Page 78 of Chef's Kiss at the Chalet
“You watch the way you talk about her,” Charles snapped.
“Charles, don’t raise your voice to your mother,” his father interjected.
The venom in Charles’s voice made me a little sad. I also got a tiny thrill out of the way he jumped to defend me. Still, I didn’t want to be a wedge between them, especially when their relationship was already strained about this major transition for the business.
“Charles, listen to me,” Mrs. Hawthorne’s icy voice insisted. “You’re about to be thrust into the public eye. How does it look for a newCEOto be fooling around with the help?”
“The help, Mother? Really?”
“You have to see we have a greater responsibility here,” Mr. Hawthorne implored him. “Appearances matter. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. Understand this isn’t about her. But you have to be careful about the message it sends at such a delicate time for the company.”
“What about my feelings?” Charles shot back. “Does that matter to either of you at all?”
“Of course, son,” his father said. “We want you to be happy. But right now—”
“You aren’t a child anymore,” Mrs. Hawthorne interrupted. “Stop expecting to be coddled. This little romance of yours is over when the season ends. After the holidays, you must refocus your attention. Buckle down and start thinking about what kind of image you’re projecting.”
Wow. I really had forgotten my place, huh? The help. Another nameless, faceless servant to the Hawthorne empire. I was kidding myself to think that I was anything else. I turned and ran back the way I’d come, bursting outside the back door into the frigid air to catch my breath.
I tucked myself against the wall, around the corner to hide from the constant stream of traffic in all directions as the party preparations continued around me. I wanted to sink into the ground. Be swallowed up and emerge on the other side, anywhere else. Away from here. Somewhere they’d never heard the Hawthorne name. This must’ve been that look I’d seen in everyone’s eyes at the first mention of the family. Behind the practiced veneer was the same spoiled sense of self-righteousness and entitlement as every other rich asshole who looked down on us.
The help.
Whatever. Better I figure this out now. Before I’d deluded myself into thinking this silly affair would turn out any other way.
Chapter 29
Brushing away my tears, I resolved to refocus my priorities. Stepping back into the kitchen, I told myself I would freeze Charles out. A clean break. It was better for both of us that way. He could make his family happy, and I would chase my culinary dream. No more detours.
“Where are we on the prawns?” I shouted, jumping back into the scrum among the sous chefs in white coats working at the counters on the mise en place.
“Prawns are cleaned and marinating, chef,” the short female sous answered, carrying a sheet tray of soaked prawns to the fridge.
“Good. Let’s prep the tuna next.”
“Yes, chef.”
I tightened my hair into a thick bun on the top of my head, and went back to the sink to wash my hands again.
“How’s the texture of the lamb?” I said, looking over the shoulder of a man standing at the meat grinder.
“A little lean. Should we add more pancetta?”
“I think we should have just enough. How many pounds have you done without it?”
“Only two so far,” he said.
“Send it through the next batch and combine them before you portion into the fryer.”
“Yes, chef.”
In the kitchen, I was fully in my element. This was where I knew myself. Where things made sense. And it was here I would put my energy.
Two hours before the guests arrived, we tested a few rounds of the canapés, experimenting with the perfect construction before we started on the big batch.
“Chef?” One of the women approached me quietly at the island where I was chopping morels for my risotto. “I can’t find the sage.”
“You checked the walk-in?”
