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Juliet—and the mystery girl—would have to wait.
Chapter Nineteen
It was a sushi kind of day. The kitchen was half chilled with fish and meat set up on trays that kept them the perfect temperature. Tristan wasn’t a huge fan of sushi—a top ten reason to be expelled from California in some circles—but he’d learned how to work with it.
He left most of the specialized stuff to an expert, but when The Hollow was this busy, it was all hands on deck.
Leigh, his expeditor, shouted out the tickets in order of release back to the dining room. Tristan immediately slotted dishes in his mind and mirrored them onto the large stainless steel table. Kendra, his second in command, worked with him in the effortless flow they’d come to trust over the last four years.
His ass buzzed.
He ignored his phone and worked the plates. Steak, chicken, and a rustic dish of mussels all took up his attention. His sushi guy—actually, a girl, Kai—had quick and delicate fingers. She arranged the various delicacies in traditional sushi boats for a large party. Some sort of premiere. There was always some damn premiere in this town.
Finally, his phone went silent, only to start back up again not even
five minutes later.
“Jesus,” he muttered. He was elbow-deep in steam thanks to the red chili broth he infused into the mussels. He hated rubbery meat and knew it was a fine line between perfectly tender and old shoes.
He hissed as a shell burned the side of his thumb. His hands were always covered in little nicks and burns, but this week, he’d been all thumbs.
Today, was even worse.
He’d fallen asleep with the television on, and woke to a morning talk show featuring a story about his girlf—the woman he was fucking—and her new boyfriend. Complete with a picture of her wrapped around the third person in their fucked-up little threesome situation.
Oh, yeah if that wasn’t bad enough it was his best friend.
Fuck.
Now everyone was talking about the two of them as an item.
Juliet Reece and her roadie.
How the hell had things gone so sideways?
“You good, Chef?” Kendra asked in a low voice.
“Fine.” He controlled the growl—barely. “Where’s Rome?”
“Fridge.”
Tristan nodded. “All right. Move over to the line. I’ve got this.”
“You sure?”
He only arched a brow at her. She didn’t ask anything further of him, simply rushed off to handle the pasta and mussels dish. He worked with the freshest things. The fishmonger had dumped an inhuman amount of swordfish on him. If he smelled lemon, basil, garlic, or swordfish ever again, it would be too soon.
And it was his favorite goddamn fish.
He grabbed an avocado and made a quick chili. As usual, when a recipe started percolating, he went with it. Sometimes the special made waves, and sometimes it was a ripple.
He stuck his pinkie in the avocado concoction. His tongue burned from the serrano, but the wash of lime and cool avocado were perfect for swordfish steaks.
Helluva lot more interesting than what he’d been dealing with all night. “Leigh.”
“Yo!”
“Menu change.”
