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“I’m Denny, by the way.”
“Bayli.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” He crossed to her table and briefly removed the vase of faux flowers. He snapped open a crisp wrinkle-free full-length white tablecloth and covered the glass top with it. Then he returned the vase to its proper place.
Next, Denny prepped hot tea and coffee service with individual-sized pots and accompaniments. He carefully placed a china cup on a saucer, then set the table for one, complete with gleaming flatware and a linen napkin. The food had been stored in warmers and he arranged each dish on a serving platter and indicated the offerings as he laid them out in the remaining space at her table.
“Eggs Benedict with Chef’s special hollandaise sauce; steak and eggs with breakfast potatoes; and egg-white frittata with spinach, mushrooms, heirloom tomatoes, and a side of asparagus spears.” He added slices of toast and little jars of jams and jelly. Then asked, “May I pour coffee or tea for you? I have a box of popular selections for the tea … honey and lemon as well.”
A bit mind-blown, Bayli barely eked out, “Coffee is fine, thanks,” before Denny was pouring for her.
“Cream and sugar?”
“I take it black.”
“Very good.” He added utensils to the platters. “I’m happy to serve you. What would you like to start with?”
“Oh, um…” Awkward! She shook her head and told him, “That’s not necessary. I can manage on my own. Can someone just come back later to pick everything up?” She eyed him with hope that he’d be perfectly happy leaving her to her own devices.
He hedged a moment. Then said, “Chef St. James would like me to serve you.”
“Oh, well … I don’t really need you to serve me, so … you can just tell him whatever you need to in order to keep him from yelling at you and I’ll serve myself. Sound okay with you?”
Denny grinned. “He does seem to enjoy doing that. But I guess what he doesn’t know won’t kill him, right? I mean, it’s probably a bit uncomfortable having a stranger in your apartment, breathing down your neck while you eat.”
“That is true. And I’d be eternally grateful.”
“Fine. I have your number. I’ll check back with you. Just don’t feel obligated to clean anything. Of course we’ll take care of that at the restaurant.”
“Wonderful. And please thank Mr. Davila and Chef St. James for me. And—oh!” She rushed over to the armoire where she’d stashed her handbag the previous night and whipped out some of the cash for the cab that had never come for her. She thrust a twenty at the server for his effort and his discretion.
He only grinned at her. “Thank you, really. But Mr. Davila already took care of my tip.”
“It’s not like I’m going to tell him or anything,” she said, still offering Denny the money.
“I appreciate it, Miss Styles. I’m covered, though. Mr. Davila tends to be a little over-the-top. Not that I’m complaining.” He chuckled amiably.
Bayli’s stomach fluttered. “Yes, I agree.” Her gaze slid to her small table, every inch of it covered. “Apparently, Chef St. James shares his philosophy.”
“Indeed.” Another friendly laugh. “He can be prickly, I won’t lie. But I respect how hard he works, how serious he is about running his kitchen. I’m hoping to someday graduate to prep cook.” He clapped his hands together—and possibly his impeccably polished heels, too—and said, “Now. Enjoy this meal before it gets cold. I’ll check in with you later.”
Bayli smiled. “You can be assured I’ll give you a favorable evaluation.”
“That’s very kind of you. I’ll see myself out.”
Bayli was glad she hadn’t taken a sip of coffee at that moment, or she would have spewed it over his formality. And the fact that “seeing himself out” required all of three seconds of Denny’s time.
She locked the door behind him and then settled into a comfy spa-blue chair at the table. Draped her napkin in her lap. Eyed the food that all looked sinfully delicious—and which filled her apartment with a rich aroma she was certain had neve
r permeated this space before, not in its gazillion years of existence.
In fact, Bayli simply pulled in long breaths for a few minutes, savoring the scent and the vision sprawled over the white linen cloth. She wasn’t one to indulge in this nature. For one thing, she needed to fit into her clothes and not be ten pounds heavier than what her stats claimed she weighed. Two, she couldn’t afford to eat like this, financially, even if she wasn’t in need of constantly keeping an eye on the scale.
Yet this was one hell of a treat. Knowing Christian had arranged breakfast for her upped the ante on devouring everything in sight. But what really encouraged her to dig in was that Rory St. James had prepared this feast for her. And he’d done an astounding job. Her first taste of the eggs Benedict had her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Then she sliced through tender medium-rare beef that melted like butter on her tongue. Even the uber-healthy frittata was divine, the asparagus spears lightly sautéed so they remained crisp.
While Bayli sipped her coffee and contemplated her next round of sampling, her phone rang. She squealed in delight as she connected the videoconference call with Jewel and Scarlet.
“You guys are not going to believe this!”
