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“Would you like one?” I nod toward the bag.
“Looks tempting, but I’ll pass.” He keeps his hands in his pockets. “My mom used to buy those doughnuts when I was a kid. They’re highly addictive.”
“Surely not these.”
“Oh, most definitely these,” he says. “Everyone thinks I have fine tastes. But sometimes, I still get a craving for store-bought doughnuts.”
“Don’t let Elizabeth Mack hear you say that,” I say, smiling.
“Elizabeth Mack and I could never see eye to eye, which is why I’m here. I’m apologizing on behalf of the entire restaurant. Henrique’s actions were wrong. I wanted to make things right, and also find out—” He pulls his hand out of his pocket and holds up a piece of notebook paper. “Is this yours?”
My notes line the page, detailing a potential kitchen reorganization and workflow.
“Uh, yes. Just some ideas I had.” I glance at the dirty floor, so Lucas won’t see how embarrassed I am that he found my notes.
“Is this for my kitchen?” he asks with sudden intensity.
My face heats. With my very limited experience, how could I possibly know how to run a kitchen? “How did you know it was me?”
“I caught you organizing my workstation, putting all the fresh herbs in a row. So when I found this note, I knew it was you.”
“That’s observant,” I say, still embarrassed.
“That’s what chefs do. We observe the world around us. Someone once told me, you taste with your eyes first. So I’m always trying to taste the world with my eyes.”
I stare at his lips a little too long and realize I’m imagining what it might be like to taste them.
“Yeah,” I say, my gaze dropping back to the floor. “I get these ideas and I have to write them down or I can’t stop obsessing about them. I didn’t mean for anyone to see it. I hope you’re not offended.”
“Offended?” He lets out a surprised laugh. “I’m not offended. I want to know more.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He shakes his head. “I’m serious. The kitchen workflow needs an overhaul. But I’m too focused on cooking to understand how to fix the system.” For the first time, his confident front wavers. I can’t believe my boss wants my advice.
“Okay, let’s talk.” I sit down at our tiny table and begin to sketch a workflow. “The kitchen staff needs rearranging so that the parts of each recipe flow from one person to the next. You could use your own personal assistant—someone who acts as your gopher, instead of you.”
He nods as he thinks this through. “I like that. And who do you suggest could do it? I need someone extremely organized, who understands how each piece functions in the flow.”
“Who do you think has the skills? You know everyone better than I do. But they’ll still need to be trained.”
His eyes lock on mine. “You,” he says.
I almost fall off my chair. I’m the least experienced person. Plus, I just got fired. “Not me. Henrique would never allow it.”
“But I need an assistant. Someone who will be my runner and keep things organized. I’ve been looking for this person ever since I started the restaurant. It wasn’t until I saw your notes that I realized you were the answer.”
I’m Lucas’s answer?
My heart flutters, even though he’s not saying it romantically. He’s my boss. And as such, he’s searching for a work solution.
I stand and circle the kitchen. Lucas’s flattery is making me flustered, which is kicking my OCD into high gear.
“I’m sorry, but I think that would be a mistake.” A very tempting mistake. But a mistake, nonetheless.
“You don’t want to work closely with me?”
Do I ever. But this interest is all one-sided. And not for the right reasons. The last thing I need is to fall for my boss—a chef who could basically date whomever he wanted. He doesn’t want someone like me.
