Page 37 of Queenpin

“Certainly. Follow me,” the hostess mumble, walking away from us.

Lucian walks next to me instead of in front of behind me. This surprises me big time. I wonder if she’s in uncharted territories as well.

“Have a good dinner,” the hostess murmurs then scurries away.

“That’s odd,” I mumble to myself more than anyone else.

Lucian giggles. “Yes, people always get weirded out when the owner shows up at the restaurant unexpected.”

“You own this restaurant?” I repeat stupidly.

“Of course. I wouldn’t eat anywhere else where I didn’t know my food was being properly prepared.”

“Wouldn’t any restaurant give you the food properly?” I ask dumbly.

Lucian’s eyes widen. “You really don’t know much about me, do you? You don’t know that I’m in charge everywhere I go. I’m the boss at all times.”

“I figured you were like that.”

How else was I supposed to answer that? Seriously… how else am I supposed to say I want to fall to my knees in front of her and let her boss me around? I want to have this woman own me.

A few awkward moments later, food that we didn’t order, appears in front of us. Lucian looks at the food then to the waitress who drops it off. The waitress takes a bite of the food first before nodding. After the nod, she leaves us alone.

“You have a food tester?” I quip.

“Tell me about yourself,” she replies with little acknowledgment of what I just asked.

I will take that as a yes.

“What do you want to know?”

I take a couple of seconds to cut up my steak then put a piece in my mouth. Oh, holy shit. This steak is amazing.

I hate it. I love it. I want more. I want to burn this place to the ground at the same time.

The steak’s quality overshadows the fact a club owner has a food taster. I stop paying attention to that part and savor the food.

“Where did you grow up?”

I choke on my food. Out of all the questions, this is what she asks?

“I grew up in town. I’m working as an intern until I can get more of a portfolio to be a professional chef.”

She nods but doesn’t eat any of the food in front of her.

“You don’t like it?” I ask.

“I do.”

I shake my head. “Okay. Where did you grow up?”

She groans a little in the back of her throat. “A lot differently than you did. Let’s leave it at that. How do you feel about working for me?”

“As a chef… or… you know?” I question hesitantly.

Lucian holds up her wine glass to the light, peering at the contents of the wine carefully. It’s like she’s looking for a secret message in it. It’s the oddest thing I have ever seen.

She puts it down quickly.