Page 7 of The Billionaire & the Virgin Chef
Emily
Present Day
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My hands shake as I stare through the porthole windows of these stainless steel double doors. I never thought I’d have an opportunity to work in the catering kitchen of the Six-Twenty Loft here at the Rockefeller Center. And now, this first time may very well be mylast.
“You really want me to go out there?” I timidly ask myboss.
“I reallydo.”
“What does shewant?”
“To talk toyou.”
“Did she at least say if she likedit?”
“I didn’t get thatfar.”
Crap. “So, okay, Chef Rasmus. I’ll go and find out what shewants.”
“Awesome. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Blair?” he asks with a roll of his eyes. “Chef Rasmus sounds like the name of an anal-retentive stick in the mud. Chef Blair isn’t too bad, but you’re staff. Call me Blair, all rightBlondie?”
“Okay.” I guess if he’s comfortable enough to give me a nickname of his own making based on my hair color, I can tone down the formality and call him by his first name. Blair Rasmus is the thirty-nine-year-old celebrity Chef who gave me the absolute honor of serving tonight as an Assistant Chef. My first real chef gig ever. It’s a posh fundraising gala that I never thought I’d be invited to cook for in a million years. Even though my best friend, Dahlia is here, a guest of some hot billionaire she met. Now that’s what I call luck, a date with a man living in the penthouse condo next to the place where she’s dog sitting three furbabies.
Being here as an assistant chef is a dream come true. The ultimate experience. At least I thought it was until the woman who hired him asks a wait staff to speak to the chef. But when Blair goes out to talk to her, she mentions it’s about the dill cucumber and tomatobites.
My dill and cucumberbites.
The ones I made from scratch. The ones Blair loves so much that he let me make a massive batch to serve at tonight’s event. And this middle-aged woman on the other side of these kitchen doors wants to speak to me about it. I’m usually very good at reading people. Usually. Not this time. Not this gorgeous, seemingly timeless blonde. She’s wearing a floor-length designer dress that probably costs more than my entire Culinary Arts program tuition at Columbia U. I can tell more about her from her fucking dress than from that flat, expressionless look on herface.
She didn’t complain about my food to Blair, but fuck, if she disses it to my face, I won’t be able to stand there and take it. More likely than not, my mouth will do what it does in my defense, and something raw and unfiltered will comeout.
If that happens, it’s game over forme.
Dammit.
Removing my apron, I hang it on the hook beside the door, straighten the rest of my chef’s uniform, and push through the double doors to face myfate.
“Good evening, ma’am,” I say to the woman, who must’ve been chatting with someone because her back is turned and her hand is raised in a prim and proper queen’s wave toward a cluster of men who appear to be much closer to my age than hers. All but one of them return her wave with a respectful nod. The tall one with black horn-rimmed styled glasses has his eyes on me. He’s pretty damn good looking too. Especially with those sexy as fuck glasses, the warmth of his dazzling smile, his square, manly jawline, and a distinctly muscular, chiseled body under thattuxedo.
She turns to look at me, pulling me away from Mister Nerdy Sex God. “Yes,darling?”
I give her a polite smile and force myself to look at her and not the guy whose eyes are still locked onto me. I wish I knew what his deal is, but to be honest, even as he flashes me a charming smile, my mind is on this woman and the reason she requested to have a one on one withme.
I clear my throat and swallow that lump of nervous energy blocking my throat. “Good evening. Chef Rasmus mentioned that you wanted to speak withme?”
“Ahhhh, yes. Did you make those little cucumber things? The ones on those crispy pita triangles with that creamy dill sauce ontop?”
I’m tempted to shake my head but nod instead. “Yes, ma’am. I madethem.”
She stands there silently. Only her eyes move as they move up and down, taking mein.
“I can bring you something else to clear your palate if you didn’t find them satisfactory,” I offer with muchhesitation.
“Did you make it yourself? All ofit?”
“I did,ma’am.”
“And can you make other types of hors-d’oeuvres that complement thisone?”
