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“I’ll be ready.”
“Good, because Marquis is on a rant today. Earlier, he threw an entire crate of lobster because they sent the wrong kind.”
Oi. Chefs and their temper tantrums.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “All right. Let’s get down to business.” I clap my hand on her shoulder before heading to my station. Mia and the rest of my crew are in position by the time the first table arrives, and silence fills the kitchen as we all wait for the first order.
The printer releases its first battle cry—a god-awful screech that haunts my dreams—and everyone moves at once. It’s almost like a dance, synchronized and perfectly timed. If Marquis is truly as pissed as Mia said, we can’t afford any fuckups.
A half-eatenplate is set in front of me while I finish looking over one that’s ready to go out. I frown, sending off the one that’s ready before turning to the waitress.
“What happened?”
“He says it tastes like soap.”
“Impossible,” I mutter, grabbing a fork and knife and cutting off a piece of meat from the untouched side. Recoiling when itdoes, in fact, taste like soap, I shout off a command for a fresh plate. “Tell him dinner is on the house.”
“Yes, Chef.” She nods and rushes off to continue her hard work at the front of the house. I don’t envy her having to deal with the customer service side of things.
A few minutes later, after cycling through another dozen orders, the remade dish is in front of me. I carefully inspect it, making sure it’s absolutely perfect.
“Candy, can I get a tiramisu ready to send out in five?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Mia, maintain the post.”
“Right away, Chef.” She dries off her hands, leaving behind a bowl in the sink and taking my position, so I can personally deliver the plate and apologize.
The noises from the kitchen fade as I push through the door to the main dining room. Soft, soothing music plays just loud enough to cover the clinking of silverware on plates, and the conversations are soft and murmured. The lighting is dimmed, creating an inviting and romantic atmosphere for our customers. Marquis might be a little much to handle, but he knows how to create an experience.
Approaching the table with a single customer, I put on my best placating smile and prepare to beg for mercy. In a restaurant like this, fuckups can cost hundreds of dollars. It’s been two months since the last one, and I hate that our record is messed up, but with humans, it’s to be expected. No one is perfect.
Mia usually is, though. She always makes sure the dishes are clean, and all the years we’ve worked together, there’s never been an incident like this. It won’t happen again, though. She knows, as much as I do, how important her job is.
“And here we are, sir. I apologize for the...” I trail off when none other than Mr. Mosley turns a snide sneer in my direction.Motherfucker.Now’s not the time to let him get to you.“Sorry for the issue. I personally ensured this was made correctly.” I set his plate in front of him and quickly tuck my hand behind my back to keep from slapping that stupid look off his face.
“Honestly, I expected more from a place like this,” he says loud enough for the tables around him to hear.
I clench my jaw. “I understand, sir. The Crystal Chandelier prides itself on making customers happy.” I kindly gesture to his dish, years of training kicking in. “If you don’t mind tasting it and letting me know how it is.”
With a dramatic show of effort, he cuts off a piece of steak and pops it into his mouth, eyeing me as he chews.
Marquis pushes through the kitchen door.
Fuck.
“It’s fine,” Mr. Mosley snaps.
“Lovely,” I tell him with a wide grin. “We thank you for coming in tonight and hope you enjoy your meal. Please let us know if you need anything else.” Turning, I nod to the table on the right, who’s been watching the spectacle, and head to meet Marquis.
“Care to tell me why the fucking dishwasher is at your stand?” he growls.
“I had to attend to an unhappy diner,” I say softly, scanning the room. “Mia is the best suited to maintain the post. She knows?—”
“How to wash a damn plate,” he snaps. “Get back to your post.”
“Yes, Chef.” I give him a slight bow, a display of respect I hope soothes some of his anger, and head into the kitchen.
