Page 8 of The Billionaire & the Virgin Chef
“I can, but as I mentioned, I’d happily find you something elseto—”
“That won’t be necessary, dear,” she says stiffly. “By any chance, do you take cateringorders?”
If it weren’t for that question, I’d honestly still have no fucking clue whether or not this lady wants to hurl insults at me or rave about my appetizer. Must be too many years of Botox usage. Also, the truth is, I haven’t ever done a catering order of my own. The most I ever did on a large scale before tonight’s event is feed all my classmates in culinary school. Although, I did help prepare Thanksgiving dinner for three hundred homeless people at a local soupkitchen.
Deciding it’s best not to embarrass my highly experienced boss by providing those unimpressive examples, I choose the alternative. I lie. Worst case scenario, if Blair doesn’t want to risk associating his business to this potential catering gig by providing his more than ample kitchen, I’m pretty sure the large kitchen at the condo where Dahlia’s staying willsuffice.
“Yes, ma’am. I do…cater on a part-timebasis.”
“Excellent.” She reaches into her shimmering little clutch purse and pulls out a glossy business card. An expensive one, made of the kind of thick card stock people hold onto because they know it came from someone important. Itreads:
Wilkes MacmillanLLC
DianeWorthington
SeniorPartner
Attorney atLaw
“Here’s my card.I’m hosting a little party in a few weeks and would love it if you’ll serve this and possibly three or four more appetizers. They’re just lovely, and they taste absolutely divine. How about I swing by your kitchen in a few days to sample some otheroptions?”
Oh fuck. Swing by my kitchen? She’d be appalled if she saw the sad excuse for a food preparation space at the five-story Brooklyn walk-up apartment I share with Dahlia and my other friend, Rose. And I sure as shit won’t dare to offer Blair’s kitchen or Dahlia’s boss’s condo, not without askingfirst.
“Uh, I’d be happy to bring the samples to you,” I suggest, thinking on my feet. “My weekday availability isn’t as flexible, but I’m more than willing to come after six in the evenings, or anytime onweekends.”
“That would be perfect. Weekends work best, as I can show you the party space. That way, you’ll know what you need to bringalong.”
“Great! Do you have a rough estimate of the size of your guestlist?”
“We’re up to one hundred at the moment, but it would be prudent to plan for about a hundred and fiftypeople.”
A server leaving the kitchen gets my attention as he passes by and I turn around, briefly glancing at the windows in time to see Blair signaling for me to wrap itup.
“Sure! I’ll phone you tomorrow evening to set it up,” I tell the woman excitedly. Or do you prefer anemail?”
“Either is fine. Thanks.” She turns and leaves to continue schmoozing or whatever people do at theseevents.
“Thank you for the business and have a great evening!” I shout after her, and return to the kitchen smiling from ear toear.
Blair turns off the flame of the crème brûlée torch in his hand and looks over at me from his prep station. “I take it she liked your hors-d’oeuvres?”
“She did! So much so, I think I just got my first catering order. That’s not a problem, right? I mean, I guess I should’ve asked youfirst.”
“Knock yourself out, Blondie. I’m booked up for the next sixmonths.”
“Are you sure, boss?” I lift the woman’s business card to his eye level. “She’s loaded if this card and that designer dress meananything.”
“Positive. I don’t do lawyers. Their parties are liable to attract threats of legal woes if they’re not happy with your service. But that won’t happen to you. That woman just adoresyou.”
“And you know that howexactly?”
He raises his eyebrows and faces the crème brûlée torch toward his sweet glazed pastries. “I can tell these things. Call it a hunch. By the way, we’re a little short staffed. So…as your dish is such a hit, would you mind carrying out a few trays and serving them yourself? Think of it as the highest honor for an assistant chef in my kitchen. And if anyone asks, feel free to brag that it’s your signature special. It might bring you some more business. God knows I couldn’t handle another client right now.Congrats!”
“Uh,sure.”
I head back to my station and scoop up one of the enormous empty, circular silver trays. One by one, I carefully place my handiwork onto it. It occurs to me that I should have some idea of what to charge this Diane Worthington lady, so I can at least have a snowball’s chance in hell of breaking even on thisgig.
“What kind of fee is reasonable for a gig like the one this lady wants?” I ask Blair, slowing down at this station again. I’m grateful for the slew of waitressing jobs I held down during part-time since my last year of high school, otherwise balancing this monstrosity would be a real pain in theass.
