Page 10 of Meant to be Mine

“Taking notes.” I showed him the notes app and showed him. “Tuna tartare—yes, but seated tables only, not circulating. Burrata crostini—yes, circulating trays, order a lot of them. Crab cake—yes, no sauce.” I looked up. “What else are we tasting?”

Chef Dominic listed off a few more items and disappeared into the kitchen. We spent another thirty minutes testing. I decided I liked tasting food. There were worse jobs.

“Okay,” Drew said when Walter returned.

He looked at me. I looked at my notes and told Walter everything we decided. Walter jotted down our requests with Chef Dominic nodding. We had given him specifics. He seemed to appreciate it.

“I’ll get the updated menu proposal to you,” Walter said. “Along with the revised staffing layout based on the patio walkthrough.”

“Great.” Drew stood. I followed his lead, tucking my phone back into my bag. “I’ll review it and get back to you once I get it.”

Walter shook Drew’s hand, then mine. I tried not to feel weird about that. Like I was somebody. Like I belonged at this table making decisions about crab cakes and burrata for a fashion party at a Malibu beach club.

I managed to smile like I did this every day.

We walked back through the dining room and stepped into the warmth of the day. The valet pulled up with the Escalade in under a minute. That was impressive. Drew opened the door for me. I climbed in and let the air-conditioning wash over me, exhaling slowly.

Drew shrugged out of his suit jacket and climbed in.

“That was good,” he said.

“The food was excellent.”

“Not just the food.” He turned to look at me. “All of it. The whole thing. You were a huge help and you made a chore I was dreading a lot of fun. Thank you for taking notes.”

I smiled. “I know you never write anything down.”

He laughed, pulled away from the valet, and stopped in the parking lot. “I want to ask you something,” he said.

I turned to look at him. “Okay.”

“And I want you to actually think about it before you answer. Don’t just say no on instinct.”

That was not a promising opening. “Drew, maybe I don’t want to hear this question.”

“Just hear me out. I need an assistant. Like, I needed one three months ago and I’ve been putting it off because I didn’t want to deal with the whole process of finding someone. And Edith has been on my case about it, which means I’ve officially run out of excuses.” He paused. “It’s a temp position. One month, maybe six weeks. Just through the summer event and the immediate aftermath. I need someone who can keep up with me, who I actually trust, who isn’t going to take three weeks to get up to speed.”

I stared at him. “You’re offering me a job?”

“You’re here for the summer anyway,” he continued. “You said yourself you’re not working.”

I frowned. “Are you asking me to be your assistant?”

“Yes.”

I turned back toward the windshield and pressed my lips together. There were about a hundred different reasons why it was a bad idea. I was trying to sort through them in some kind of logical order.

“That is a terrible idea,” I said, deciding there was really no point in being specific.

“Why?”

“Because you would be my boss.”

“I’m a great boss.”

I turned to look at him with what I hoped communicated the appropriate level of skepticism. “I don’t want to be your employee. That’s weird. I’m your friend.”

“Kensey.” He leaned forward slightly. “Look at what just happened in there. We worked together perfectly. You were already doing the job. You caught the things I missed. You took notes. You helped me make decisions. I’m not asking you to fetch my coffee and my dry cleaning. I just need help keeping this whole summer event on track.”