CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
The chandelier shook, its crystals shimmying like an earthquake had struck Paris.
Madison nearly dropped the spoon she was using to baste her duck breast as Pierre gave a frightened squawk from her shoulder. Utensils clattered all around the kitchen.
Shit. That couldn’t be good.
She glanced over at the clock even though she already knew in her heart what the hands would announce. Christophe Flaubert and his party had entered the building, and Nanine’s chandelier was trying to tell them something.
God, why did the sound have to be so dark and foreboding? This dinner was supposed to pave the way for her dreams. Her stomach turned to overcooked polenta.
Turning slightly, she eyed her agitated staff. “Nanine’s chandelier seems to have indigestion tonight. Good thing she isn’t one of our guests. Let’s get back to work.”
Her neck prickled with unease as she waited for the interruption she knew would come. When Claude came through the door between the front and back of the house, his face was tight with strain. She signaled to her sous chef to take over and sent Pierre to his perch.
Claude was waiting for her at the edge of the kitchen, out of earshot of the other staff. She leaned in as he stepped closer.
“Christophe Flaubert and his party have arrived, but I felt it was of grave importance to tell you that Chef Auguste Dassault is one of his guests.”
“What?”Someone smack her with a giant squid. Nanine’s ex-lover washere? What the hell— So much for all of the other hopeful outcomes Thea and Kyle had expected from this dinner. “Have you seated them?”
Claude lifted his shoulder in that absent French way as if to say,What could I do?“Yes, for the moment. I thought I should confer with you.”
Hell, she was tempted to tell the entire restaurant they suddenly needed to close for fumigation. Anything that would save her from dealing with this situation directly. Because there was no way Dassault was here to experience their cuisine and change his mind.
“Call Kyle per our procedure and tell him we have an emergency.” She fought the urge to rub her forehead, where a headache was starting. “Serve them anapérofor the moment and then?—”
Nanine’s chandelier clanged again as the back door flew open. Claude’s assistant barreled into the kitchen and headed straight for them. “I am sorry to interrupt, Chef, but there is a party of five out there claiming rather loudly to be Kyle Taylor’s family from Texas.”
You’ve got to be kidding.
They’d gotten the brush-off and come anyway? She fought a groan. Of course they had. More bullies who didn’t want to be embarrassed and lose their cred. How would it look at their country club if they had to tell their friends that their only son had told themno?
“We do not have a reservation for anyone related toMonsieurTaylor,” Claude said stiffly. “Perhaps they are lying about their association?”
“No,” she said tightly, the back of her head starting to pound. “That’s them. Kyle told them we were booked.” Because she had his back.
“They are insisting we must have a second dinner seating,” Claude’s usually unflappable assistant continued, her ordinarily calm demeanor completely harried. “When I explained we did not, like in the United States, and that perhaps they should call Monsieur Taylor, they continued to insist?—”
“I get the picture,” Madison finished, feeling her entire staff’s attention locked on this drama when they should be focused on cooking. “We were about to call Kyle, anyway.”
There was no way she was throwing his parents out of Nanine’s. He would have to handle them.
“Where shall I ask them to wait?” the assistant pressed. “They are quite vocal, and our guests are?—”
“Being bothered.” Madison huffed out a sigh. “Since we’ve table juggled to our breaking point, let’s park them at the kitchen table and give them some champagne while we wait for Kyle. Can you have someone bring down a couple of the new Art Deco shoji screens? We can wall them off until we figure things out.”
That way Kyle could escort them out the back if needed. Right now, they had enough to handle with Dassault being in the house.
“Yes, Chef, we’ll do as you instruct,” Claude stated with a firm nod of his chin before signaling to his assistant to leave.
She turned back toward the staff, noting that the pace of various stirrings and platings was a touch slower than usual given their divided attention. “It’s going to be one of those nights. I need everyone to focus on what’s in front of them. All right?”
When there was a strongYes, Chef,she finally walked backto her station. “Fabian, I may need you to step in for me for a time,” she told the sous chef.
“Whatever you require, Chef,” he told her with that solid, direct gaze of his.
