Page 3 of With a Cherry On Top

I stare at him, gobsmacked, until he gestures at me to open the folder.

I do, my heartbeat increasing steadily.

Beatrice Arnault.

“Reaaaallyrich woman,” Ian comments as I read through the first page. Lunch, and dinner, five days a week. “Really arrogant too. Shedemandedwe send Amelie.”

“Amelie?”

“Yeah. I guess she thought she worked for me.” Ian huffs out a half-laugh. “Anyway, I told her we’d send the next best thing.”

Me?I’mthe next best thing? The guy who just got his Cooking Techniques 101 diploma? What about Howard, a seasoned chef with traditional Italian training? Or Robbie, who’s worked in some of the best restaurants in the country?

“Ian, maybe I should start with some low-profile client. This feels...” I tap my foot against the floor in a restless rhythm. “Above my pay grade.”

“Aaron, Amelie has been mentoring you. She’s taken you under her wing. She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t believe you were worth investing in.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You know, you’ve been eating up a lot of our private moments.”

“And I’m incredibly grateful, but?—”

“No ‘but.’ My wife thinks you’re ready, so I think you’re ready.” He taps the folder. “Allergies and preferences are there. Mrs. Arnault wants to meet you before giving you a key, and after that, she’ll share with you her calendar so that you know when she’ll be home for meals.”

“Okay, so when she’s not home . . .”

“Her kid still needs to eat.”

Her kid. Of course. “No husband?”

“Nope. Divorced.” He widens his eyes. “We spoke for less than five minutes on the phone and I can confidently say I’d divorce her too if I could.”

With a thoughtful nod, I read through the list. Apparently, someone’s allergic to pineapple, and they refuse to eat pork.

“You’ll start in two weeks, which unfortunately means we won’t be here. But I’ll be available if you have any questions, andRobbie has agreed to help you out should you need it.” He claps. “You’re good, Aaron. You’ll do great.”

Sounds like I don’t have much of a choice.

“Okay. Thank you.” I set the folder down. “Do you think Amelie would be open to?—”

“Concocting a menu with you?” He smacks his lips. “She knew you’d ask that, becauseshewould ask that. And the answer is yes.”

I rub the five o’clock shadow on my jaw. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m ready, and I’m just freaking out. I’ve been dying for an actual client for months—I just didn’t expect it to be the queen of England or something.

“Maybe I should talk to her. See if?—”

“Aaron,” he interrupts. “I get it. You and Amelie, besties forever. ButI’myour boss, and I’m telling you this is your assignment. What say you?”

I clear my throat. “Yes, boss.”

“There ya go.” He shuts the folder, and his relaxed demeanor is back. “Now that work’s covered...” He reaches into one of the desk drawers and takes out a small card. “I’ve got something for you.”

“What’s that?”

He smirks. “One of the other chefs, Jerry, is working for the owner of TOP, and they sent us a few gift cards. I’ve got about fifteen of them.”

“TOP?” I look down at the metallic card, then turn it around and notice the words engraved in the back.

Tease. Obsess. Play.

“What the hell is this for?”

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