Spicy (Palate #1) Read Free

off to a peachy start.  Ugh.  I should have known that when the kiddo didn’t throw his usual five tantrums in five minutes it was an omen.  Sure, I’d been lucky enough to make it to the restaurant on time and in one piece, but at what cost?  Of course something else was going to go wrong.  I’d been stupid to think otherwise.
    “Mina?”
    I spun around and came face to face with Gavin Rothe. 
    Wonderful, my night was getting even better.
    I fidgeted, feeling embarrassingly exposed.  I mean, I looked fine in my simple attire, but amidst the sea of glamorous and stylish people, I felt as out of place as a cat in a swimming pool.  I’d wanted to impress Gavin so much that he’d have no choice but to respect me.  But instead I was flustered and humiliated.
    He looked as handsome as ever in one of his signature black suits.  His chestnut brown hair was slicked back, giving him a slightly more dapper appearance than I was used to seeing.  On the show he usually left his hair tousled and slightly messy looking, perhaps as a silent ‘screw you’ to the network executives he made no secret of loathing.
    “Your restaurant is beautiful,” I told him. 
    I was desperately trying to deflect from my fashion faux pas, but I also meant what I said.  The soft lighting, subdued shades of blue and grey and unobtrusive music created a rich and relaxing atmosphere.  It was a place anyone would want to be – but it came with a hefty price tag.
    I still couldn’t understand why Gavin famously had a months-long waiting list of potential customers willing to pay hundreds of dollars per plate .  To spend that kind of money on one night out seemed ludicrous.  But then the only places I’d eaten out at in the past year or so had pre-cooked burgers on the menu and ball pits full of screaming, sticky-fingered children in them.
    “Thank you.   You look…nice,” he said after a momentary pause.  Gavin’s eyes traveled over my body as he took in my choice of clothing.  He didn’t say a word but he didn’t have to.  Clearly I stuck out like a sore thumb. 
    There was no way I could just ignore it, so I decided to bite the bullet.  I crossed my arms because hostile stances, as my mother disapprovingly called them, gave me courage.  There was something about standing there with my arms folded or my hands on my hips that gave me a little confidence boost – and that was something I could certainly use.
    “Was I supposed to wear something different?  I didn’t know there was a dress code,” I began to explain, hating that things were off to a less than stellar start.  I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me.  These days I considered myself a fashionista if my clothes were simply clean .  And yet here I was getting all worked up about an honest and, let’s face it, pretty minor misunderstanding.
    “You weren’t supposed to wear anything different,” Gavin assured me.
    “But…?”
    “Come with me,” he ordered before I could get another word out.  He took my wrist then and led me through the exquisitely decorated restaurant, pausing only to nod hello to familiar faces.  He moved with confidence, his head held high and his grip on my wrist firm. 
    As Gavin walked it was like the seas parted, important-looking people stepping out of the way so he could forge a path for the two of us.  Clearly he was in charge.  But then from what I’d seen of him on the show, he made no secret of that fact.  Gavin Rothe was a perfectionist, a playboy and above all else, a self-indulgent, egotistical jerk.
    I reminded myself that as we walked until I was silently chanting it over and over in my head.  Keeping those things in mind helped me feel less intimidated by the infamous celebrity chef.  I was, after all, just there to do a job.  As long as I went home with money in my pocket, who cared about anything else?
    Gavin led me right to the back of the restaurant.  I found myself staring at a door just off the kitchen