“I’m glad I could calm your fears.”
“Call me tomorrow, yes?”
“Yes,” I say, resolving to myself to wait until after I talk with Trent. Tira will want fresh dirt.
For that matter, so do I.
Somehow, I manage to be up at the crack of dawn as planned and into the restaurant not long after that to make the day’s plans with Daniel. Although I beat him in, he still shows up with not one but two cups of takeaway coffee.
“Figured you’d need it,” he says with a small grin, handing over the beverage.
“Does the whole world know my business?” I ask no one in particular.
“There have been rumors,” Daniel admits.
“Oh, and I’m sure they’re rich ones.”
“Good choice of words. What’s it like, being pursued by a billionaire?”
“I’m not being ‘pursued,’” I retort. “We’re…just seeing one another.”
“Sounds like it all comes down to the same thing to me,” he says.
I shush him, and we get down to work.
As I plan menus and prep materials, though, I wonder, am I being courted? Is that what this is? And how serious are things between Trent and me?
It’s too soon for the “L” word, I know, but it’s still achieved the status of elephant in the room, at least in my mind. And I know that I more than just like him. I’m not writing his name over and over on my three-ring binder or anything, but I am definitely doing my share of thinking about him.
I decide to stop overanalyzing things. For the time being, at least. I’m sure I’ll be doing plenty of that on my off-hours. For now, though, I can think back on the good—the extremely good—memories of the night before and look forward to seeing Trent again in the near future.
I lose myself in the flow of my work for a while, and when my phone rings, it’s almost noon. I don’t even look at the return number on the screen, I’m so sure it will be Trent.
Instead, an unfamiliar voice says, “Ms. White?”
“Ye-es,” I say cautiously. The voice on the other end of the line has the businesslike quality of someone who might be trying to sell me something.
“This is LaTisha Gordon, and I’m with the committee overseeing the events of this year’s Great Lakes Regatta. I trust you’re familiar with the event?”
I am. The Regatta is an annual weekend-long celebration of the wealthiest of the wealthy yacht owners that takes place along the southwestern shore of Lake Michigan. To call it a Regatta is perhaps a little too modest, as the ships involved are too spectacularly large to safely race against one another. Rather, it’s a chance for the rich and affluent to showcase their floating palaces.
“Ms. White,” Gordon continues, “this is short notice, but we have a patron who needs the services of an expert chef aboard his yacht during the Regatta two weeks from this coming weekend.”
“A private cooking job?” I ask, thunderstruck. “During the Regatta?”
Daniel, who had been working nearby, hears this, and I worry that his jaw will never fit back into its original position.
“That’s correct,” Gordon confirms. “Lunch and dinner on the fourteenth, aboard the Wavebourne, owned and captained by Mr. Lucas Monroe.”
I didn’t know the name, but when I repeated it to be sure I’d gotten it, Daniel leaped forward and began mock-punching me in the arm, making exaggerated “Wow! Wow! Wow!” motions with his mouth.
“If you’re available, Mr. Monroe would like to speak with you regarding the details a bit later today.”
Daniel is close enough to overhear at this point and begins nodding so hard, he resembles one of those toy drinking birds.
“Er, yes, I think I can fit that into my schedule,” I declare.
“Excellent. I’ll send you Mr. Monroe’s contact information.”
“Thank you,” I say, and hang up.
I stand there, flat-footed, while Daniel practically dances around me. “I can’t believe it!” he rants. “You’re going to be cooking for Lucas Monroe during the Great Lakes Regatta! This is like…like…” He waves his hands and moves faster. “There’s nothing like this; that’s how big this is!”
“I know it’s big,” I tell him, “I just don’t know who Lucas Monroe is.”
Daniel rolls his eyes dramatically. “Get out of the kitchen more, please!” he cries. “Monroe’s on the top ten!”
“The top ten of what?”
“The top ten richest people in the world, that’s what! There’s a rumor going around that he wants to buy up Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks for his art collection. Not just one or two, Steph, but all of them! Do you have any idea how much that would cost?”
“Not the foggiest,” I admit.
“It makes the biggest yacht in the Regatta look like a rowboat! There’s not even a number for how much money this guy has!”
“I would expect for a guy with that much in the bank to have a private chef on staff twenty-four-seven.”
“Hello!” Daniel calls, cupping his hands on either side of his mouth. “Gift horse, here! Stop examining its mouth!”
I suppose he’s right. This is a massive windfall for me, career-wise. I would do well to be grateful to the powers that be and run with it.
The rest of the day passes by in a blur. I’m thrown for a loop by my good fortune of late, and I keep having to return my attention to my work. When you regularly work with knives, a sense of the here and now is pretty important.
Daniel wants to go out for a drink after we’ve closed for the evening to celebrate. I tell him to have one for me, and I head for home. After the events of the past
