Page 61 of The Wedding Menu

Biting his lower lip, Ian leans against the desk behind him. “Just one, huh?” There’s a general chuckle, which elicits another one of his heartbreaking smiles, and after rubbing his chin he continues. “I’d say… location. Location is the single most important thing when opening a restaurant.”

“Well, I disagree,” I mumble, which makes Barb smile. It’s a “Who would have guessed it?” smile that has me rolling my eyes. “Barb, come on. You know he’s wrong.”

“Care to share your opinion with the rest of us?” Ian asks in a loud voice.

I turn to him, his brows raised and one corner of his lips quirked up. “N-no, sorry.”

“Come on.” He motions at me to come stand with him and turns to face the audience. “This is the head chef of La Brasserie, Amelie Preston.”

Now that I’m aware he hasn’t read the article, even the incorrect introduction makes sense. But even so, what game is he playing? Because I’m not about to shy away from a confrontation with a Roberts, not even if it’s Ian.

Tentatively, I stand and join him as a few people clap lackadaisically. Of course, there isn’t nearly as much enthusiasm as whenheshowed up. Most of these people probably read the article about me.

“What’s your take, Amelie?” he asks, crossing his arms with his usual playful smile. “What’s the one thing you can’t skimp on?”

After lingering a second longer than I should on the infinite blue of his irises, I turn to the audience and smile at the many faces staring back at me. “Well, as a chef, I can’t say anything is more important than food quality.”

There are several nods of agreement from the crowd, but as I turn to Ian, his mouth is twisted in a dubious grimace. “True. Food quality is a big one.” He shrugs slightly. “But I still think people would rather eat a sandwich in the city center than a lobster next to a dumpster.”

And what doesthathave to do with anything?

I try to keep my smile unfazed, but a flash of irritation has me raising my hands and blurting out, “Have you ever even entered a kitchen?”

When his eyebrows rise, I look down at my shoes. That was rude.

“I mean… food quality has nothing to do with sandwiches and lobsters. It’s about choosing the best ingredients for your dishes.”

“I understand that. I was exaggerating to prove a point.”

“Location is very important, as is a cohesive interior design, a unique selling point, and trained staff.” I clasp my hands together and keep them over my stomach. It’s better than furiously waving my index finger at him as I’d like to. “Butunpopular opinion,” I saypointedly, “people go to restaurants to eat. The most important thing is the quality of the food.”

A man in the back raises his hand, so I start to return to my chair. The last thing I want to do is intrude on Ian’s seminar, and it looks like we’re done with this topic.

“I disagree.”

My head turns back to Ian so fast, he must think we’re reenacting scenes fromThe Exorcist. “You disagree?” I ask.

“Customers come in for an experience, not to eat.”

“They want to eat somethingbetterthan they would at home. Hence, food quality—”

“They want to sit in a pretty room and be served by competent staff. They want to feel important. Food’s the least relevant thing.”

“What?” I ask, my ears ringing. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” Resting his hands on the desk behind him, he smiles, as if my outrage amuses him. “Food is sustenance. People go to a restaurant to be entertained.”

A low murmur spreads through the room, and to be honest, I’d be surprised if there weren’t such a reaction. It’s crazy that anyone in the restaurant business would say something like this, but him? How can someone believe food is justsustenanceand work as the manager of one of the most famous French restaurants in the country?

Oh, right. They don’t serve food at his restaurant. They serve overly seasoned sludge.

“No wonderyou’dthink that,” I retort as I stride to my seat. If this conversation continues any longer, I won’t be responsible for my words.

“You seem to forget—”

Oh, here it comes.

“That you have won a bunch of irrelevant awards?” I finish forhim, with a snap, and spin like a whirling dervish to face him. “Oh, I remember. And every item on your menu tastes like the same generic thing. You serve a facsimile of French food that I wouldn’t recommend to my worst enemy.”