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“It’s the hors d’oeuvres apocalypse over here.” Matthew kisses me and grabs a glazed fig with a tempeh chili reduction from my plate on the high-table. My Judith Leiber Couture ruby heart-shaped minaudière sits beside the array of food.
“I’m certain this is the chef we need.” I chew through the final bite of my crème fraîche tartlet.
“Do you think they’d be available?” Matthew regards the overflowing ballroom.
“Probably not, but we’re running out of time.” My nerves are frayed, all my contacts exhausted. We only have a week before the Winter Ball, and the backup caterer I have on call is miles away from the incredible flavors here. I want to blow my mother away, not scratch the surface of her expectations. I take another bite of the pancetta, pear, and pecan puff. My mouth waters. “Ugh, Matthew. Yum. Weneedthis.”
“If you keep moaning and groaning like that, I may have to throw you over my shoulder and carry my girlfriend all the way uptown.” A hint of mischief flashes in his blue eyes.
My heart races with each reminder that I have a boyfriend. Matthew’s my first, in so many ways. Firstrealrelationship, first love. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
My pulse sings through my veins. I want to touch him so badly. “Now that sounds like—”
“Hudson,” someone calls out from beside us. Sam Kaitlin, the private equity executive we met at the Hastings’ Charity Luncheon, strolls toward us. Another shimmering suit hangs off of their lanky frame.
“It’s great to see you.” Matthew nods, extending his hand.
“Likewise,” Sam says, giving him a firm shake. “Molly, you’re looking lovely.”
The compliment squashes any lingering doubt I had about my outfit being too much. “Thank you.”
“So.” Sam lowers their voice. “I’ve spoken with my partner, and we want in on EcoDrones.”
“Excellent.” Matthew nods. “The prototype is coming along very nicely.”
“Of course, we’d need to do some due diligence once you have the initial iteration. But, given your business plan, we foresee a hefty investment from the ReClaim Fund.”
It’s amazing—no, motivational watching Matthew at work. He’s a real-life Superman. Saving the world one tree and cocktail party at a time.
With this amount of interest, he definitely won’t need the trust. But the money can’t hurt if my parents approve our marriage, and if they don’t…well, all those nagging daydreams about separating from my family may become more than just daydreams.
“You won’t be disappointed.” Matthew smirks.
Sam tips their drink to us. “Can I introduce you to a few people here? I’m sure they’d be as eager as we are.”
Matthew gives me a glance to confirm I’ll be okay by myself. I nod. It’s nice that we can speak with just a look.
I swallow the remainder of my puff pastry, holding back the audible moan. A burst of spice and sweetness explodes on my tongue. This is nothing like I’ve ever tasted before.
That’s it. I need to find out who this chef is immediately.
A force bursts in my chest.Okay, girl.You got this.
I ruffle the pink feathers of my gown and follow the waitstaff through the crowd of people.Once I locate the swinging kitchen doors and push through them, pure chaos envelops me.
I hear sizzling pans, chopping knives, and orders being read out. The air is hot and stuffy with the smell of garlic and seared meat. Pots clang as chefs in stark-white coats bustle around the large kitchen.
Amid the commotion, I see the head chef standing tall and composed, clad in a crisp white chef’s coat and black pants. Under her chef’s hat, her deep purple hair is swept into a low bun. She surveys her domain with purpose and confidence.
That’s who I need.
Before I can back out, I march my Valentino Garavani platform pumps over to the woman in charge. The seven-inch heels make me roughly the same height as the chef.
“Hi,” I pipe up, coming to her side.
“Behind,” someone shouts. “Behind!”
“Move, sweetheart.” The head chef notices me, and I do as she says, quickly stepping back, wobbling in my heels. A cook carrying a tray of large bones misses me by an inch.My goodness.
