together.
A ripple of tension rolled through his chest. His lips parted and he stared down at her, his face blazing with heat. “We—I—”
He seemed just about to say more, but a woman at one of the tables near the piano burst into peals of high, raucous laughter and the moment was gone.
“We have never met before tonight,” he said quietly and dropped his hand from her arm. He turned away, then stepped back, angling himself toward his table.
“But—”
“Would you mind—if you please—may I have the Latour?” he asked politely, looking down, hesitating before taking his seat once again. He folded his hands together with his forearms resting against the edge of the table and leaned over, staring down at his plate, his hair gleaming ebony as it brushed against his cheekbone, hiding his expression. He didn’t look up.
A flush of scarlet crept up Jenna’s neck toward her ears.
Idiot
.
“Certainly,” she murmured stiffly, “I’ll be right back.”
She willed herself to move calmly away from the table, willed her eyes to stare straight ahead to avoid meetingdozens of other inquisitive pairs directed her way as she wove through the restaurant, her legs stiff as boards.
She didn’t remember walking to the kitchen, she only knew she had arrived there when Geoffrey found her standing like a zombie in the middle of it, staring into space.
“You are
finished
!” he screeched, his neck veins bulging blue against the starched collar of his shirt.
“Geoffrey—”
“I knew we shouldn’t have hired a female sommelier! I
knew
it! Too emotional, too unpredictable, too
unprofessional
!”
Jenna winced and wiped away a fleck of spittle from her cheek while Geoffrey stalked back and forth in front of her, arms flailing.
“We’re ruined, you know.” He swung around and stabbed his finger into the air in front of Jenna’s face. “
Ruined
! What do you think is going to happen when he tells the owner about this?
I’ll
be held responsible for your disgusting display of feminism! And the
press
!”
He froze. His skin took on the pallor of a bed sheet. His beady eyes bulged out of his head until she thought they might actually be ejected from their sockets.
“The press,” he whispered, his face ashen. He lifted his hands to the sides of his head. “If word gets out to the press that you called His Holy Dignity a
dick
—”
“I did
not
—”
“Geoffrey!”
The hostess, a busty brunette in a clingy black dress with a plunging neckline, burst through the swinging steel doors of the kitchen and looked wildly around, almost panting in panic. “
Geoffrey
!”
“For God’s sake, Tiffany,
I’m right here!
What is it?” he spat, turning with a huff.
“The earl,” she breathed, pointing over her shoulder toward the dining room. “He’s
asking for you
.” She twirled back out through the doors with a flash of tanned leg above a platinum gold Jimmy Choo pump.
Geoffrey turned back to Jenna and narrowed his eyes. “Your employment with Mélisse is terminated, effective immediately.
Get out of my restaurant
,” he snarled.
Before she could open her mouth to speak, Geoffrey vanished through the kitchen doors like an angry poltergeist, leaving only the metallic scent of fury lingering behind.
Jenna drew in a slow breath, checking her anger. She looked around the open kitchen with its black-and-white-tiled floor, enormous walk-in refrigerator, stainless steel sinks, and bustling activity, and said a silent good-bye. She had only her jacket and handbag to retrieve; all the papers and files in her small windowless office belonged to the restaurant.
Once she stepped out the door, it would be as if she hadn’t spent the past two years of her life here. It would be as if she’d never existed.
In a daze, she moved through the kitchen toward her tiny office at the back. She slammed the door behind her to block out the snickering from the sous chef and picked up her handbag from the chair where she’d
A ripple of tension rolled through his chest. His lips parted and he stared down at her, his face blazing with heat. “We—I—”
He seemed just about to say more, but a woman at one of the tables near the piano burst into peals of high, raucous laughter and the moment was gone.
“We have never met before tonight,” he said quietly and dropped his hand from her arm. He turned away, then stepped back, angling himself toward his table.
“But—”
“Would you mind—if you please—may I have the Latour?” he asked politely, looking down, hesitating before taking his seat once again. He folded his hands together with his forearms resting against the edge of the table and leaned over, staring down at his plate, his hair gleaming ebony as it brushed against his cheekbone, hiding his expression. He didn’t look up.
A flush of scarlet crept up Jenna’s neck toward her ears.
Idiot
.
“Certainly,” she murmured stiffly, “I’ll be right back.”
She willed herself to move calmly away from the table, willed her eyes to stare straight ahead to avoid meetingdozens of other inquisitive pairs directed her way as she wove through the restaurant, her legs stiff as boards.
She didn’t remember walking to the kitchen, she only knew she had arrived there when Geoffrey found her standing like a zombie in the middle of it, staring into space.
“You are
finished
!” he screeched, his neck veins bulging blue against the starched collar of his shirt.
“Geoffrey—”
“I knew we shouldn’t have hired a female sommelier! I
knew
it! Too emotional, too unpredictable, too
unprofessional
!”
Jenna winced and wiped away a fleck of spittle from her cheek while Geoffrey stalked back and forth in front of her, arms flailing.
“We’re ruined, you know.” He swung around and stabbed his finger into the air in front of Jenna’s face. “
Ruined
! What do you think is going to happen when he tells the owner about this?
I’ll
be held responsible for your disgusting display of feminism! And the
press
!”
He froze. His skin took on the pallor of a bed sheet. His beady eyes bulged out of his head until she thought they might actually be ejected from their sockets.
“The press,” he whispered, his face ashen. He lifted his hands to the sides of his head. “If word gets out to the press that you called His Holy Dignity a
dick
—”
“I did
not
—”
“Geoffrey!”
The hostess, a busty brunette in a clingy black dress with a plunging neckline, burst through the swinging steel doors of the kitchen and looked wildly around, almost panting in panic. “
Geoffrey
!”
“For God’s sake, Tiffany,
I’m right here!
What is it?” he spat, turning with a huff.
“The earl,” she breathed, pointing over her shoulder toward the dining room. “He’s
asking for you
.” She twirled back out through the doors with a flash of tanned leg above a platinum gold Jimmy Choo pump.
Geoffrey turned back to Jenna and narrowed his eyes. “Your employment with Mélisse is terminated, effective immediately.
Get out of my restaurant
,” he snarled.
Before she could open her mouth to speak, Geoffrey vanished through the kitchen doors like an angry poltergeist, leaving only the metallic scent of fury lingering behind.
Jenna drew in a slow breath, checking her anger. She looked around the open kitchen with its black-and-white-tiled floor, enormous walk-in refrigerator, stainless steel sinks, and bustling activity, and said a silent good-bye. She had only her jacket and handbag to retrieve; all the papers and files in her small windowless office belonged to the restaurant.
Once she stepped out the door, it would be as if she hadn’t spent the past two years of her life here. It would be as if she’d never existed.
In a daze, she moved through the kitchen toward her tiny office at the back. She slammed the door behind her to block out the snickering from the sous chef and picked up her handbag from the chair where she’d
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