CHAPTER SEVEN
Claire
I’m sitting at a small table nearest to the café’s window, which overlooks the busy street. The early-morning rush hour has died down significantly, but I’m entranced by the hustle and bustle of pedestrians and cars that pass by. I glance down at my watch for what must be the twentieth time that hour. It’s drawing closer and closer to noon. The Royale will be opening its doors soon, and Laurence said he would only cover me for the first hour of prep.
I chuckle to myself, mainly out of disappointment. I don’t know what I was expecting. Vincent is always late. He was late for every one of our dates when we were still together. He used to tell me that it was fashionable to be late, that as a celebrated food critic, people expect him to show up later than announced. It’s just something that comes with the territory. It’s supposed to add to the mystique and air of celebrity.
As I wait for Vincent to arrive, I find my mind wondering. I could hardly believe it when I saw Lawrence lying beside me this morning. Apparently, I’m quite the blanket hog, because he was completely naked and exposed next to me. The soft morning light streamed in from my bedroom window, allowing my eyes to adjust enough to drink in the details of his sleeping face. I’ve never seen him so at peace before, so wonderfully comfortable and tuckered out.
A small sense of pride rose up in my chest upon the realization that I was the one who tuckered him out.
I had to rummage through my little collection of old concealer and foundation this morning. The hickey that Laurence had left on my neck was blaringly obvious. The thought of the kitchen staff whispering and speculating behind my back about it has my cheeks warming. Nobody knows about Laurence and me yet, but he does. Maybe that’s why he did it. It excites him to know that he’s left his mark for all to see, but nobody knows the truth behind it.
Vincent finally walks through the doors of the café and has the audacity to throw his arms up into the air. “Claire!” he exclaims. His arms linger in there like he’s expecting a hug or something, but I don’t move to him. I stay seated, glancing at my watch to remind him that I’ve been waiting. He brushes off my cold greeting and sit down across from me, a massive smile on my face.
“Hello, Vince.”
“Thank you for meeting with me. I’m so glad you could make it.”
“I know you just got here, but I’m in a bit of a hurry to get back to the Royale.”
“Ah, yes. The Royale.” He says the restaurant’s name slowly, like he’s taking special note of how the word feels in his mouth. “That’s actually why I wanted to speak with you today.”
I sit a little straighter. We’re finally getting to the point. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go back to work. And the sooner I can go back to work, the sooner I can see Laurence. “Yes,” I nod. “What did you need to speak with me about? I don’t recall you ever speaking to chefs before you wrote your reviews.”
Vincent strokes his chin, as if in thought. “Yeah, about that…” His voice trails off. “What do you think about the Royale?”
“What do you mean?”
“How do you like working there?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I like it. It was the only place I wanted to work at after I graduated. You said I would never get hired there, remember?
“Ah,” he says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Right.” He clears his throat. “Well, look, I’m happy to write the review. I think the dish you served me last night was rather… Good.”
“Just good?”
“I’ll be honest, it didn’t really blow me out of the water, but it also wasn’t terrible.”
I feel my heart sink. I knew this was a bad idea. If Vincent decides to write anything but an outstanding review, the Royale could take a serious hit. It’s halfway through the month already and we’re running out of time to make things work. My chest feels heavy at the thought. There’s a lump in my throat forming. I don’t want to entertain the idea, but at some point, I have to think about my own interests.
I kick myself mentally. What about Laurence? That wouldn’t be fair to Laurence.
Laurence, Laurence, Laurence.
“What do you want, Vince?” I ask him.
“What makes you think I want something?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “You were incessantly texting me in the middle of the night to meet up. You wouldn’t do that if you didn’t want something.”
Vincent smiles, but I can tell it’s not genuine. It’s not sweet or kind like the way Laurence smiles at me. “I want to make you a deal,” he says.
“A deal?”
“It’s no secret that the Royale has been struggling,” he explains. “And nobody likes a bad review. I’m hoping to open up my very own restaurant, and I want you to be my head chef.”
My mouth drops open slightly. “Your head chef?”
He nods. “I’ll be honest, I think the Royale is stifling you, Claire. You have so much talent, but that meal you served me was only a fraction of what you’re truly capable of. Come work for me as my head chef, and I’ll write the Royale a sparkling review.”
My mind is swimming. I’ve wanted to be the executive chef of my very own restaurant for as long as I could remember. But something just doesn’t sit right with me.
“I’d give you free reign to come up with your very own menu,” continues Vincent. “Your own kitchen. Heck, I’ll even let you pick out your own staff. You just name who you want, and I’ll go and get them.”
“That’s very generous, but…” I trail off. I think of Laurence. What would he do? What would he say if he were me?
“Unless, of course, I was mistaken?” says Vincent coldly. “Don’t you want to run your own kitchen?”
Of course I want to run my own kitchen. I have so many ideas to offer, so many dishes that I want to try. I’m more than capable of leading a team, and I’d even argue that I’m an excellent manager. To be the given the opportunity to be a head chef would mean the absolute world to me.
“Yes, but I–”
“The Royale is an old, snooty restaurant that started to lose its reputability the moment it came under new management. We critics know a sinking ship when we see one. I suggest that you secure your spot on the lifeboat as quickly as possible.”
I raise an eyebrow. Snooty? Sinking ship? Vincent always had a flare for the dramatic. But deep down, somewhere in the back of my mind, his words have a ring of a truth. Things don’t look like they’re going well, and this could be my only opportunity to start fresh and achieve my goals of becoming an executive chef.
“Well, Claire?” he urges me.
I bite my lip. I want to talk to somebody about this. There’s just too much information to process at one time. But the only person that I want to talk to is Laurence, and God knows what he’ll say. How would he react to the news? Would he tell me to do whatever it takes to get the Royale a good review? Would it even be worth it? Would he be angry with me if I accepted Vincent’s offer? I couldn’t do that to him, could I? Could I really just up and leave Laurence and the Royale to their fate? The idea sickens me.
If I end up working at a different restaurant, would that put distance between us? I know we’re not exactly exclusive or official, but I like where we’re at right now. I want to know what Vincent’s really playing at here. It’s just too complicated to think out all on my own. But I know that the one person I want to talk to about all this is also the last person I want to hurt with the news.
Vincent regards me, his eyes indifferent. His gaze falls upon the piss-poor cover-up job on my neck. He raises an eyebrow and smirks, curious and entertained at the same time.
“You and that chef,” he mutters. “Something going on between you two?”
“N-no,” I stutter unconvincingly. I unconsciously touch my neck. The skin is tender underneath all the concealer I applied. “I-it’s none of your business.”
“It must be difficult, being involved with a co-worker.”
“We’re not–”
“I hope he treats you right. I hope he’s supportive.”
“He is,” I say a little more forcefully than I intended. “He really, really is.”
Vincent nods, glancing down at his hands which are resting on the café table. “I want you to know that I took our breakup very seriously. When you told me I wasn’t supportive enough, it made me realize I’d been a pretty shitty boyfriend.”
I can feel my heart beating in my chest. “Why are you saying this?”
“I want you to know that I’m not offering you this position because I’m trying to get you back or anything. I’m offering you the position because I realize now that you do have what it takes to be an excellent chef. I was a terrible boyfriend back then, but I want to help you succeed. So maybe think of this offer as an apology and opportunity. And I just hope that your boss respects you enough to let you do it.”
“Thank you,” I say slowly. “I just… I just need more time to think about it.”
Vincent smiles at me, a real one this time. “Thank you, Claire. I understand.”