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Pivoting is a modern concept and father is old fashioned. In his mind, we’re still in the golden days of the Michelin restaurants where the chef was always right and the customer had the privilege to experience culinary delights beyond the imagination. Customer service did not even have a translation in French.
But times have changed, and now we have Natalie.
Natalie.
I thought I could put that girl out of my mind, but she has a way of weaving herself back in. Could she be thinking of me like this?
No, certainly not. A young woman discovering the pleasures of Paris. What am I to her? Just her boss.
Ever since Camille told me she hired a girl from Texas, I had to put that famous southern hospitality to the test. The charade with the coffee barely destabilized her, just as I’d hoped. She maintained her composure, didn’t second-guess herself. Had I pulled that same stunt at a typical French café, not only would I have had to pay for three coffees, but they would not have allowed me back.
To be fair, she did serve me wastewater.
Natalie…
I try not to be consumed by thoughts of her now. The countdown to Friday’s event is on. The whole thing is exhausting. Maybe I just need to put my head down for a moment, visualize success, imagine the glowing reviews that will be published around the world when our new wine varieties take the gastronomic world by storm…
Yes, I can see it now. Glasses raised in celebration and smiles on everyone’s faces. Their eyes close as they sip what can only be described as the taste of dreams…
A tapping on the window rouses me. Camille, her eyebrows raised, waves goodbye and I notice it’s dark outside. How long was I out? I’m sure I was imagining the taste of dreams only a moment ago.
Midnight. I have to be back here in eight hours. If only I could do what I did when I was a child and curl up in the corner until Mother lifted me into her arms to take us home.
At least Paris in the midnight streetlights is a glorious sight. I do love the country home, but there’s nowhere in the world like Paris.
I take in a deep breath and lift my face to the sky, and feel something hit my face. What was that? I’m sure I just felt a—yes, a raindrop. And another. And another. I can’t help but laugh as I run toward the metro station. Seems Natalie and I have much in common, as despite the forecast, I am without my umbrella.
I still can’t get the idea out of my mind, of her and I running together through this storm. That I could take her in my arms and swing her around, her face full of delight with that wide smile of reckless abandon that only an American girl can have.
What a dream.
CHAPTER 9
Olivier
When twenty-two pairs of eyes await words that will motivate them to action, I cannot let them down.
Everything in the Bouchon Noir is in a state of anticipation. The tables are set, the tiles have been scrubbed to perfection, and the tower of crystal in the center of the restaurant is a testament to the art of wine-making. Our reveal of this year’s grape varieties should put us in standing for a gold seal and the publicity that comes with it.
But first, tonight must go off without a hitch, and that depends on the people in front of me now.
I take a deep breath and turn away from them. They might think it’s for dramatics, but really I need to wipe my sweaty palms and calm this heartbeat. I have been trained for moments such as this, but it still feels unnatural. One more deep breath, and I can put on the mask. The one they need to see, the one that makes them feel proud, and perhaps just a touch afraid.
I spin and face them.
“You don’t need me to tell you how important tonight is.” I walk through the group, watching their spines straighten as I pass. “And you don’t need me to tell you the standing of tonight’s clientele.” Marie swallows hard. “You don’t need to hear how the food cannot be one degree over- nor undercooked.” Christophe, our head chef, scoffs at my comment. “There is no place for complacency!” I shout, and Christophe immediately stiffens, looking straight ahead.
I don’t like to yell. It’s nails on a chalkboard when I hear my own voice turn metallic. Mother had a way of speaking where even when it was serious, when Sebastien or I would commit the most unacceptable of infractions—thinking specifically of a joke we played with Grandmama’s undergarments—she never needed to raise her voice.
And yet, we knew.
I take another deep breath.
“You are here because you are among Paris’s best. You will cook, bake, serve, clean, and greet with the pride of knowing that your actions decide if tonight is successful. From the moment a guest walks through that door, their experience begins.”
“Yes!” Natalie whispers and then clamps her mouth shut. “Sorry, sir.”
I smile in spite of myself. “No, you’re right,” I say, approaching her. “Tonight belongs to you. I am dependent upon you. I am nothing without you.”
