Chapter Seven
For two weeks I immersed myself in work, plowing through the restaurant reviews Edward had assigned to me. And while few of the meals reached the excellence of Mangia—God, I wish they’d change that god-awful name—none were as completely hideous as I’d expected. I did, however, have a dicey moment in my Uber on the Brooklyn Bridge after a late-night order ofmoussakaat a Greek diner.
Edward was so going to owe me.
I hadn’t had time to do much of anything else aside from rushing about the outer boroughs, discovering parts of New York City I didn’t know, or care to know, existed. With Edward pushing this new agenda of kumbaya, I barely had time to write my reviews and fall into bed. Alone.
And I didn’t like to be alone.
I sipped a Negroni and stared out the window. I was rarely home or interested enough to enjoy the view, but tonight the expanse of the Hudson River captivated me, and I sat sprawled on my couch, unwilling to move, entranced by the dark void of the water.
I would’ve called Armi, my cute assistant, to come by…but I couldn’t. He’d found a boyfriend. I could’ve gone to gallery openings or used any one of the innumerable invitesUltimatereceived to events in the city, but the thought of standing on my feet all night, drinking bad champagne and eating mass-produced finger food made my stomach turn as badly as that spoiled moussaka.
It all seemed too much of an effort, so I took matters into my own hand. So to speak. And when I closed my eyes, my thoughts went straight to Torre and his talented lips sliding over my dick as he sucked me off in his kitchen. It was the picture I played in my mind every night when I fell asleep.
“Jesus fuck,” I groaned, coming so hard and fast, I shocked myself. Taking myself to the kitchen, I washed my hands and drank a bottle of water.
Maybe I was sick. I felt my forehead, but it was cool to the touch. There had to be an explanation for this restlessness and self-imposed abstinence.
You could go to Brooklyn.
I reached for my keys and was about to call an Uber before I caught myself. What the hell was I doing? I set my phone on the counter.
“Slow your roll, asshole.”
I forced myself to return to the living room and sit. I gulped the rest of my drink down while wrestling with my thoughts. What the hell was going on in my head? I didn’t have return visits with guys. Seeing Torre a second time had been a mistake. A slipup.
One I wouldn’t allow again.
* * *
“Long time, no see, my friend.” Jahn Stewart, head chef and owner of Oceans, greeted me with a wry smile the next day.
I winced. “Go ahead. I know I’ve beenin absentiathese last few months, and I’m sorry. You can kick my ass. I give you permission.”
He chuckled and slid an arm around my shoulders. “Now why would I do that? It’s too pretty to hurt.”
“Does your wife know you’re ogling me?” I accepted a kiss from Tracy, Jahn’s wife and pastry chef. “I swear I had no idea he was into me.”
Not exactly true. A lifetime ago in Paris, Jahn and I had hooked up a couple of times. Well before he’d married, but neither of us ever mentioned it. No need to tell Tracy, who’d never been anything but a friend. I didn’t want any awkwardness between us.
“Honey, from what I hear, it’s you who’s into everyone. Every chance you get.”
My cheeks heated at her bold words. “Wow. I used to think you were sweet and innocent.”
“Sweet, yes. Innocent?” She tapped a finger on her cheek, leaving a smudge of flour. “Probably not since I was sixteen.”
“Sounds about right for me too. And as much as I’d love to share kiss-and-tells of our first times, I’m here to see how Veronica is doing.” I took off my leather jacket and draped it over a chair, then straddled it. Jahn and Tracy sat across from me.
About five years ago, on a trip to the International Culinary Center, I’d met some kids who were on a high school visit, and their teacher explained they were students who were incredibly talented, but had neither the connections nor resources for professional training. With Edward’s help, I started Fresh Ideas, bringing students and restaurant owners together. Kind of like an internship program. If all worked out well, it would lead to a position after the student graduated. The restaurateurs took the lead, while I preferred to remain in the background as a silent partner. I knew what it was like to have a dream.
I added, “Veronica texted me to say she’s loving the job and working here.”
It was close to four in the afternoon, and the restaurant didn’t open for dinner until six. With its walls washed pale pink like a sunset and the furniture pale wood, Oceans’ decor reflected the simple yet elegant Mediterranean food it was known for. It was my favorite seafood restaurant in the city.
Or had been, until I’d had a taste of both the branzino and Torre at Mangia and hadn’t been able to forget either one of them. I forced my thoughts away from the hot-eyed waiter with a sinful mouth.
“She’s been a godsend. Her knife skills are improving daily as well, but what I love about her is how quick she picks up on everything. One week into her training, I felt confident enough to let her make some dishes from start to finish. And the customers had no idea. It’s really a wonderful thing you’re doing for these people.”
