Page 19 of A Billionaire for Christmas
Before she knew it, she’d taken her anger out on a whole basket of vegetables that were now so finely sliced and chopped she was ready to begin assembling. This was always the best part of molecular gastronomy.
Petra walked quickly over to her.
‘Good news, Molly.’
Molly saw the supervisor was waving a roster. ‘After the executive lunch you catered last week, there’s been a request for you to chalet chef.’
‘Thanks,’ said Molly, ‘but I’m happy staying here in the kitchen, out of harm’s way.’
‘Harm’s way?’ Petra blew out her cheeks. ‘You didn’t enjoy last night? That bad, huh?’
‘Sorry, yes. No. Not really. Ignore me. I just mean I’m happy here, that’s all. In the kitchen. Away from people.’
‘Okay, well, I’m not sure you have much of a choice, seeing as this request came from one of the female members of the board. It was her husband’s business lunch that you catered, and it was a huge success. They’ve asked specifically for you. They’ve got a family wedding coming up and I think they want to try you out.’
Like road-testing a second-hand car?
Molly groaned. ‘It’s not up at the Cigar Lounge, is it?’
‘No. You couldn’t be further away, in fact. Their lodge is over the pass on the opposite side of the resort. It’s fairly remote, so you’d take a driver and van up with everything you need for the week.’
‘A whole week? But I’d have to close the restaurant.’
‘You’ve only been opening for breakfast, haven’t you? The money you’d get for one week at the lodge will triple what you make in a month. It might be worth it. Give you a break?’ Petra pointed to the mountain of vegetables she had chopped.
Molly considered it. The money would be great but the last thing she needed was an intensive week as a private chef, surrounded by a happy family. She imagined herself weeping miserably into the cookie dough while they sang French carols round the fire. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not sure I’d be the right person for that.’
Petra looked disappointed. ‘Please think about it.’
* * *
Later that afternoon, Molly walked around in a bit of a daze, wondering if shutting the restaurant and running away to the lodge might, in fact, be the right thing to do. Her attention was supposed to be on shopping at the bustling market for fresh produce, but as she swept her gaze around the colourful stalls overflowing with fruit and vegetables, stalls brimming with cheeses and the smell of freshly baked bread and cured meats filling the air, all she could think about was Levi’s kind eyes, crinkled with laughter, his kissable lips curled at the corners. Did she reallyneverwant to see him again?
‘It’s you! Isn’t it?’
Molly was jolted from her daydreaming. It took her a second to recognise who was talking to her in such a vexed Italian accent. It was the voluptuous redhead from the Cigar Lounge.
The woman regarded her coldly. ‘It’s difficult to place someone out of costume. You were the guest at the hen party, no?’ She looked Molly up and down disapprovingly, eyeing her bulging bags of produce and her chef’s apron peeking out from under her thickly padded coat. ‘Ah. Not a guest. You work here?’
Molly froze.
‘Where do you work?’ she ordered. ‘I want to speak with your superior.’
Molly took in her immaculate features. She was beautiful, but Molly found something hard and snobbish about her manner. She hated confrontation but she straightened, lifting her chin. ‘Why?’
‘To complain, of course.’
‘I thought the camel had been taken care of.’
‘That is not the point.’
‘I think it is very much the point.’
‘Waiting staffare not allowed to fraternise at these parties. You were clearly breaking the rules and I saw you with a phone. Taking pictures is strictly forbidden. Selling photos to newspapers is a sackable offence.’
Molly took immediate umbrage to her tone. ‘I’m a chef,actually. Not that it has anything to do with you what job I do. And the photo was only of me, not any famous people. I couldn’t care less what they get up to.’
‘There’s something about the hired help men simply can’t resist,’ the woman said in a laughing tone, her eyes quite serious. She drew her over-filled red lips into a sneer. ‘The whore that broke the camel’s back. That would be amusing if it wasn’t so tragic.’
