“Ah, there you two are,” he says, sickly sweet. “In the middle of a meeting, I see. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Alexander stiffens. “Actually, I need to speak with her alo—”
“You’re not interrupting,” Eden says quickly.
Sebastian smiles. “Might I have a word?”
“Sure. I’ll give you two some privacy.”
“No, dear. I mean I wish to speak to you.”
Eden holds her breath. “Oh, um...” She glances at Alexander, who appears just as concerned as she feels. What the hell does this wrinkly old sea cucumber want with her, of all people? “Of course, sir,” she says slowly.
“Come. We can use one of the tables in the dining room.” Sebastian turns to leave, expecting Eden to follow on his heel.
She takes a single step forward before Alexander catches her hand, frantic. “Eden, wait.”
She slips out of his grasp. “Not now.”
“Eden, just—”
She shuts the door as she walks out. End of conversation. She can’t handle this right now.
Sebastian has chosen a small table in the back corner of La Rouge, one with a frosted glass partition beside them to block them from view of the kitchen. Eden wonders if it’s deliberate. It probably is. The table is meant for two, so it feels strangely intimate to be sitting across from him. Again, probably a deliberate move on his part. Like he knows how to get under her skin, purposefully placing himself within her personal bubble. He can feign innocence, of course.
After all, this is just a little chat they’re having. Perfectly pleasant and friendly. But Eden knows better. Her gut tells her that things aren’t as they seem.
“How are you enjoying your time here?” Sebastian asks, voice velvety smooth.
“It’s been fantastic,” she answers.
For the most part. It’d be better if my boss wasn’t such a dickhead. A handsome, sexy dickhead.
God, I hate him.
No, I don’t.
“I’ve been very impressed with you, Eden,” Sebastian continues. “I’m curious, what are your plans for the future?”
“My future?”
He checks under his fingernails for non-existent dirt. “I’m sure you’re aware of all the accolades Alexander has earned over the years. Several Michelin stars. I’m sure you’re aware that it’s like winning an Oscar for people like us.”
Eden nods, admittedly impressed. “Yes. He’s... quite amazing.” Deep down, she knows she means it.
“Olivier, Pock… They were all, at some point, protégés of mine. They all owe their success to me.”
“Is that so?” she asks. She isn’t interested in the slightest.
“Have you ever thought about running your own kitchen, my dear?”
“Sometimes. Maybe one day in the future. It’s always been a pipedream for me.”
“What if I told you it didn’t have to be a dream for much longer?”
Her stomach flips. “I beg your pardon?”
“You have a great deal of potential. I would love the opportunity to truly help you shine.” Sebastian pulls out a slim white envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and slides it across the table. “I’m sure you’re aware that La Rougeisn’t the only establishment I own. I have a number of restaurants scattered throughout the world, several of which I think you’d be a perfect fit for. All you would have to do is pick.”
