He’d worked by Nanine’s side from the beginning, and while he didn’t have the creativity on the menu side, he was one hell of a cook and a great worker. He would be upset if he learned Dassault was here, and so would the other staffers who had worked at Nanine’s prior to the reopening. They’d also been denied a star. Thank God they’d reserved the private room on the second floor for Christophe Flaubert and guests. God knew what the front of the house servers thought. Many of them had worked here for decades.
How would Nanine react? Should they call her? God, how had this gotten so complicated?
“Fabian, I?—”
More clanging from Nanine’s chandelier portended more trouble, cutting her off.
“But you can’t be serious about seating us back here,” a loud, sugary drawl called out, reverberating through the entire kitchen. “Kyle would want us to have a damned good table, and this one is back with the staff.”
Madison was already moving toward the scuffle.
“I don’t care, darling,” the woman responded again. “We’re his parents, for heaven’s sake. You will find us the best table in the houseright now.”
The party in front of her was dressed like they were attending the Kentucky Derby minus the giant hats. She noted the family resemblance in the eyes of the woman dressed in a long-sleeved blue chiffon dress who looked like she regularly had chemical peels and a touch of Botox. Her perfectly dyed and highlighted blond updo also suggested constant maintenance and an unreal amount of hairspray. But Madison knew her for what she was: a bully disguised as a Barbie doll.
Standing next to her was a man who resembled Kyle in the mouth and jawline. He was wearing a gray suit, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly styled like his son’s always seemed to be. Also a bully dressed up as a successful businessman.
Ah, the parents. They carried invisible silver spoons in their hands everywhere they went as they punched people down.
The other couple was a mirror image of impeccable grooming and wealth. They were also frowning their displeasure, but it was Paisley 2.0 who captured her attention. Because you better believe they’d brought her despite Kyle saying he was in a relationship. She was a blond, blue-eyed wisp of a woman who looked so young she could probably still get away with being in a kid’s Easter egg hunt. She’d lay out Kyle’s slippers every night and pop out two kids for him without breaking a sweat.
God, Kyle had better get here fast because these people were looking to throw around their weight after being disrespected.
Madison fell back into the protective mode she’d adopted in her old neighborhood. When the corner gang leader was cranky and looking to break windows, you did whatever you could not to escalate the situation.
“Good evening,” she stated in her best business voice. “I’m Chef Madison Garcia, the head chef here at Nanine’s. I’m sorry you aren’t pleased with your table, but after hearing you were Kyle’s family and friends, we went to great trouble to reseat the party who’d reserved it, as it’s the best in the house. Being in the kitchen is the most coveted seat we have.”
Kyle’s mother pegged her tight-eyed gaze right on her. “You’re the person Paisley told us about, the one who worked in the kitchen.”
Cue the class insults, but had Paisley told them about the kiss she’d planted on Kyle to make the woman leave? Doubtful, because that would ruin the woman’s cred. Funny howwhen it came down to it, people were all about cred and respect. Of course, it was possible they suspected she was dating Kyle anyway. They clearly didn’t respect his relationship, given their decision to bring Paisley 2.0.
She just had to power through this until Kyle arrived. “I am the head chef here, as I said. You can be seated at this special table right now. Otherwise, you’ll need to wait in front of the restaurant until Kyle arrives to figure out other arrangements for you and your party. As you probably know, we are the most sought-after reservation in Paris right now, some are saying the world, and seating is at a premium.”
His mother looked her up and down, from the black chef’s hat to her black high-tops. Madison was sweating slightly, without a touch of makeup. She could only imagine his mother’s thoughts, and quite frankly, she didn’t give a damn.
“We’ll wait for Kyle here, then,” the woman drawled in the same tone Madison imagined an asp would use if the snake could speak.
“Wonderful,” she said tightly. “Please follow our staff to your table.”
The moment their backs were turned, she spun around to return to her station. But Claude’s forceful wave from the staircase stopped her. Terrific. They had the other party from hell upstairs.
“Chef, I’m sorry to interrupt you again, but Monsieur Flaubert is requesting that you come to table side.”
“Didn’t you offer them anapéro?”She winced. “Sorry, of course you did, Claude.”
“I should also inform you that the third member of their party is the distinguished Chef Antoine Parnaud.”
She clenched her eyes shut. Chef Parnaud had worked with Paul Bocuse before going on to his own storied career, lined with French distinctions and three Michelin-starred restaurants both in Paris and New York. “Lucky us. Let’s get this party started. Claude, where is Kyle?”
Claude’s skin was stretched a little tighter over his angular face, but he wasn’t sweating like her. “He texted that he was stuck in traffic in the First and that he will handle his parents when he arrives. He apologized for the inconvenience.”
She bet he did. He’d be boiling mad.
“What is his ETA?”
“Right now, he’s thirty minutes out. But you know Paris traffic…”
“Fine. Tell his family he’s delayed and then give them menus. If we have to, we’ll start feeding them before Kyle gets here.”
