Devour Me, Baby(3)

By: Fiona Davenport

Then his gaze dropped down to a stack of papers on the desk, and he lifted the top one to read it. I had already been nervous since it wasn’t just a stretch for me to move from a family-owned Italian joint to a restaurant with Saphyre’s reputation. It was more like a leap of faith. With how nice James had seemed, I thought I might have an outside chance of convincing him to give me a shot. But with Owen doing the interview and my sex drive deciding this was the perfect time for it to suddenly roar to life? I didn’t see it happening.

“I like the look of your resume, Sienna.”

Then again, maybe I was wrong.

His gaze lifted from the paper and paused for several seconds on my cleavage before moving up to my face.

And maybe about more than just my odds of landing the job. I wasn’t sure what to think about that, but my body seemed to be in favor of it considering the state of my underwear.

“Thank you.” My voice came out breathy, so I cleared my throat and tried to sound more confident. “I know I don’t have any fine dining experience, but I think I’d be a great fit for Saphyre. I’m really good with people, I have a great memory, and my customers always seem to be happy with my service. My tips are pretty much always higher than any of the servers at Parisi’s.”

His brow wrinkled, but I couldn’t figure out what I’d said to warrant the reaction. “Probably because most of your customers are guys,” he mumbled.

My head jerked back in surprise, and I shook it figuring I had heard him wrong. “Pardon me?”

“Our menu is much more complex than what you’re accustomed to.”

I knew that wasn’t anything close to what he’d said, but there wasn’t a way to politely call him out on it. Plus, I was more than a little irritated at the inference that I couldn’t handle this job simply because I’d spent the last year serving pasta and tiramisu. “Yes, but I’ve already spent time memorizing it. From the roasted lamb loin with sautéed sweetbread and artichokes to the macaroons; I’m familiar with all of it.” He looked doubtful, but I was confident that I’d prepared enough for this interview that I could answer almost any question he asked about Saphyre’s menu. Considering all the hours I’d spent watching his show, I’d seen him prepare many of the dishes often enough that I’d already known what was in them. Heck, I could probably describe a lot of them using the exact same phrases he did.

He tilted his head to the side, and his lips tilted up again. Only this smile held a hint of challenge instead of the masculine approval from before. I mentally braced myself, and he started quizzing me. Dish after dish, he ran down the complete menu. As soon as I answered one question, he fired off another.

“Perfect.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands together. The panty melting grin was back again.

My heart raced with excitement. “Does that mean I’ve got the job?”

“No, I don’t want you to waitress for me. I don’t like the idea of you on your feet all night, carrying heavy trays.”

“Umm, what do you think I’ve been doing for the last year?”

“True,” he conceded. “But you didn’t work for me then.”

Say what?

“And I don’t work for you now if you’re not hiring me.” This time it was my brow that wrinkled. “Besides which, don’t you have food runners here? I thought your wait staff doesn’t even carry trays.”

“Sometimes they do.”

“Well then, I could do it sometimes, too. I’m stronger than I look.”

“It wouldn’t be safe for you to lift anything heavy when you’re pregnant.”

Was that why he’d looked at my boobs? Not because he was checking me out, but because he thought I was pregnant? How embarrassing. “But I’m not. I don’t even have a guy in my life,” I blurted out, as though he needed that additional information.

“That’s what you think.”

My head reared back in shock—again. I felt like I’d been dropped into some alternate universe. One where it was normal for a famous chef to interview a lowly waitress and for him to make crazy comments throughout the meeting.

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