by Zuri Day
Tiffany decided on a light approach. She pasted a smile on her face and walked purposefully and jauntily toward Chef’s office. She even tried to hum a line or two. Anything to counter the fast beating of her heart. “Chef Wang! I know this is about my—Nick!”
“Sit down, Ms. Matthews.” Nick, who’d been lounging by a set of shelves bulging with books, walked over and sat behind Chef Wang’s crowded, messy desk. On the surface, he was all business, but inside, his heart was melting. Tiffany didn’t know how good she looked with her sweated-out hair pulled back in a simple ponytail and a streak of flour on her cheek. Nick noted the defiant tilt of her chin and defensive crossing of her arms. The stubborn, unbreakable woman with a heart of stone. But Joy had known better and now, so did Nick.
Tiffany sat opposite Nick, without a word. She did notice, however, what Nick was holding in his hand—her resignation letter.
Nick looked at her for several seconds without speaking. “Ending our relationship was one thing, Ms. Matthews, but running out on a chef who’s invested considerable time in your development, and with a measly two-week notice, no less, is quite another.”
“I think two weeks is—”
“Frankly, I’ve heard enough about what you think, Ms. Matthews.”
Nick’s forceful attitude rendered Tiffany speechless. She opened her mouth but no words came out.
“Chef Wang came to my office today. I’ve never seen him so upset. Out of a dozen qualified sous chefs, yes, some with more qualifications than your résumé showed, he picked you. Not for your experience, but for your attributes overall—education, training with Emilio, determination, passion—strengths he felt would be a good addition to his team. The team he built with an eye toward the long term. It is no accident that not one person has left his team, not one! Because he picked every person based not only on their cooking skills, but on their character.”
“Now, wait just a minute, Nick.”
“This isn’t personal, this is business. Which is why from here on out you will address me as Mr. Rollins.”
“Fine, Mr. Rollins,” Tiffany spat. “There is nothing wrong with my char—”
“What is wrong, Ms. Matthews, is that you are letting personal feelings get in the way of professional integrity. When Chef Wang hired you, he thought he was getting someone who’d matured beyond childish pouting and selfish actions. And so did I.”
Tiffany was so mad she couldn’t see straight. The nerve of this sanctimonious asshole! Sitting over there looking so smug and judgmental…and fine, and sophisticated, and smelling so good…damn! She wanted to stomp her foot in anger. But that would have looked…childish.
“Chef Wang was perplexed as to the reason you gave for leaving.” Nick looked down and read from Tiffany’s letter. “‘…to pursue various cooking styles within different institutions.’ He thought that reasoning strange, to say the least. You and I both know it’s bullshit.”
If I didn’t need the check from these last two weeks, I’d tell you where you could put your bullshit! Though she felt like a volcano about to erupt, and that a panic attack was imminent, Tiffany forced herself to calm down.
“Now, Chef thought a raise might convince you to stay. But I told him I wasn’t sure. Because, Ms. Matthews, I’m not sure you’ve got what it takes for a long-term career in such a highly pressurized industry, and we both know the food industry is one of the hardest, most competitive of all. The five-star culinary world takes a particular talent, much more skilled and tougher than an average restaurant, or even a three-or four-star. He wonders if the pressure is too much and whether you’d fare better in a place with lower standards and uncomplicated menu choices. I personally think you may want to consider getting out of the kitchen altogether and becoming a food buyer, or perhaps the manager in a high-end market. There you could still assuage your love for cooking, but without having to deal with the stress that the restaurant business demands.”
Tiffany was about to choke on the litany she wanted to spew at him. But she was determined not to say a word, if it killed her.
Nick looked at Tiffany and noticed the marks she was making in her arms by holding herself so tightly. Yeah, she’s pissed, all right. Just like Joy said would happen. There’s no way she’s leaving now.
Satisfied that he’d done what he set out to do, Nick stood. “I’ll simply tell Chef that there’s nothing that will keep you in a kitchen of this magnitude, not even a ten percent increase. I will alert him that he needs to hire your replacement immediately, this week if possible.” He walked quickly to the door.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Excuse me?” Nick asked, without turning around.
Tiffany would be damned if Nick Rollins would be proved right by her leaving. “I-I’ll talk to Chef Wang, and if he feels the restaurant would be better served by my staying here, then I’ll withdraw my resignation or at least…wait until Chef finds a suitable replacement.”
Nick spun around. “I’ll consider your change of mind, but only because of the precarious position Chef would be in because of your hasty, unplanned departure. But know that if you pull a stunt like this again, not even Chef Wang will be able to save you from the unemployment line. I will not stand for this type of temperamental behavior in any establishment that I own. And once I put the word out about your volatile attitude, no reputable five-star in this town will touch you with a ten-foot pole. Is that understood, Ms. Matthews?”
Tiffany was fairly shaking with rage.
“I don’t think I heard an answer.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips barely moved. “Yes,” she hissed.
Nick ignored her insubordination, turned, and walked out of the office. It was a good thing she couldn’t see the smirk that was on his face, or else she’d have really kicked his ass.
42
It had been one month since Nick canceled their vacation and Tiffany broke things off with him. One month, six days, and about seven hours, not that Tiffany was keeping track. It had also been four days since she’d given and then taken back her notice, and had the encounter with Mr. Rollins. It wasn’t until she got home that she admitted how much his words had hurt her. One thing she loved about the Nick she used to know was how much he supported her career choices, how much he’d encouraged her in her culinary endeavors. And how much did you encourage him in his work? “What difference does it make?” she mumbled under her breath. I’ve destroyed the feelings he had for me. Even though a stack of vegetables had already been prepped, Tiffany grabbed an onion and minced it to within an inch of its life—anything to stop herself from thinking. She placed the onions on a grill and caramelized them to top the steak of a regular customer who liked it when she went off menu a bit. Next, she focused on a pot of fettuccine.
“Damn, this order is crazy! And right in the middle of lunchtime!” Roger shook his head as he walked by the computer. He printed out the order and placed it on Tiffany’s station. It was for a table of eight, and it was as if they’d fixated on the menu’s most labor-intensive dishes and then placed their order.
“This is a pretty crazy order,” Tiffany agreed, even though she and not Chef Wang would be handling the order. He’d left the kitchen for two hours, for a doctor’s appointment. Tiffany was secretly thankful for the challenge. With an order like this, she’d have no time to think about anything, or more importantly, anyone else.
She shouted out various directives to the other sous chef and line cooks for oysters, lump crab, whole crabs, shrimp, salmon, mahi mahi, flounder, swordfish, abalone, lobsters, and tenderloins. There’d also been a special request for a fresh batch of her bacon-wrapped scallops. And Nick doesn’t think I belong here. Ha! Evidently the customers don’t agree with him! Tiffany and crew sped up their already furious pace, each member concentrating on their piece of the culinary masterpiece puzzle. For the next hour they barely stopped to breathe. Tiffany wiped away sweat with the arm of her chef coat as she meticulously butterflied a tenderloin, cutti
ng the prime piece of beef in half to within a quarter of an inch, and after lightly seasoning, fanned the two sides out on the hot grill. While she kept an eye on the rapidly cooking meat, she placed a handful of onions in a stainless steel skillet, along with garlic, peppers, celery, fresh basil, and mint. The herbs released a pungent fragrance into the room.
“Order up!” Roger shouted, hurriedly taking two plates to the counter.
“Tenderloin ready,” Tiffany told him, slipping into Chef Wang’s abbreviated English pattern that she had unconsciously adopted. “How’s clam chowder?”
“Ready, Chef!”
“Focaccia?”
“Just placed five more in the oven, Chef.”
Tiffany released a deep breath. Everything was running smoothly, perfectly. Ever since Nick had questioned her abilities to man a five-star kitchen, she’d been in mental competition with his doubts, trying with every dish to prove him wrong and reassure herself. But delivering this complicated order in a timely fashion was the ultimate test of her abilities. She leaned back on the counter as the last plate for that table was taken from the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Amber walked into the kitchen. “Chef, your presence is being requested. Looks like a table of influential people were quite impressed with their meal.”
Tiffany nodded, mentally thumbing her nose at Nick’s words. Wish you could talk to some of your clients, Mr. Rollins. The ones who want to see me! “I’ll be right out. Thanks, Amber.” Rarely one to fret over her looks, Tiffany stopped at the mirror in the hallway. She wiped her face with the white cotton scarf she wore to keep her hair back, then tied it back around her head. To add a touch of femininity, she pulled a few of her curly locks out to dangle around her face and down her back. There, that’s better. Satisfied that she looked more like a sexy mama than Aunt Jemima, Tiffany bounced out of the kitchen and into the dining room.
Amber passed Tiffany as she walked out. “Table one,” Amber said.
“Got it.” Tiffany turned the corner into the more isolated part of the dining room where corporate bigwigs or entertainers were often seated. The nook allowed for more privacy, while a small, shimmering wall waterfall provided a soothing ambience. The only thing that was brighter than the lights in that area was her smile.
Then she saw him, and the smile ran away from her face. It threatened to leave the room but she caught it, pasted it back on, and after a stutter step, proceeded to the table. Nerves had replaced confidence and her once dry hands became clammy. She cursed her body for its reaction to Nick Rollins.
He was looking fine, as usual, wearing a crisp beige suit with an open-collar starched white shirt. His face was clean-shaven and smooth as butter. Her fingers itched to caress it. His hair looked freshly cut, close to the scalp, creating a pattern of mini-circles and a natural sheen. She didn’t have to get close to smell his fragrance, a woodsy sandalwood with an undertone of citrus. This refreshing odor cut through all the others in the restaurant. It was an odor she’d memorized from their beginning, when his body covered hers, pounding…
“Here she is!” Nick said to the group. “One of LA’s finest up-and-coming chefs, Tiffany Matthews.” He stood, with hand outstretched, his smile at once deadly and benign. “The lunch was excellent.”
“Thank you.” Tiffany didn’t want to take his hand, afraid that one touch would melt her resolve to be done with him, to focus on her career, to keep her heart safe. She tried not to look at the broad shoulders, tried to steer her eyes clear of the long, curly lashes and the succulent mouth opened just enough to reveal gleaming white, even teeth. Get it together, Tiffany! If he can act detached and professional, so can you.
Tiffany swallowed discreetly and shook Nick’s hand. Her body shivered in spite of her resolve. The sexual libido that Nick had awakened with his touch, and which she had tried to tamp down over the past several weeks, came roaring back again. How could a man affect her so with a simple touch?
When Tiffany would have pulled away, Nick held on firmly but gently. Baby, you feel so good…so soft. “Tiffany, meet some of my colleagues. They will become regular guests at Taste. These are names you’ll want to remember.” Nick finally released her hand, but as she reached out to shake the hands of the other men around the table, Nick kept a slight yet unmistakable hand lightly rested on her lower back. Unobtrusive, yet very effective. Tiffany didn’t know how the man did whatever he was doing, but…he was doing it.
“It’s a pleasure,” she said even as she shook the last hand. “Please come back to see us soon. I really must get back to the kitchen. Thanks again for coming.” With that, Tiffany hurried away from the table, and from Nick.
Nick watched her hurry away, his thoughts bittersweet. He was so proud of her, yet so aggravated at her stubbornness he could shake her, no, sex her, silly. He knew that for them to be intimate again, Tiffany would have to make the first move, she’d have to be sure that he was who she wanted. Nick wanted to believe that that move was inevitable, because Tiffany was the most succulent morsel he’d ever tasted. How long was a brothah supposed to wait?
Once inside the kitchen corridor, she rested her body against the wall, tilted her head back, and took long, deep breaths. More than ever she wondered what drug she had been on to ever let this man out of her grasp. And now that he was doing exactly what she thought she wanted, keeping things strictly professional, she realized professionalism was not what she wanted from Nick Rollins at all. Now that she’d satisfied his food hunger, she wanted to assuage another of his appetites—the healthiest appetite of all.
It’s too late for that, sistah. You blew it. With resolve, Tiffany went into the kitchen and began the next order. It was for a seared sirloin carpaccio with white truffle aioli. Unfortunately, she thought, this was the only type of meat she would handle tonight.
43
From that day on, Tiffany began to see Nick regularly. He’d eaten at the restaurant several times in the past two weeks. Most of the time, he was with clients, but occasionally he’d request a specific dish be brought up to his office, and he’d request that Tiffany bring it. This was for strictly professional reasons, of course, so that Chef Wang would not be pulled from the kitchen, but Nick could still ask specific questions about ingredients and preparation. He’d discuss either the dish’s possible inclusion in or deletion from the menu, or how it could be mass-produced for the ever-increasing number of A-list events catered by Taste.
For Tiffany, these meetings were excruciating. She wanted to hate Nick, but she couldn’t. In his professional role, he was courteous, respectful, intelligent, and fine. He asked good, solid questions and had a hard, solid body. He tasted and tempted with his mouth. Little by little, Tiffany let her guard down and tried to relax around him. But as easy as it seemed for Nick to go from lovers to friends, the same wasn’t so for Tiffany. She was still in love with her boss.
“I can’t take it.” As soon as her workday was over, Tiffany punched in Joy’s number on the speed dial.
“Girl, I was just getting ready to call you! You’re not going to believe what happened!”
“Yeah, well, neither are you.”
“Okay, you first,” Joy said excitedly.
“I saw Nick today.”
“You work for him, Tiffany,” Joy said dryly. “Don’t you see him every day?”
“In his office.”
“Okay.” Joy drew out the word.
“Alone.”
“And…”
“Joy, I can’t take it! The man is about to drive me insane!”
Good work, Nick. “Why, what’s he doing?” Joy’s voice was as innocent as a newborn babe.
“Nothing! And that’s the problem.”
“Okay, sistah, start at the beginning.”
Tiffany did, telling Joy about her renewed attraction to Nick, his increased presence in and around the kitchen, and the newly begun requests for private dinners in his suite, due both to the catering boom and to Nick and the partners toying around with
another, stand-alone Taste restaurant.
“That sounds great, Tiffany. It sounds like exactly the career path you say you wanted.”
“It is, but…”
“But what?”
“It’s just that…never mind. What’s happening with you?”
“Baby, your friend is about to be all up in the pro-ball business. You’re talking to a woman who is now employed.”
“Joy, you haven’t worked a day in your life.”
“I beg your pardon. What do you call raising two children and taking care of a husband?”
“I mean a real job.”
“Trade places with me for twenty-four hours and I guarantee you’ll agree that it’s a job for real!”
“All right, I don’t want to argue. What on earth made you trade in your book reading for a nine-to-five?”
“More like eleven to three, and it’s an assistant position with Myron Wilkes, Jamal’s agent!”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. I called him last week, and went on and on about how much I admired him. Of course, I’d Googled his ass and found out everything he’d ever done since he graduated from Duke. I also told him about an idea I had about athletes, especially newbies, getting exposure outside of the sports world. Girl, basically, I talked myself into a job. I think he said yes just so I’d shut up!”
Tiffany laughed. “Only you, Joy Parsons. And what does Randall have to say about all this?”
“He doesn’t know yet. I figure I’ll spring the news once I get us a four-pack to a UCLA–USC game.”
“Are you sure there isn’t more to this than your needing excitement?”