Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Sounds great,” he says, “except that we won’t have enough eggs. Since we only serve brunch on weekends, the egg shipment doesn’t arrive until Thursday afternoon.”
I grin. “No worries. I stocked the fridge with all the necessary supplies yesterday before cricket class. That’s why I was a little late.”
His forehead furrows. “Right. About that… I don’t think this needs to be weird, do you? I mean, I had a great time with Natalie last night, and I’m excited to work with Chef Natalie today. I don’t see why those two things can’t harmoniously co-exist—one in the restaurant and one after hours.”
My heart flutters even as my stomach balls into a stress knot. “If I were just your boss, hired by someone else, maybe, but…” I glance over my shoulder to see the rest of the staff cleaning up their coffee cups and breakfast wrappers on their way into the kitchen.
None of them appear to be eavesdropping, but I still drop my voice to a whisper as I turn back to Cam, “But I blew every single dime in my savings to buy Crave. If this restaurant fails, I will lose everything, and I have too many people depending on me for that to happen. I help my mom and dad pay their mortgage and pay my gram’s rent, too, and it’s just…” I sigh. “There’s a lot on my shoulders right now. I need to keep my focus laser sharp at work and that means no distractions, no matter how pleasant, adorable, or tempting they might be.”
His lips twitch up on one side. “Adorable and tempting, I’ll take. Pleasant, I’m not so sure about. I endeavor to be more interesting than that, but since we’ve only known each other a few hours, I’ll let it pass.”
“Thanks,” I say, before adding in a firmer tone, “But that was a little flirty. So, you should stop that. No more flirting. Not even tiny little baby flirting.”
“You’re the one who called me tempting, Chef Natalie. But I’ll let it pass this time. Next time I’ll go to HR. I’m assuming we still have an HR rep? Or did you can Sammy along with Wendall?”
“I didn’t can Wendall,” I say, standing up straighter. “He was eager to retire, once he was offered the kind of severance package a legend like him deserved. And yes, Sammy will still be here on Thursday afternoons and Saturday mornings to take meetings and address any issues that may arise. She seems capable, and as long as she continues to fulfill her duties, she won’t be terminated. The same holds true for the rest of the staff. But I won’t hesitate to fire people who don’t carry their weight or follow the rules. Like I said, I have too much riding on Crave becoming a success to tolerate dropped balls, chronic lateness, or chefs who lack the skills needed to succeed in their chosen specialty.”
“Crave is already a success,” he says, his own shoulders rolling back, making him tower over me.
At five feet and a smidgeon of an inch, most people tower over me, but Cam is especially tall. And broad-shouldered. And possessed of far larger biceps than most chefs I know. He would be physically intimidating if it weren’t for his warm, gentle energy, the one I can still feel vibrating in the air around him even when he’s clearly a little pissed off.
“We make the Best of the City list every year and have two Michelin stars,” he continues. “This isn’t some struggling steakhouse you need to drag into the twenty-first century. All you have to do is jump in, find your rhythm as head chef, and keep the magic going.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I tilt my head back far enough to hold his gaze. “I’ll decide what I need to do, Chef Brennan. And I regret to inform you that I don’t share your rosy view of Crave’s current or future prospects. Your menu is dated and your purchasing methods out of step with sustainable practices and the growing farm-to-table movement. You have maybe one to three years before you become redundant and fall out of favor with critics and diners alike.”
I force a smile as I continue, “And even if I’m wrong about that, which I’m not, I’m not here to ride Pierre the Prick’s coattails. I’m here to make Crave by Cristina Barbu something even better. I’m going to make this restaurant the legendary stuff of legends, and anyone who creates friction along the way is gone. That’s it. Call it tough love, call it a bad case of perfectionism, call it me being a grade A bitch, I don’t care. As a woman in a male-dominated industry, I learned a long time ago to stop listening to anyone’s criticism but my own.”