Page 69 of Perfect Pairing
I willed myself to remain semi-calm as I approached the table, barely sparing Brie a glance. Her eyes flicked briefly in my general direction before focusing on something across the room.
That was good. Eye contact between us had always been dangerous.
“Hello, sir. Ma’am. I’m Chef Ezra. Can I ask what exactly was wrong with the steak you sent back?”
“It was far too rare.”
“You asked for medium rare,” I reminded him in a tone I hoped was gentle but I was afraid came out more condescending than I wanted. “That’s going to come with pink meat and some juices.”
“I wanted it more medium than rare.”
Then you should’ve ordered it fuckingmedium, you asshat.
Outwardly, I grinned, which I knew was really more of a grimace. “Apologies, sir. I’ll make you a new one.”
As I stalked back to the kitchen, I willed myself to chill the fuck out. I’d spent my career in New York dealing with assholes far worse, and far richer, than this guy. There was no reason for me to be so pissed off.
Then again, my fury had nothing to do with the fact that this guy didn’t know how to order a fucking steak, and everything to do with the fact that he was on a date withmygirl.
I had no intention of cooking him an entirely new steak. When I re-entered the kitchen, I picked up the now cold piece of meat and dropped that sucker back on the griddle in the center of my stove. My eyes glazed over as I watched the flames lick at it,and though my sous chefs asked me what I was doing, I didn’t move again until the fat along one side was charred to a crisp.
Then I stabbed it with a two-prong meat fork, turned and grinned at my staff—a bit maniacally—before stomping back into the dining room and dropping it unceremoniously on the prick’s plate.
“There you are, sir,” I said happily with a sarcastic bow. “A medium rare steak.”
The idiot sputtered as he stared at the hunk of blackened meat, and Brie gasped. I wanted to apologize to her for causing a scene in her family’s place, but someone need to knock this guy off whatever fucking high horse he fancied himself on.
I grinned when he turned rage-filled eyes on me.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Your steak, sir. No pink in sight.”
“You burned the shit out of it!” he boomed, rising to his feet and throwing his napkin onto the table. Only Brie’s quickness saved it from being caught on fire by the candle.
I shrugged. “Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before sending back a perfectly prepared steak.”
“I’m the customer, you imbecile. I’m always right.”
“Not in my restaurant, you’re not.”
“Oh, so you own this place?” he asked with a derisive snort.
“No,” I said, cutting a look at Brie. “But she—”
With a shake of her head, she cut me off, and I clamped my mouth shut. She rose to her feet, glaring at her date. It took all my willpower not to drag my gaze along the length of her body, knowing now was not the time. Her emerald eyes flamed with anger, and it was nice to, for once, not be on the receiving end ofher ire.
“He doesn’t,” she said, nodding at me, “butIdo.”
The guy rolled his eyes. “The boys are talking, sweetie. You don’t need to come to this poor excuse for a chef’s defense.”
“He’s the best chef I’ve ever known,” Brie said, stepping closer to him. I was pleased equally by the knowledge that this putz was only about an inch taller than her, so she looked him dead in the eye with her heels on, and that she thought I was such a great chef. It had been a long time since she’d last complimented me on anything.
“And don’t call me sweetie.”
The guy gestured to his plate and the ruined ribeye. I cringed, knowing I’d pay for that lost revenue and ruined inventory out of my own pocket. While the prick deserved what he got, I was mad at myself for destroying such a beautiful cut of meat.
“He can’t even properly prepare a steak!” he protested to Brie.
