After he was alone, Nick collapsed into the chair behind the desk to catch his breath before heading back out. He checked his watch. 7:00 p.m. Maybe he should take off the rest of the night. Now that he’d taken care of the most pressing item on his agenda. Although, since he was in his office anyway, he probably should take care of a few things before cutting himself for the night. Then maybe check to see if anyone interesting was seated in his section. Blondie had been all right. Not exactly his preferred type, but she was receptive and quite eager so why not?
Probably should look at his e-mail.
Hi Nick,
You can expect me Wednesday evening around 6:30. I prefer to have the meal selected for me so please put something together that you feel best represents the restaurant’s style of cuisine. Don’t be afraid to take a risk.
Regards,
Annabelle Driscoll
New York Times
He typed in a quick Internet image search to assess what he’d be dealing with and was pleasantly surprised. She was hot in a classy, no-nonsense, semi-stuck-up kind of way.
Nick lifted an eyebrow at her picture as he smirked. Then he shook his head as he closed the lid of his laptop.
No.
Annabelle was one of the most influential restaurant critics in the country. Probably not the best idea. The last thing he needed was for his little back office secret to get out.
He opened the laptop again and briefly skimmed over the menus for Restaurant Week, then pulled up the website for the Statesman and then the Chronicle, meticulously checking the pages to ensure the blurbs matched the info he’d sent over the week before.
Pecan crusted chicken with acai—
“Aw, what the hell, man!” He groaned and then picked up the phone. It rang several times before reaching a voice-mail box.
“Misty, Nick Chapman. There’s an error in one of the blurbs. It says acai rice and it needs to be achiote.Achiote. That’s a-c-h-i… Never mind, I’ll shoot you an e-mail. Let me know you got it. Thanks.”
He huffed as he scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, then rested his chin in his palm as he stared at the screen.
Hmmm…
Acai rice. That sounded interesting. He made a note to himself to run it by Chase, the head chef.
He glanced at the time again. 7:05 p.m. Time to wash up and get back out on the floor.
* * *
Nick glanced over the group at his table as he crossed the patio briskly.
Obviously married couple about his parents’ age; obviously married couple about his age; three young kids—groan; woman who appeared to be single and slightly younger than him.
He bit his bottom lip.
She was pretty, but she was obviously with her family so he immediately dropped the idea and put on his classy-friendlyat your servicesmile.
“Good evening, folks,” Nick greeted the group. “Welcome to Chapman’s. My name is Nick and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Did you have a chance to look over the drink menu?”
The older gentleman spoke first. “Maker’s on the rocks.”
“My favorite.”
Nick glanced at the man’s wife. “For you, ma’am?”
“I’ll have the pomegranate mimosa.”
“Excellent choice. It’s refreshing on a warm evening such as this.”
