than she could comfortably reach.
The six other chefs stood behind the two of them and all of them applauded politely.
Since several of them had complained to me earlier about Baxter, I knew their approval
was forced.
Baxter introduced them all with a brief but animated explanation of their cuisine
styles and which night of the week they would be cooking. There were Peter and Kevin,
of course, and Raoul (looking as dashing as I remembered), Colette, Margot, and Montgomery.
Margot maneuvered her way past the cluster of chefs and slipped her arm through Baxter’s,
and I suddenly remembered my first impression of her in Paris. We’d all gone to a
party and she was there. You couldn’t miss her. She was tall, thin, redheaded and
wild. She wore a bright pink minidress, with boots that stretched halfway up her thighs.
She had seemed fun and snarky at first, but as I got to know her, I found her to be
calculating and manipulative. I noticed she would look around the room and find the
person or group who could do her the most good, then migrate over to them. She always
said the most clever things, but they didn’t seem natural. It was as though she’d
been practicing her lines for days in anticipation of the moment.
Baxter didn’t seem to mind her attentions and pulled her closer. Were they involved
with each other? I couldn’t help but speculate.
“I’d advise you all to make reservations every single night for the next two weeks,”
Baxter said jovially. “You won’t want to miss any of these stellar evenings.”
I wondered how Derek would feel if I made those reservations.
“Tonight I expect you’ve all become vegetarian,” Baxter continued. “I know I have,
thanks to Savannah. She is a gift from the gods.”
There was more applause, even though he sounded completely phony to me. Because of
it, I clapped louder than anyone. I was proud of Savannah and I couldn’t have cared
less what Baxter thought of her cooking.
“Thank you all so much,” Savannah said, rubbing her shoulder. It was probably sore
from Baxter’s yanking her arm up, but she looked happy anyway. Exhausted but happy.
The bright red beret she always wore when cooking was perched jauntily on her bald
head and her white jacket was pristine. I had a feeling she might have slipped on
a clean one before entering the dining room to take her bows.
Savannah turned to Baxter. “And thank you for this lovely opportunity, Baxter. It
was great to be back in the kitchen with you.”
He winked at the crowd. “I can think of another room I’d rather be in with you.”
Ugh, what a toad. Savannah was a professional chef and Baxter was a chauvinist jackass.
But the crowd laughed and hooted nevertheless. Meanwhile, Baxter was still as big
a jerk as he’d been in Paris. Still keeping it classy.
Not
.
Savannah held up her hand to silence the crowd. “I’d like to take a moment to present
Baxter with a little something as a way of saying thank you.”
“Something for me?” he said, his smirk turning lascivious. “Listen, sweetheart, if
you really want to thank me…”
Savannah smacked his arm lightly, then signaled me to bring her the package.
As I grabbed the gift and slid from the booth, I thought of the hours I’d spent on
the book box, creating a tasteful outer design with a spare line of gold tooling and
raised bands on the spine to resemble the book within. I mourned the care I took to
fashion the plush inner cushion that fit the restored cookbook like a soft glove.
I’d used the endpapers Derek brought back from Brussels to line the box’s interior,
and the swirls of dark red and gold gave it a luxurious, masculine feel along with
the slightest touch of whimsy I thought Obedience would enjoy.
With little enthusiasm, I walked over to Savannah and whispered, “Are you sure?”
“Give it to me,” Savannah hissed.
I sighed and passed her the book box, which I’d wrapped
The six other chefs stood behind the two of them and all of them applauded politely.
Since several of them had complained to me earlier about Baxter, I knew their approval
was forced.
Baxter introduced them all with a brief but animated explanation of their cuisine
styles and which night of the week they would be cooking. There were Peter and Kevin,
of course, and Raoul (looking as dashing as I remembered), Colette, Margot, and Montgomery.
Margot maneuvered her way past the cluster of chefs and slipped her arm through Baxter’s,
and I suddenly remembered my first impression of her in Paris. We’d all gone to a
party and she was there. You couldn’t miss her. She was tall, thin, redheaded and
wild. She wore a bright pink minidress, with boots that stretched halfway up her thighs.
She had seemed fun and snarky at first, but as I got to know her, I found her to be
calculating and manipulative. I noticed she would look around the room and find the
person or group who could do her the most good, then migrate over to them. She always
said the most clever things, but they didn’t seem natural. It was as though she’d
been practicing her lines for days in anticipation of the moment.
Baxter didn’t seem to mind her attentions and pulled her closer. Were they involved
with each other? I couldn’t help but speculate.
“I’d advise you all to make reservations every single night for the next two weeks,”
Baxter said jovially. “You won’t want to miss any of these stellar evenings.”
I wondered how Derek would feel if I made those reservations.
“Tonight I expect you’ve all become vegetarian,” Baxter continued. “I know I have,
thanks to Savannah. She is a gift from the gods.”
There was more applause, even though he sounded completely phony to me. Because of
it, I clapped louder than anyone. I was proud of Savannah and I couldn’t have cared
less what Baxter thought of her cooking.
“Thank you all so much,” Savannah said, rubbing her shoulder. It was probably sore
from Baxter’s yanking her arm up, but she looked happy anyway. Exhausted but happy.
The bright red beret she always wore when cooking was perched jauntily on her bald
head and her white jacket was pristine. I had a feeling she might have slipped on
a clean one before entering the dining room to take her bows.
Savannah turned to Baxter. “And thank you for this lovely opportunity, Baxter. It
was great to be back in the kitchen with you.”
He winked at the crowd. “I can think of another room I’d rather be in with you.”
Ugh, what a toad. Savannah was a professional chef and Baxter was a chauvinist jackass.
But the crowd laughed and hooted nevertheless. Meanwhile, Baxter was still as big
a jerk as he’d been in Paris. Still keeping it classy.
Not
.
Savannah held up her hand to silence the crowd. “I’d like to take a moment to present
Baxter with a little something as a way of saying thank you.”
“Something for me?” he said, his smirk turning lascivious. “Listen, sweetheart, if
you really want to thank me…”
Savannah smacked his arm lightly, then signaled me to bring her the package.
As I grabbed the gift and slid from the booth, I thought of the hours I’d spent on
the book box, creating a tasteful outer design with a spare line of gold tooling and
raised bands on the spine to resemble the book within. I mourned the care I took to
fashion the plush inner cushion that fit the restored cookbook like a soft glove.
I’d used the endpapers Derek brought back from Brussels to line the box’s interior,
and the swirls of dark red and gold gave it a luxurious, masculine feel along with
the slightest touch of whimsy I thought Obedience would enjoy.
With little enthusiasm, I walked over to Savannah and whispered, “Are you sure?”
“Give it to me,” Savannah hissed.
I sighed and passed her the book box, which I’d wrapped
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