The tension rose to a simmering point quicker than the salted water I was boiling for my half of the pasta as we worked in silence. Beau and Ainslie had to get to work on the prep for tonight’s service – there was no way to fit all of it in if they didn’t start now – but they were unusually subdued, not shouting back and forth banter and instructions at all. Grey, Kit, and Nikolai all watched from the front of the kitchen, Grey with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed as if he was analyzing every single thing we did.
No, not ‘as if’ – he was, I realized, and a trickle of cold sweat ran down my spine.
Did he really not already have enough confidence in what I could do? Was this stupid challenge really necessary to set us apart?
Despite my fighting words, I was filled with doubt – not in my own abilities, but in the outcome of this contest. If Grey hadn’t just promoted me right off the bat without having to bring in some stupid pretender, then maybe he was trying to tell me something.
Maybe he didn’t believe in me as a chef. Maybe he hated my dishes.
Maybe I was about to lose my job.
I tried to block all of the doubts out, but my brain wouldn’t shut up – so instead, I poured that nervous energy into the food. I grilled the vegetables with a manic dedication to flipping and checking them, getting an even sizzle on both sides and ensuring the peppers stayed juicy, the onions didn’t lose their flavor, and the slices of sweet potato cooked through to a melt-in-the-mouth tenderness.
We were close to needing to eat; with one eye on the clock, I grabbed a few leaves of spinach, a handful of basil, another of pine nuts, one avocado, oil, a few garlic cloves, and a block of parmesan. Five minutes later, I was drizzling pesto over each of my plates, finishing off the pasta and vegetables with a richer touch.
I looked up from my work to realize that everyone was still staring. The whole kitchen felt as if it was holding its breath. Drake was still putting the finishing touches on his work. I noticed with a swell of pride and success that he hadn’t managed to make as complex a sauce as mine – he was just using some kind of drizzle that involved olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
“Alright, everyone,” he said, looking up with a calm smile as if he wasn’t worried at all about finishing last. “Let’s eat.”
The room came to life like whatever spell had been placed on everyone was lifted. I saw Nikolai and Kit exchange a glance before heading towards our plated meals as if to ask each other which one to go for. It was an even split of plates, so each of them would have to choose. Me or Drake.
Beau and Ainslie took my plates. Nikolai and Kit took Drake’s. Wait staff versus kitchen staff; I could see why. My cooks wanted to show me they were loyal, but the waiters wanted to know what they were getting into by serving this guy’s food tonight.
Grey took a plate of each of our dishes with relish, and that just left us staring down at the last two plates. I wasn’t going to admit I was intimidated by him, but it did make sense to find out what I was up against.
I reached across the counter and took the last plate of Drake’s food before turning to carry it out to a table, not leaving Drake an opportunity to smirk at me.
A sinking feeling snaked its way into my gut as I looked out across the biggest table we had, right in the middle of the space – usually reserved for events and group bookings – now filled with our staff. There was a very clear difference between my dish and Drake’s, and it wasn’t the comparison I had been wanting.
His dish was… beautiful.
Each chunk of vegetable was grilled perfectly with dark lines that almost seemed poetic, in contrast to my frantically turned and messy slices. His pasta was placed into a symmetrical and gently curved mound evenly mixed through with the vegetables on every single dish, an exercise in consistent precision, while mine looked as though I had simply thrown it onto the plate by comparison.
The sauce he had whipped up was dripped and drizzled in smooth lines and perfectly round drops on each plate, while my pesto had… fallen wherever it fell as I swept my hand above each plate.
Was I really outmatched here?
I sat down, my heart hammering against my chest and leaving me breathless, as I grabbed up a fork and speared a piece of pasta and a slice of pepper, smearing them through the vinaigrette and shoving them into my mouth without any ceremony. I had to know.
I blinked.
The food was… okay.
The pepper was smoky and well-cooked, but a little too greasy in the aftertaste. The pasta was a little too soft – only a tiny touch too far, but enough that a seasoned chef like myself could tell. The vinaigrette just tasted like a vinaigrette; nothing special. Itcould have been a store-bought bottle, even though I’d seen him make it out of the corner of my own eye.
I smiled to myself, a secret victory smile, and clenched my fist under the table.
His food looked pretty.
But Iknewmine tasted better.
“Being fed by two men at once,” Drake said, looking up the table at Grey with his two plates. He winked. “Isn’t that a treat?”
Grey chuckled throatily and raised a glass of water back down the table at him. “To family dinners,” he said.
Everyone, myself included, saluted with their water glasses in return. There wouldn’t be anything stronger with the meal we ate before service – we needed to stay sharp – and anything flavored would have upset the balance of the meal.
“A slightly bigger family, today,” Kit said. He did tend to err on the earnest side. I wanted to scowl at him for welcoming Drake, though I couldn’t quite bring myself to. He was only being friendly. He wanted to be able to work with whoever ended up running the kitchen.
