need practice, Dillon. I’m happy to give it to you.”
“Did Ezra put you up to this?”
He laughed maniacally. “I just thought it up. Pretty great, huh?”
Butterflies rioted in my gut. Sure, he’d put me in charge before, but not for the entire night. I was relatively new to the position. Kaya had only quit a few months ago.
I couldn’t do this.
Oh, shit, I had to do this! On a nightly basis.
Maybe if I puked in here, they would have to shut down for the night and I could get out of Wyatt’s trial by fire.
He leaned in, probably noticing the panic and greenish hue of my skin. “You can do this, Dillon. You got the chops. Stop doubting yourself.”
“Nepotism,” I hissed at him. “Ezra is a nepotist. That’s the only reason he asked me to take over Bianca. He’s crazy with nepotism.”
His eyes narrowed. “He saw real, raw talent in you and was smart enough to snatch it up. Don’t doubt yourself, Chef. Tonight, is just like any other night. Be precise. Be diligent. Be a fucking badass. You have dinner service to prepare for.”
I swallowed around the fist-sized lump in my throat and let his words of encouragement sink into my skin. He was right—I was doubting myself. Big time. But now wasn’t the time for that. I needed to put on my big girl panties and step into the role I had already accepted.
Besides, tonight would be like learning to ride a bike with training wheels on. Wyatt would be here to save my ass should anything go awry. And I already knew this menu. I could cook most of these dishes blindfolded.
“Okay,” I whispered. “But you’re going to have to fill in for me.”
He wrinkled his nose. “All right.” Glancing over his shoulder, he added. “I should probably go stop Benny from running away.” He looked back at me, dropping his voice so no one else could hear him although they were all watching us. “You know he’s the first choice, yeah?”
I suppressed a smile and nodded. Poor, poor Benny. There weren’t enough head chef positions in the world to make working for Wyatt worth it.
Oh, god. Was I going to be that impossible too? Was I going to walk into Bianca and turn into a total egomaniac who thought I ruled the world with my spatula in one hand and my toque crown atop my head?
I guess we’d find out tonight.
Four
Twelve hours later,the rush of a successful night at the helm of Lilou had me feeling like the queen of the world. I got how easy it was to let the power go to your head. I felt the buzz of victory in my blood and the thrum of perfection in my chest.
I hadn’t just run service well, I’d nailed it.
Okay, fine, it helped that Wyatt was there to cook things perfectly before they even got to me. In fact, the entire kitchen had been especially on top of things tonight. I liked to believe they were cooking their asses off for my last night.
But then I realized they cooked to perfection every night. This was the well-oiled machine amazing chefs had molded them into. First Killian, and then Wyatt.
They were five-star ninjas. Service went smoothly. There weren’t mistakes. There weren’t oopsies. There weren’t even slightly overdone pieces of meat. There was only flawless execution.
It gave me hope for Bianca. Could I do this in my own kitchen? Could we run this effortlessly? Could we be this efficient? This faultless?
Of course we could.
It wasn’t even that hard.
Er, it hadn’t been tonight.
I supposed Sunday at Bianca would be the real test. This time when my stomach flipped though, it was with anticipation, not dread. Tonight, had been, honest to God, fun—one of the most thrilling nights of my life. And the idea of living like this for the rest of my life filled me with bubbly excitement.
The rest of the staff had slowly filtered out. They’d hugged me, said goodbye, and made me promise to come back and visit as they left.
Wyatt walked into the kitchen from the dining room, carrying three fluted glasses and another bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne. His raised eyebrow was full of mischief.
