“Are you ready to order, Chefs?” Vikram asked. “May I provide any recommendations, Chef Beckett?”
“Actually,” Max interjected, looking at Hadley. “If you think you can trust me, I’d love to have the honor.”
Her eyes flew open and color rose to her cheeks. The lighting at Cavanagh’s was all about ambience, not clear viewing of your tablemate’s face when it flushed, so he couldn’t quite decipher her reaction.
“You mean . . . you want to order for me?”
Uh-oh. He shuffled in his chair and leaned in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . I mean, it’s not that I don’t think you’re capable of deciding for yourself—”
“No.” She shook her head gently. “I didn’t take it that way. I was just . . . surprised. Yes. Please. By all means.”
Max took a deep breath and began, without ever looking at a menu.
“To begin for Chef Beckett, Vikram, let’s have the confit bouchée à la reine. For main course, the chateaubriand with béarnaise, but instead of the salade périgourdine, which I would usually recommend, of course, let’s pair that with the cauliflower au gratin. Finally, she and I will each have poire belle Hélène for dessert.”
“Very good. And for your other selections, Chef?”
“Foie gras torchon for starters and, let’s see . . . let’s go with the roasted guinea fowl, accompanied by the wild mushroom risotto.”
“All excellent choices, Chef,” Vikram said as he gathered the menus. “As you are fully aware.”
As Vikram walked away, Max silently pleaded with the kitchen for everything to be perfect—this night of all nights. Then he faced Hadley and was surprised to see her leaning in, resting her chin on her folded hands, staring at him with warmth in her eyes.
“What?” he asked, smiling.
“Nothing. That was just, um . . .” She cleared her throat. “Well, frankly, that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Max felt his shoulders relax. “Oh, good. I was worried.”
“Worried? Why were you worried?”
“Oh, you know.”
She shook her head. “I don’t.”
“I just didn’t want you to think I thought I should order because I’m the man or anything like that.” He looked around the room and saw the darting eyes surrounding them, so he leaned in a bit closer and spoke quietly. “I’m going to be very honest with you, even if it gets me into trouble. The fact is, I really wish there were some pamphlets or something we could use to help us, as men, to know what’s considered chivalrous and what’s demeaning.”
Hadley bit her lip and smiled. “I’ll just tell you right now, anytime you want to order for me, you go right ahead. I haven’t even tasted anything you ordered yet, but I’m a believer. But I get it. It’s a tough distinction sometimes.” She sighed and sat up straight. “It’s kind of like what you said at the Bluebird. About how hypocritical it is that I—”
“No. I didn’t mean that. I was just in a bad place because of all the Leo stuff.”
She shrugged. “Whether you meant it or not—which I think you did—it’s true, Max. Or at least I’m sure it seems true. That I pick and choose what I’m insulted by. You weren’t right, however, when you said that when Simons or whoever calls me ‘darling’ or ‘hon’ I love every minute of it. I don’t.”
“Then why do you put up with it?”
“Same reason you put up with all those parties you don’t want to go to, I guess. And honestly, more often than not, it doesn’t really matter to me too much. I mean, I don’t like it. I see it happening and I wish it wasn’t. But, Max, I’m still in that kitchen. I’m on Renowned. I won America’s Fiercest Chef.” She tilted her head and smirked. “Sorry.”
“I’ve come to terms,” he said with a laugh.
She took a sip of her tea and brushed her bangs out of her eyes before continuing, a little more somberly. “I just want to keep getting into the room. Getting into the kitchen. And I don’t want to be invited in because I threw such a fit that it was all men in there that they had to invite me. I want to be invited because I deserve to be there. And I want all the other women who deserve to be there to be invited in. And people like Marshall Simons? Well, he could use a gender etiquette brush-up, for sure, but he’s giving me a fair shake. And that’s all I’m asking for.”
“But is he giving you a fair shake, Hadley? Leo said Simons had cooled on you—” He froze in panic as he realized he’d just said something he’d never intended to say. He didn’t know if she’d been given the information that Marshall’s focus had shifted from Hadley to Max, and he definitely didn’t want her thinking he and Leo had spent a lot of time sitting around, discussing her career trajectory.
She flapped her hand in front of her face and scoffed. “That doesn’t have anything to do with me being a woman though. It just has to do with me making you look so good that they’ve all momentarily forgotten what a pain in the neck you are to work with.” An enchanting smile spread across her face. “Besides, like I said earlier, I trust you. I do not trust Leo.” She emitted a noise that sounded something like a growl, and her face took on the countenance of a six-year-old unwrapping socks for Christmas. “You know, I generally like most people. At least I don’t dislike them. But I don’t mind telling you I do not like Leo Landry.”
“Good call.”
“I fired him this morning, by the way.”
“Took you long enough,” Max teased. “I fired him yesterday.”
“For goodness’ sake. Is everything a competition with you?”
Hadley reached across the table and placed her hand on his, as she had several times before. Each touch of her hand had brought comfort and excitement, simultaneously. But this time, they were the centerpiece of a crowded and interested dining room, and that carried with it a new sensation he couldn’t quite put his finger on. All he knew was that he was a fan of the sensation.
With only a quick consideration of the potential public reaction, during which he promptly determined he didn’t care what the reaction was, he scooted his chair around so he sat beside her at the two-top rather than across from her.
Her eyebrows perked up and she whispered, “Well, if they weren’t looking at us before . . .”
“Let them look. I’m not going to kiss you or anything.” He leaned his shoulder in and nudged her playfully. “Unless you want me to.”
She laughed gently and nudged him back. “Whether I want you to or not is not the point.”
“Oh, I beg to differ.”
“Seriously, Max. There were guys I dated for months in college—including Stuart—who I never kissed as much as I’ve kissed you.”
“And that’s a problem?”
Again, she laughed. A little more nervously, he thought, which made Max nervous as well. Maybe he needed to take his foot off the gas. He felt so thrown off his game when it came to romancing Hadley. Probably because, for the first time in his life, there were no games involved. He sat up straight at the thought, and then he took a deep breath in, held it, and released it slowly.