44. The Chef’s Table
44
THE CHEF’S TABLE
WYATT
“ S ir, I do apologise, but we have double-booked the chef’s table,” the ma?tre’d said. “We have told the other patrons we apologise, but you were already seated. I hate to ask, but… could they share the table? We can catch them up in course two?”
I looked at the Frenchmen who were deep in their discussion of wines. I wondered why the hell this guy was even asking me this. It was not my problem to have to be at risk of losing a business deal because of their fuck up.
“Why are you asking me?” I tried to keep my voice calm.
“The other patron is… very notable and a good friend to the restaurant. She usually gets this table whenever she asks. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t worry that I was risking some war with the press, sir. I know this is not your problem.”
The only explanation was that Odette’s sister was waiting on this table.
“Is this Queen Alexandra?” I asked.
He shrugged, confirming what I believed.
I had two options. One, I could go all Yankee Doodle and tell her to fuck off and focus on my damn meeting. Two, I could be benevolent and share. I debated the merits of each. I knew if I upset Her Majesty, she’d somehow find out and tell Odette. So, even if I changed my mind on that front, I’d be fucked. Maybe The Queen would bring some gravitas to this scenario, and I could charm these gentlemen with her help. Still, I risked losing this deal if I didn’t explain what was happening. Rick and Alexandra needed me to excel here. Otherwise, this would never work. We needed them to cut us a deal on cloud hosting provisions, or it would never be within budget.
“Can I speak with this patron?” I asked.
He agreed. As I followed him into the dining room and around the host’s station, I immediately spotted Her Majesty—along with all three of her sisters and Astrid’s fiancée. But despite the commotion, I could only stare at Odette. She sparkled in a short red dress. The only impulse I had was thinking about how nice it must have made her ass look. My feelings for Odette weren’t dead—not even remotely.
“Mr Worthington,” Alexandra said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was told they double-booked the table,” I said to her, staring at Odette with half a smile.
Odette, meanwhile, looked at a boy—a boy I didn’t recognise—rather than give me the time of day. He ignored me. I assumed he was the artsy type of guy she usually went for. He was tall with jet-black hair. Dressed in a trendy but all-too-casual outfit, this hipster was an unwanted interloper.
“I’d like to offer for you to come back and take the other half of the table,” I said, trying to hide my disdain for my competition. “But the people I am with—Luc and Damon—are with a company out of France focusing on analytics processing. I need them to help us deal with the predictive analytics portion of the transportation design. We need their help to keep costs down so money remains for our trolley ideas. Can you handle helping me?”
Alexandra looked at Rick, whose face lit up like a Christmas Tree. “That sounds fucking amazing. We’re in.”
Rick patted me on the shoulder and began to race towards the kitchen. The rest of the family followed. Odette looked at the hipster, then me.
In French, she said, “I must go. Glad you are well.”
“Yes, you, too, beautiful. ”
Back off, Romeo! I gave him a look to kill, and he stared back at me as if I didn’t matter.
I trotted to keep up with Rick and The Queen, ending up breathless when we arrived back at the table. There, I was practically usurped by Rick the Charmer. I made introductions before Rick insisted—at the annoyance of the waiting executive chef—that he and Odette were passionate about transportation. He forced Odette to sit next to me. Stephen, who had only been taking this all in visually and trying to keep the conversation going, looked dubious.
“I’m sorry to cramp your style,” Odette said flatly as Rick led the conversation.
I could tell she was disinterested in seeing me, and I had to accept that. She texted to ensure we got home okay, but I ghosted her. I could blame it on being busy, but it came out of insecurity and unfair comparison. She deserved an explanation.
“Odie, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. You just proved a lot in the process.”
Ouch .
“I should apologise and explain that I like you loads. I reacted from a fear of the unknown, and… we should talk more later.”
Thankfully, between Rick and Stephen, the French were entertained. Alexandra was happy to be eating the sea bass before her.
“This is glorious.” She moaned as if the food were orgasmic. “Just delicious, isn’t it?”
Odette took a bite of a vegan tart. “Delightful.”
“It’s fine. Nice, even,” Parker said. I had a feeling that was a good grade by Parker’s standards.
Astrid smacked his arm, “It’s delicious. Don’t be rude.”
“Darling, I wasn’t. I said it was nice.”
She gave him a look. The look. He calmed.
Odette picked at her food. I marvelled at how elegantly she held her fork. How the hell could that be elegant ? It was like she attended a school for princesses or something. Was that a thing? Trying not to say anything else that would get me in trouble, I looked down—spotting not just a bit of cleavage but also her thighs. Her dress tucked up relatively short at this angle. The impulse to put my hand between her thighs was overwhelming. I needed to focus. I was at a business meeting with important people, concentrating on a critical task I’d worked hard to complete. Yet, instead of focusing on that, I fought an erection and wondered if I’d ever win her back.
“After this, let’s go around the block to that Jazz club,” I whispered. “We should chat.”
“You haven’t spoken to me in over a week. Do you think that wise?” Odette’s voice wasn’t cold. It was vulnerable. I’d hurt her.
“I…. I… I’m sorry. I was a dick,” I apologised. “But… I got frightened and very busy with work.”
Yes, Wyatt, make her feel like she is the least important thing on your radar .
“Regardless, I owe you a drink and some one-on-one time. Could you give me the chance?”
She looked at me with her big blue eyes—eyes that showed pain, not interest.
“I don’t know if I should. Ingrid is in town.”
“Another time?”
“You don’t have to do this,” Odette said.
“I want to. I want to see you—to spend time with you.”
“Fine,” she agreed. “You have thirty minutes after dinner wraps to convince me to stay longer.”
“I can do it in five,” I lied. I hoped I was more charming than I knew to be.