Page 37 of Queenpin

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“Certainly. Follow me,” the hostess mumble, walking away from us.

Lucian walks next to me instead of in front of behind me. This surprises me big time. I wonder if she’s in uncharted territories as well.

“Have a good dinner,” the hostess murmurs then scurries away.

“That’s odd,” I mumble to myself more than anyone else.

Lucian giggles. “Yes, people always get weirded out when the owner shows up at the restaurant unexpected.”

“You own this restaurant?” I repeat stupidly.

“Of course. I wouldn’t eat anywhere else where I didn’t know my food was being properly prepared.”

“Wouldn’t any restaurant give you the food properly?” I ask dumbly.

Lucian’s eyes widen. “You really don’t know much about me, do you? You don’t know that I’m in charge everywhere I go. I’m the boss at all times.”

“I figured you were like that.”

How else was I supposed to answer that? Seriously… how else am I supposed to say I want to fall to my knees in front of her and let her boss me around? I want to have this woman own me.

A few awkward moments later, food that we didn’t order, appears in front of us. Lucian looks at the food then to the waitress who drops it off. The waitress takes a bite of the food first before nodding. After the nod, she leaves us alone.

“You have a food tester?” I quip.

“Tell me about yourself,” she replies with little acknowledgment of what I just asked.

I will take that as a yes.

“What do you want to know?”

I take a couple of seconds to cut up my steak then put a piece in my mouth. Oh, holy shit. This steak is amazing.

I hate it. I love it. I want more. I want to burn this place to the ground at the same time.

The steak’s quality overshadows the fact a club owner has a food taster. I stop paying attention to that part and savor the food.

“Where did you grow up?”

I choke on my food. Out of all the questions, this is what she asks?

“I grew up in town. I’m working as an intern until I can get more of a portfolio to be a professional chef.”

She nods but doesn’t eat any of the food in front of her.

“You don’t like it?” I ask.

“I do.”

I shake my head. “Okay. Where did you grow up?”

She groans a little in the back of her throat. “A lot differently than you did. Let’s leave it at that. How do you feel about working for me?”

“As a chef… or… you know?” I question hesitantly.

Lucian holds up her wine glass to the light, peering at the contents of the wine carefully. It’s like she’s looking for a secret message in it. It’s the oddest thing I have ever seen.

She puts it down quickly.