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Alex had been in Nairobi. So had Chantal Bissett. The model had followed him there, but she only went so far as the luxury hotel in the capital city. When Alex had ventured off the beaten path of the Kenyan roads, Chantal had not followed. She’d flown back to Paris.
“I think something in the food disagreed with her,” said Alex.
He’d been in the country to help install hydroponics in underprivileged areas of the capital and surrounding areas. The Kenyan population was urbanizing at an alarming rate. The vertical farms which required no soil or light were a solut
ion to feeding the increasing population.
When Chantal had seen the fish in the water and learned that the aquatic life fertilized the salad on her plate, she’d raced to the bathroom and then out of the country. Suited Alex just fine. She hadn’t been keen to eat anything but salad and turned her nose up at the national dishes.
“So you don’t deny the relationship?” said Lila.
“You know I don’t do relationships. I have no interest in being tied down.” To emphasize his point, he rapidly opened and closed the shears he still held to make a slicing sound.
The men chuckled, likely memorizing the line to use later. The women tittered, likely setting their sights on being the one to change his mind. The cameras flashed, and the pencils scribbled, likely twisting his words into some new spin. He could just see tomorrow’s headlines; Prince of Shears: Alex the Great Leaves Model’s Heart in Tatters.
That was actually pretty good. He should give it to Lila for free. Instead, he handed the shears over and went into the restaurant whose opening he’d just lorded over. Eating there would be the perk of this particular day’s duty.
“I am so pleased that you are here to share this moment with me.”
Alex shook hands with the new restauranteur. He’d known the man for a few months having dined with him aboard a mutual friend’s ship. The food had been good out at sea. Alex was excited to see what the man would bring to the shores of Cordoba.
Unfortunately, when the first course was laid before him, Alex couldn’t hide his disappointment. It was the same fare he’d had aboard the ship. The exact same menu. The others gathered were delighted with their plates and dug in.
To be fair, the food was good. But Alex had had this experience already. He was itching for something new.
He carved the meat and found it perfectly cooked but under-seasoned. He dipped his perfectly crisp string beans in the glaze, but there was no kick. No fireworks went off in his mouth. There was no song on his tongue. For the second day in a row, Alex found nothing enticing or exciting about what was on his plate.
It was moments like these that made him itch to hop on a plane or boat and cast off in search of a new dish, a delectable morsel, a perfect bite.
Beside him, Alex heard someone sigh. It wasn’t a sigh of pleasure. It was clearly one of disappointment.
Alex looked to his left. The other diner was older with silver hair. He had pale coloring which let Alex know he was not from the Mediterranean kingdom. The man was familiar, but Alex couldn’t place him. The man caught Alex staring.
Instead of taking offense, the man put down his fork and offered his hand. “Good evening, your highness. I’m Gordon Rogers. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Gordon Rogers?” The bells went off in Alex’s head, and he was able to place the man. “You were the restauranteur who discovered James Beard Award-Winning Chef Kyle Grimwalt. You also opened that restaurant in SoHo last year that earned Michelin star status in just nine months.” The record was earning a star eight months after it opened.
“That’s true,” Mr. Rogers said, dabbing his napkin at his mouth and then setting it over his plate. “I’m an investor in this place, too.”
“Congratulations,” said Alex.
Rogers smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, I think it will do well. It will … fit in.”
“Yes,” Alex agreed, looking around at the diners chatting over the food. None of them had their eyes closed as they enjoyed the food. Many of them had set their forks down, the food forgotten in favor of the company. “It will fit in with the other restaurants nicely.”
It was not a good sign. In restaurants that earned stars and dishes earned rave reviews, the only sounds you could hear were the clinking of silverware against fine china. The murmur of conversation drowned out any sound on the dishware.
“The meat is perfectly tender.” Rogers lifted his napkin as though to peek at the dish, perhaps to see if it had taken another moment to get itself together. “I just wish the spice had a kick.”
“And the glaze, instead of sweetness I wish he’d have gone in a more savory direction to complement the beans.”
“Exactly.” Rogers leaned back, covering the dish again. He studied Alex as though he were a menu he was looking to order from. “I had heard you knew your way around a dish.”
“Food is a hobby of mine.” Alex shrugged. He hadn’t put his fork down. Though the food wasn’t a party in his mouth, Alex was hungry. He refused to let such fresh vegetables go to waste. He simply skirted the glaze. “If this royal gig doesn’t work out, I’ll open my own restaurant.”
Rogers’s brows rose as though Alex had told him his favorite dish was amongst the day’s specials. “Why, that’s a capital idea. Where would you open it? Here or in another major city?”
Alex paused in placing the food into his mouth. “I wasn’t serious.”
