“Just show me your caterer’s menu,” Olivia said, “introduce me to the staff supervisor, and don’t think about the kitchen again tonight.”
Quinn released a heavy exhale and spontaneously threw her arms around Olivia’s shoulders, hugging her tight. “Thank you,” she said, breathy through more tears. “It’s so good to have you home.”
Olivia held her sister tight for a few seconds with a familiar pleasure-pain constricting her chest, then pushed her away and gave her a stern look. “Enough. Big night. Don’t mess up your makeup again. We have to get to work.”
Quinn found Charlotte’s menu, and showed Olivia the fridges and shelves where all the food supplies and equipment were stored. With one more round of assurances for Quinn, Olivia sent her sister out to handle the party.
“Finally.” Olivia could breathe. “What a way to start my so-called vacation.”
Tying an apron around her waist, Olivia skimmed the menu. Now she felt like she was navigating a language she understood. Pregnant women, babies, medical personnel, mushy romance, panic—gah! Olivia didn’t do that. Any of that. The kitchen staff had turned their nervous eyes back on her, but even that felt good. Here, she knew what to expect. Here the rules were, more or less, established. Here, she knew what she had to do to achieve success, and that was well within her means.
Hosting an NHL team filled with DC foodies might seem like a big deal to Quinn and their mom, but for Olivia, after cooking at embassies, catering to dignitaries, feeding royalty, and satisfying the finicky pallets of billionaires, this was the equivalent of serving hot dogs to kindergarteners.
The only firsts for Olivia here would be doing it completely on the fly and in four-inch heels. But she loved a challenge and she’d endured pain far worse than sore feet over the last decade. Pain that included bruises, scrapes, stitches, burns, broken bones and a concussion. Not to mention the shattered heart that seemed to follow her everywhere.
Once she’d read through the menu and looked at her watch, she’d settled. She was grounded. Secure. Confident. Olivia was ready to push through her fatigue and grab the rush a job like this always delivered.
She turned her gaze on the staff supervisor, a stately black man in his forties with a handsome face and a square jaw, and smiled. This in charge thing was a rush. She was usually the sous chef or the kitchen manager. Time to step up. And Olivia was more than ready.
“Can you bring me the sous chefs, Marcus?” she asked. “We’re going to be making a few menu changes.”
The man’s mouth dropped open. His eyes widened. “Changes? Now?”
Olivia laughed softly. She loved to surprise people by being something they didn’t expect. Maybe she’d even surprise her mother and sister tonight. Maybe, once they saw what her life overseas had really been about all these years, their attitude toward her work and her life would change.
Everything happens for a reason, baby. Embrace it.
Her father’s words made her smile soften and gave her strength.
“Yes, Marcus,” she told him, moving to the fridge to pull ingredients for the appetizers from the shelves. “Definitely changes. Definitely now.”
Four non-stop, exhausting hours later, Olivia leaned against the metal railing of a small balcony off the prep area beyond the kitchen. She sighed and sipped the last of the wine one of the servers had brought her from the dining room and slipped off her heels to stretch her aching feet.
The last round of desserts were being served, which meant Olivia was officially done. Done cooking, done supervising, done fussing, done stressing.
What a night. Talk about putting out fires…
She’d finally banned Quinn from the kitchen after several terror-stricken visits over Olivia’s menu changes. By the time Quinn had defied the ban and sought Olivia out again, the second round of entrées had been served. Her sister could have been wearing springs on her feet the way she bounced in, hugged Olivia, squealing with excitement over the success of the evening and bounced out again.
Instead of bringing Olivia joy, this evening with Quinn and her mother had left her restless and unsatisfied. Even annoyed. Professionally, she felt great. Confident, creative, innovative, powerful, in control. She’d worked her entire adult life in this industry and could only count a handful of people she knew who could pull off what she’d done tonight with the ease and calm and quality with which she’d done it. And that spoke more to her ability to manage staff and stress than it did her culinary expertise. There were many talented chefs. But in Olivia’s experience never enough talented chefs others could work with effectively.
Personally… Personally she felt… She wasn’t sure what to call this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Unsatisfied? Lost? Lonely? Empty? Depressed? She’d felt it before. Felt it often. Usually in the wake of an intense or draining event when she didn’t have the strength to hold up her walls.
Her quick fix of choice was sex with the hottest guy available in the moment. That usually filled the hollow feeling, at least temporarily. Sex was the fastest, easiest, most enjoyable escape without any of the ugly after affects of drugs or alcohol. Which had her mind drifting toward Tate. Tate and his mountain of muscle. Tate and his swaggering smile. Tate and those dark eyes that echoed with the same ache she felt now.
Movement behind her drew her gaze as her mother stepped out onto the balcony.
“Everything okay?” Olivia asked. Her shift in thought made her fatigue register.
“Okay?” her mother laughed the word. “Oh my God, Livvy. I don’t even have words. The food… What you did here tonight…”
Her mother’s pretty face crumpled much the way Quinn’s had hours ago.
“Oh mon Dieu. Don’t you start.” Olivia turned to her mother and hugged her. “We’re all tired. Take Quinn home and you two get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll start fresh and catch up, okay?”
Her mother pulled back. “Aren’t you coming? We’ll wait for you.”
“I’m pretty wound up.” She shook her head at the worry in her mother’s face. “It’s just the rush of the work. I need to relax, let the adrenaline drain before I’ll be able to sleep.”