But she hadn’t had to reprimand Kalis once. In fact, he had been invaluable when preparing the VIP dinner and not just because he was the only one strong enough to shave off pieces of thaelite. He had a working knowledge of Nebrian cuisine that Jillian lacked and she was willing to admit that the food wouldn’t have turned out nearly as good without him.
So now she was giving credit where credit was due, but the big Kindred seemed to want to tease her—albeit, very gently. Jillian found that she didn’t mind so much. Working so closely with Kalis for the past few hours, she had lost a great deal of her fear of him. In fact, the day before, when he’d turned into a giant green Grizzly bear, was beginning to seem a bit like a dream. The whole day was hazy—like a nightmare she’d woken up from and barely remembered.
Jillian wasn’t sure if her mind was trying to protect her from traumatic memories, or if the drug she’d been given in the massage oil had something to do with her fuzzy memory. But either way, she was happy to let the awful day she and Kalis had met fade. She wasn’t one to dwell on past trauma, preferring to look ahead to the future, instead.
It was a good thing that Suzanne had convinced her to give the big Kindred another chance, she thought now, smiling up at him. He really was a hard worker. And he had a calming presence about him, which she liked. It seemed almost impossible to think that she had been so frightened of him just a few hours before.
“Thizz liquor is deliciouzz,” the Nebrian ambassador buzzed from the dining room. “Would you have the kindnezz to pour me a bit more, Commander Zylvan?”
“Oh, of course.” Sylvan lifted the bottle and refilled the ambassador’s long, thin glass. “I would caution you that Woo is very strong,” he said, a bit anxiously, Jillian thought, as Ha’choo Bless’u dipped her proboscis into the pale blue liquor and sucked up the entire contents of the glass in one long swallow. “Perhaps you’d like a bit more of the delicious jumja soup to go with it?”
“Yezz, yezz—more zzoup!” Ha’choo Bless’u exclaimed, setting her glass back down on the table with an audible thump.
“I think they want more soup—I’m going to bring them some,” Jillian said.
Kalis frowned.
“Better let me bring it. If the Nebrian is cycling towards the male half of her spectrum, it’s better not to have unmated females around. The Yonnite Mistress who owned me and did business with them, refused to go anywhere near them unless they were firmly in the female half of their cycle.”
“I’m sure it will be all right,” Jillian objected. “But fine, go ahead,” she said reluctantly. Kalis knew much more about Nebrians than she did and though the ambassador seemed perfectly fine to her, it would be foolish to ignore his warning.
“Thank you, Chef,” he said, nodding respectfully. “Let me get some in the serving vessel and I’ll bring it out.”
He went to ladle some more of the dark blue jumja soup into a tall silver pitcher and then brought it out to the dining room.
“Ah, here we go,” Commander Sylvan said, smiling as the big B’varren Kindred came to the table and replenished their soup. He poured the steaming blue liquid carefully into the long, thin vase for the Nebrian Ambassador and into a wide bowl for Sylvan.
“Enjoy,” Jillian heard him murmuring.
But instead of sticking her proboscis into the soup, Ha’choo Bless’u extended it towards Kalis, seeming to sniff the air, as though she was trying to catch his scent.
“Your forgivenezz,” she buzzed politely. “But though your zzent is on thizz food, there is another zzent as well. Izz there another chef in the kitchen? If zzo, I would like to congratulate her on an exzzelent meal.”
All right—that was it, Jillian thought. She’d never refused to come out and meet a VIP customer—it was part of being the Executive Chef at any establishment—and she wasn’t going to start refusing now. The fact that the Nebrian ambassador was being so polite and complimentary must mean that she was safe to be around. Surely it couldn’t hurt to just go out and say hello.
Straightening her Chef’s whites and running a hand over her hair, she stepped out of the kitchen and came over to the solitary table, smiling her best VIP-pleasing smile.
“Hello, I’m Chef Jillian Marks, the Executive chef here at Pat-ar,” she said, smiling at the seated ambassador, who reminded her of a giant butterfly or moth. “I helped prepare your meal tonight—I hope it was to your liking?”
“Yezz, yezz, to my liking indeed,” the ambassador buzzed. She held out one insectile hand, which was tipped with long, sharp claws to Jillian. “May I be the firzzt to congratulate you on zzuch authentic and deliciouzz jumja zzoup. It izz the bezzt I have ever had!”