Page 84 of Boss of the Year

See it for me.

Maybe this time, I would.

18

DASHI

*it’s the foundation. Everything else depends on it.

The yellowtail was seared.

The shallots were crisped.

It was ten thirty at night.

But the person for whom I’d prepared the dish I was mentally callingChawanmushi à la Mariewas nowhere to be seen.

It was too bad, too. I’d already eaten my own helping. The delicate, silken custard was made with egg and dashi and infused with a hint of beurre noisette instead of soy, then topped with seared yellowtail tuna glazed in miso and yuzu, and garnished with slivers of shiitake confit, a drizzle of white truffle oil, and shiso leaf.

In other words, I’d outdone myself. And Lucas was missing out.

Not that he cared.

The sun had set long ago beyond the paper screens, painting everything in darkness lit only by the lanterns scattered around the ryokan. The whole compound was silent.

I sighed, drumming my fingers on the counter as I looked at the covered dishes.

Robbie had warned me that meetings would consume Lucas’s time and attention, and he wouldn’t return until after ten. I didn’t know why I still expected him to show up and to maintain the routine we’d established in São Paulo of sharing dinner and conversation.

It was stupid, really, getting attached to those evenings.

Lucas was my boss, not my friend, no matter what he said.

He didn’t owe me anything.

And all I owed him was to do my job, which included the carefully prepared meal on the counter.

I glanced toward the door that led to the onsen, steam rising from under the pagoda. All day, I’d been thinking about the spring right outside of my room, guarded by the dense grove of cedar and maple trees.

Private access.Robbie had been very clear about that.

The decision came suddenly. I was tired of waiting around for Lucas, tired of the awkward tension that had followed us from Brazil. I deserved to enjoy at least some part of this incredible, peaceful place.

The path back to my room was lit by small lanterns, and the stone was smooth under my bare feet as I walked from the veranda, through the carefully planted vegetation, and down to the edge of the spring, cast milky white from the minerals. The pagoda only covered the entrance to the pool, where steam rose like incense. The water spilled out into the night.

I stood at the edge, clutching my cotton robe around my waist and watching the pool’s surface like a mirror about to tell my fortune.

I wasn’t the type of person who’d ever been comfortable naked. That was Joni, who was as easy in her own skin as she was in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I’d seen her performin avant-garde shows wearing little more than body paint and a thong. If she were here, she probably wouldn’t have even bothered with the robe, just walked straight from her room and cannon-balled into the water.

I, however, was the kind of person who dressed as quickly as possible, even in my own bedroom. I changed in bathroom stalls at the YMCA and covered myself with a towel as soon as I got out of the shower in my own home. I’d certainly never been naked outdoors or anywhere someone might see me.

But Robbie had said this was private, accessible only from my room. Xavier had said that traditional onsens were meant to experience nude. And the warm water looked so inviting after the stress of the past few days.

Do it for me. I could practically feel Lea on my shoulder, begging me to jump in.

So, I let the robe drop to the deck and slipped into the water in nothing but my skin.

Oh.Oh.