Clenching his teeth until he could speak clearly, he said, “If there’s anything different about the kitchen when you walk in, anything that doesn’t feel right, push the panic button on your phone, turn around and walk out. I’ll wait outside the door until you’ve had enough time to check it out. Then I’ll go around to the front.”
She swerved into the parking lot beside the restaurant, then parked in the back of the building. Sliding out, she grabbed her bag, waited for him to exit the car, then she pressed her fob to lock the doors. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She tilted her head. “What name are you going to use?”
“Nico Williams. I have an ID with that name.”
She nodded slowly. “That works. Harder to slip up and call you the wrong name.”
“Exactly.” When she glanced at the back door, he said, “Go ahead. I’ll give you a minute or two before I go in the front door.”
She nodded, but didn’t move right away. She scanned his face, and he wondered what she was thinking.
“I’m wondering if I’ve made a mistake,” she said, as if she could read his mind.
“No. You haven’t. You need help, and I’m trained to provide it. I’ll see you inside in a few minutes.”
Twenty minutes later, he’d met all the line cooks, the pastry chef and the pizza cooks. Then Julia led him to another woman who was making a sauce.
“Hey, Delia,” she said. “I hired a new busser. This is Nico. Nico, head chef Delia.”
Delia looked up from the saucepan. Smiled slowly. “Nico. Nice to meet you,” she said in a low, throaty voice. When she shook his hand, she held on for a moment longer than necessary. “Let me know if I can help with anything.”
Oh, God. He recognized that predatory look. Forcing a smile, he said, “Thanks, Chef. Will do.”
Julia’s gaze jumped from Delia to Nico. Back to Delia. A muscle in her jaw clenched, but she managed to say, “What do you think of the new sauce, Del?”
“Tastes great, Julia,” Delia said, tearing her gaze away from him. “I think it’ll be a big hit.”
“Great. I’ll leave you to it. I want to have Carole train Nico before we start seating customers.”
Her back stiff, Julia led him into the dining room, where a late-thirties, early-forties woman with blonde hair was setting up for dinner. She must have just arrived, because she hadn’t been there when he walked in.
As they headed toward her, Nico scanned the room, looking for details he missed on his way to the kitchen. Julia’s restaurant was immaculately clean. Everything was in good repair. The cherrywood bar gleamed with polish, and the bartender was cutting lemons and limes. Filling small tubs with olives, pearl onions and maraschino cherries. “Nice restaurant,” Nico murmured.
“Thank you,” Julia answered, glancing at him with a smile. “Everyone works hard to keep it that way.” Then she turned to the other woman and called, “Hey, Carole.” Julia motioned the woman over. “This is Nico. He’s our new busser.”
Carole scrutinized him, frowning. “We lose someone?”
“No, but you know I’m always on the lookout for bussers. When I got Nico’s resumé, I gave him a call. He has a lot of restaurant experience and will work as many hours as we can give him.”
The hostess nodded slowly, her eyes narrowed. “Where have you worked, Nico?” she asked.
“I recently re-located to Seattle, so probably no place you’d know,” he said easily. “But I’ve worked at fine restaurants like Madeline’s, at no-frills diners and everything in between. Spent a lot of time as a teen working at my grandparents’ restaurant.”
“Okay,” the woman said after a long minute. “I’ll get you an apron and the supplies you’ll need, and we’ll see what you can do. I’ll be right back.”
Nico watched her go, puzzled. Carole wasn’t happy Julia had hired him. He wondered why.
Delia, on the other hand, had been thrilled when Julia introduced him. She’d sized him up with a look he recognized and dreaded. He didn’t have any interest in hooking up with the chef.
“You gonna be okay with Carole?” Julia asked quietly.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Carole can be… territorial. I usually consult her when I hire someone for the front of the house. I suspect she’s pissed off that I hired you without running it by her.”
“You own the place, Julia,” he said, equally quietly. “You don’t have to ask your hostess’s permission to hire anyone.”
“Of course I don’t,” she said. “But Carole’s a great hostess and I want her to feel needed. Empowered. I don’t want to lose her.”