Page 25 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“Just tell me what to do,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “I’m a fast learner.”

For a moment, the entire kitchen held its breath. Rhett could either trust me to help save the service or watch his carefully planned event collapse under the weight of circumstances beyond anyone’s control.

His dark eyes searched my face.

“Simone, take him,” he said. He looked at me and then pointed to the app station. “I need bruschetta. Three varieties. Classic tomato basil, ricotta and honey, prosciutto and fig. Plating specs are on the card above your station. Keep up with my pace and call out when you’re running low on components.”

“I’m sorry,” Conroy said.

Rhett turned back around. “Get him out of here and you better describe your attackers to the police.”

Conroy nodded, looking just a little ashamed. “Fine. Sorry.”

Rhett was already back to work.

I surveyed the ingredients laid out before me. This was it. Sink or swim. I was about to find out if all those years of watching Dad work, all those hours in various restaurant kitchens, had actually taught me anything useful.

“First order up,” Rhett called out, sliding a ticket across the pass. “Two classic, one ricotta honey, one prosciutto fig. Let’s see what you’ve got, Clem.”

It was both my dream and my nightmare. I had done this before. Well, not really, but in my dreams. Some people dreamed about showing up naked to school or to give a speech. Mine was about getting thrown into a kitchen and not knowing how to hold a knife.

I took a deep breath, picked up my knife, and got to work.