In the Distance (14 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Trevor
Saturday Morning

“Next week, I’ve got you scheduled for two morning appearances,
Good Morning
,
Seattle
and
Wake Up
,
Northwest
.”

“Wow. My mom is going to flip.” Natalie grinned at me as she tied her apron around her waist. She and her sous-chef had almost finished their prep for the charity brunch Chef Boulanger had arranged.

I nudged Natalie. “Are you ready to be a star, Nat?” I wiggled my eyebrows at her and she cackled.

“Turning it on a bit thick now, Mr. Manager.”

“That’s what you pay me the big bucks for.”

“I haven’t paid you yet.”

“You will, when your face is all over
FoodTV
.”

The look of pride on her face was so incredible to see. It was so fucking refreshing to work with someone who was eager but still green enough to appreciate the wonder of the entertainment business. Jamie had been excited at first, but when the novelty had worn off it had been just another paycheck to him. I looked over her station and asked, “You’re set with everything, right?”

Natalie rolled her eyes as she and her sous-chef moved in the controlled anarchy that existed in all commercial kitchens. She gestured with her knife as she chopped and diced veggies. “Yes, Dad. I know you’re my manager, but I promise I’ve got this.”

“I resent that. I’m not nearly old enough to be your dad.”

She eyed me up and down and snorted. “I’ll take your word on that. But, I’ve got it, Trevor. You sent me the rundown last week, then prepped me on the phone. Now you’re just hovering.”

“You pay me a percentage to hover.”

She smirked. “Too much.”

“Not enough,” I countered.

Just then, the kitchen doors swung open and a waiter in the school’s uniform of black shirt and black pants pushed through. I stared in shock at the one person I’d been jonesing to see again since I left his place last night.

“Hey, Tyler. Loving the ‘men in black’ look,” Natalie teased when he was almost to her prep station.

The second he scanned her station, taking in her sous-chef, and then me, his smile faltered.

He turned back to Natalie, his smile forced this time. “Thanks. I’m more comfortable in my chef whites, but Chef Kitterick is pretty strict when it comes to the dress code of his waitstaff.”

Waiter? Not sous-chef? When had Tyler started working at the school as a waiter? And how in the hell did he even find time to wait tables between his classes, and his job—the one I actually knew about—and volunteering? We’d been together for hours last night, and not once did the subject of ‘Oh, hey, Trev. I need to tell you something. Remember when I said I was kind of busy this weekend? Yeah, about that. See, I’m waiting tables this weekend at the school’s restaurant.’ Maybe I had misread things, but admitting you were working as a waiter was a helluva lot easier to tell someone than anything else we’d talked about last night. And from the look on his face, this wasn’t just an ‘Oops, it slipped my mind’ thing. It was an ‘Oh, shit. I fucking got caught’ thing.

As quickly as the anger came, so did the memory of the night I’d taken him to Canlis. The shame and embarrassment in his eyes when he told me how the dinner had made him feel. I closed my eyes and cursed myself when it all clicked. Here I was, in my dress pants and sport coat, gloating over my newest client, who was all set to wow everyone with her culinary skills. And there was Tyler, in his waiter’s outfit, ready to serve an entire room of people who had no clue he was a talented and more-than-capable sous-chef.

None of it mattered. Not our clothing, our jobs or the perceived differences between us. At least, not to me. But one look at Tyler told me it mattered to him. This was something we’d have to talk about later, but for now, I’d respect the fact we were both at work, and even though I wanted nothing more than to kiss the hell out of him, I wouldn’t make a scene that could jeopardize his job. As much as it sucked, for today, Tyler was just another waiter. An incredibly hot waiter. Not wanting to be a total dick, I leaned against Natalie’s station and smiled my best “I’m just a friend and not the guy who’s mentally undressing you” smile.

“Hey, Tyler. How are things at Bistro 30?”

The shock and confusion on Tyler’s face sucker punched me, but I knew it would be better this way, especially since Natalie wasn’t the only one who had taken a keen interest in our conversation. I flicked my gaze over to the nosy sous-chef at the station next to Natalie, smirking when his eyes widened at being caught snooping and he immediately refocused his attention back on the strawberries he was destemming.

“The restaurant is good. It’s all good.”

“Good.” Fucking hell. Could I possibly come up with a lamer response? I was about to cave in and pull him off to the side to apologize when a loud, grating voice interrupted us.

“Tyler, I’m not paying you to stand around and chat up our guests. Get your ass out on the floor and make sure your station is ready to go.”

I turned to tell the chef in charge to go to hell, but Tyler subtly shook his head at me and moved away from Nat’s station.

“On it, Chef.”

The swinging doors closed behind him, leaving me even more confused and more than slightly pissed-off. Natalie, thank fucking God, saved me.

“Kitterick, has anyone complimented you on your bedside manner lately?”

The chef sauntered over to Natalie’s station and smirked. “Nope.”

Kitterick, that’s who the chef was. I vaguely remembered him from the last time I was in this kitchen. Granted I’d been a little distracted by what was going on with Ethan and Jamie, but I didn’t remember him being such a grade-A dick.

Natalie snorted, her focus never wavering from her station. “Well, someone should have, because they suck.”

I wanted to pump my fist in the air, but instead I beamed at my newest client.

“Turner, you of all people know you have to keep your serving crew tight. One sloppy waiter can fuck up even the best dishes a kitchen can produce.”

“And yet, we all know Tyler is not just some sloppy waiter. He’s an experienced sous-chef for a highly rated local restaurant. Most chefs would kill to have someone like that waiting tables,” I barely managed to ground out instead of telling Kitterick to bite me.

Suddenly, both Kitterick’s and Natalie’s eyes were on me. Nat tilted her head to the side, obviously trying to figure out the missing piece of the puzzle. Kitterick, on the other hand, looked like he couldn’t have cared less whether Tyler was a five-star chef or a backroom dishwasher.

“I know who he is and what he’s capable of, Mr.—?”

“Pratt.”
You fucking prick.

“Mr. Pratt. Regardless of his skills as a sous-chef, he signed up for a shift as a server. And honestly, the mark of a good chef is one who knows what it takes to make the customers happy on the floor and not just with the food.”

I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but Natalie’s hand on my forearm stopped me. As much as I wanted to rip him a new one, he was right. Just the thought of anyone treating Tyler like that made me see red. Even more frustrating, though, was the knowledge I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Ah, Chef Kitterick, I think Chef Lindt would like a word with you.” Saved by the motherfucking Boulanger.

As if nothing had happened, Kitterick moved over to the far prep station, where the chef in question looked more than a little harried.

“Monsieur Pratt, would you care to join me for brunch? I assume you’ve already sampled Mlle Turner’s cuisine before, but I missed that opportunity the last time she was here.
Peut-être
you’d be willing to keep an old chef company while he experiences it for the first time?”

Natalie winked at Chef Boulanger. “Trevor prefers the cuisine of a completely different type of chef, but I think he’d be able to stomach my Nutella paninis and eggs Benedict.”

I shot Nat a look, then took a deep breath and smiled at Chef Boulanger. “I’d love to, Chef.”

Chef Boulanger’s eyes twinkled before he turned toward the double doors. “
C’est merveilleux!
Allons-y.
”

When we reached the hostess’s podium, Chef Boulanger waved off the overly eager young lady and scanned the dining room until he apparently found what he was looking for. He pointed to a square on the hostess’s map, then led me over to a four top near an enormous bank of windows.

“I’m delighted you could join me today, Monsieur Pratt. Our charity brunch has long relied on the talent of guest chefs who volunteer their time to make it successful, and you have brought us not just one, but two chefs to help make that happen.”

I started to argue that I actually had nothing to do with bringing either chefs here, since Jamie had set up his first visit without even consulting me and Natalie had volunteered long before I even knew her name, but instead I smiled, knowing it was better to just go with it.

“Well, thank you, Chef Boulanger, but I’m the lucky one. Both Jamie and Natalie make my job easy. Ethan, on the other hand?”

Chef Boulanger chuckled. “Ah. Monsieur Martin. He is talented, but quite a handful,
non
?”

I covered up my snort by taking a quick drink of water, then replying, “You can say that again.”

“
Oui.
Alors
, that is what makes him unique. That and his and Monsieur Lassiter’s latest contribution to our scholarship program.”

I stopped scanning the room for any sign of Tyler, and looked back at Chef Boulanger. “They did?”

“Ah,
oui
. Tyler Mitchell is the current recipient of the scholarship M. Martin set up last year, but both he and M. Lassiter generously added to that initial endowment to keep the scholarship active for at least the next ten years.”

It was times like this I really wished I could hate Ethan without guilt. I’d always known he was protective of Tyler, but I hadn’t known it had extended to making sure Tyler got the chance to go to school. Just like Martin to destroy another opportunity to hate on his surly ass.

“
Mais
,
bien sûr
, the scholarship only covers so much, but M. Mitchell seems to be handling the rest just fine between his job and picking up shifts here at the Institute’s restaurant. He is a very dedicated young man. Very patient and helpful with his fellow students, too. I know he is in the culinary arts program, but he would make an excellent teacher. Either way, we are lucky to have him in our program.”

This was all news to me. I had known about Tyler’s insane schedule between school and work, but I hadn’t known about picking up odd shifts to help make ends meet. With sickening clarity, I realized just how easy I’d had it growing up. To Tyler, I must seem like a spoiled brat.

I heard him approach our table before I saw him. Being the coward that I was, I studiously looked at my menu instead of turning around to face him.

“Good morning, my name is Tyler. I’ll be your server today. Can I get you some coffee or juice?”

One glance at Chef Boulanger’s smile was enough to tell me he had known exactly whose station we were going to sit in. I wasn’t sure if that knowledge made me angry or embarrassed, but it was nothing in comparison to the look of utter humiliation on Tyler’s face.

“Ah, Monsieur Mitchell. I was hoping we would get your station. Just a coffee for me,
s’il vous plaît
. And for Monsieur Pratt?”

Chef Boulanger paused and looked directly at me.
My turn
. It took a moment for Tyler to shift his attention from Chef Boulanger to me, but the look in his eyes almost undid me. Tyler was skittish on the best of days, but today, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere than waiting on our table. I tried for the warmest smile I had. “Um, just a coffee for me, thanks.”

Tyler turned to Chef Boulanger. “Will you both be enjoying the buffet and specialty stations? Or would you like to order off the menu?”

It made my stomach turn to see how embarrassed he was. Could this situation be any more fucked-up?

Seemingly oblivious to everything going on, Chef Boulanger ordered as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

“I will pass on the buffet, but I could not help but notice Mme Lindt’s poached pear and cinnamon turnovers when I was in the back. If they taste as delicious as they smell, I cannot think of anything else I will need.”

This time, Chef Boulanger paused and looked directly at me. Without taking my eyes off the menu, I pointed to Nat’s featured selection. “I’ll take the hazelnut chocolate panini with a side of bacon.”

“Excellent choices. I’ll be right back with your coffees.”

As unobtrusively as possible, Tyler took our menus and left. Everything in me wanted to follow him to the back, drag him off to a corner somewhere and kiss him senseless until he understood none of this meant anything to me.

Just as I was going to excuse myself to go find him, Chef Boulanger said, “I look forward to this weekend every year.”

I sighed and settled back in my seat. “It’s your main fundraiser, right?”

“
Oui.
Ah
,
merci beaucoup
, Tyler.”

Tyler arrived with our coffees but only stayed long enough to place cream and extra sugar on the table before moving on to his next table. Between him leaving and Chef Boulanger wanting to make chitchat, I was essentially fucked. And not in a good way.

“
Oui
, this weekend provides us with almost 75 percent of our scholarship funds. Of course we have private donations throughout the year, but this weekend is a reminder to those in our community to give. Which brings me to something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Fucking hell.
Please
,
for the love of all frustrated trust-fund babies who want to go maul the very attractive
,
very elusive men they lust after
,
if he tells me he wants to go into the public spotlight and I’d be perfect as his manager
,
I
think I might have that nervous breakdown that’s been eluding me for the past few years.