Page 161 of Boss of the Year
The sharpest wit deserves the sharpest tools. And an artist must have the brushes to complete her canvas.
I hope these will be adequate for you.
—Lucas
He looked inside the box. “Putain, is he expecting you to fence with this?”
I turned just as Louis drew out a box containing a long, particularly wicked-looking knife called a sujihiki, or a slicer, sheathed in a wooden block.
“Be careful with that,” I warned as Louis pulled out the knife and started brandishing it like a rapier. “Louis, seriously. Put it down. That thing could slice your finger right off.”
With a rakish grin that rather matched the knife, he set it back in its block, then abandoned the box to return to his oboe practice. “I think I will leave the rest of those to you.”
“The rest?” A peek into the box revealed at least ten more boxes contained similarly sharp blades. A full set of what looked like custom-made Japanese knives.
I picked up the sujihiki, marveling at the craftsmanship. The rosewood handle felt like butter under my fingers, and the blade was almost as thin as a sheet of paper but showed no sign of warp or bend. I had met a few chefs who owned Japanese knives, widely considered the gold standard for serious cooks. Ondine had a cherished chef’s nife she would never let me touch. I’d always wanted some for myself, but the cost, which ranged from several hundred dollars to upward of two thousand for a work of art like this, was prohibitive. I’d made do with my trusty Wusthofs until receiving my graduation gift from Xavier.
Holding the knife made me feel like more than just an assistant cook. It made me feel like an artist. Someone who could do great things in the kitchen, the way Louis did with his oboe or his costumes.
Lucas had known that.
I scowled. I didn’twanthim to know that. I didn’t want to play this game at all.
Carefully, I put the slicer back into its box, then wrapped it up with the rest of the knives. Lucas had sent me fifty thousand dollars’ worth of metal and left it on my front porch like it was a birthday card. All to what? Buy my forgiveness?
The knives were nice. But my pride was worth more.
On the third morning,we were woken by the buzzer at close to eight.
“Bordel de merde!” Louis exclaimed as he stumbled out from the other side of his privacy screen in his underwear while he threw on his kimono. “Marie, if this is your money man, I will throw his next gift into the Seine.”
The look on his face when he listened to the holler from the landlady through the intercom told me he was exactly right.
“You need to talk to him,” Louis said as he returned with the world’s largest bakery box. “I should be sleeping for another three hours.”
I turned from the kitchen, where I’d already made us both a badly needed espresso. “What is it?”
“Mamiche,” Louis said simply as he opened the box to reveal row upon row of baked goods from a boulangerie I happened to know had a line out the door nearly any time of day. “At least theles croissantsare still warm.” He gave me a dirty look. “Don’t even think of throwing these in the garbage. I deserve a croissant for waking at this ungodly hour.”
Though I’d thrown out the orchid and called the delivery people to send the stupidly expensive knives back to where they came, I didn’t have it in me to refuse the smell of perfectly baked pastry this early in the morning.
“Bring me one too,” I said as I brought our coffees to the window table.
“And a note,” Louis said as he sat down.
I took it and opened it while I sipped my espresso.
I’ve been everywhere looking for a pastry that comes close to yours. These were the best I could find.
–Lucas
P.S. Please eat something. You’re too thin.
“I think maybe he wants you back,ma puce.”
“It would seem that way.”
“But this is not the one you want? You still want the other?”
