The Billionaire’s Bun In Her Oven - Ellie Rowe Page 0,7
entrée segment.
Which gives me time to think about the woman who just served me.
There have been so many times I’m out at a restaurant with some of my guy friends and they try and pick up a waitress. I always tell them, “It’s a myth that you can pick up a server.”
They tell me, “I don’t know, she seems to like me.”
To which, I always tell them, “Yeah, dipshit, because pretending to like you is part of her job.”
What I’m saying is, I shouldn’t assume she was flirting because she likes me.
Except, I am a celebrity, and sometimes the rules are different.
I think she was really into me, and I may have a shot.
It’s weird she’s just the waitress though. I wonder what she was doing in the kitchen earlier. For a second, I thought she owned the place. But maybe, someone needed help, she has some sort of cooking experience, and they needed her there for the rush?
There’s nothing like a strong woman who can handle herself when the stakes are high. The restaurant industry is so chauvinistic, women like that are rarely given a shot. If it were up to me, all the male assholes would be purged, and we’d have nothing but expert women running the show.
Women like her. Maybe I’ll suggest to the owner that she at least be made manager…
“OK, Stephen,” Kenny says, “we’re set. Go ahead and take the first bite.”
I do. And, holy shit, it’s delicious. I try to control my facial expression because part of what keeps people tuned in to an episode is the suspense. But it’s hard not to let my face light up. It’s flip-over-the table good. It’s game-over good.
I’m barely done chewing my first bite and I’m tempted to call the James Beard and Michelin organizations, and let them know this year’s competition is over.
“How is everything?” asks a voice that sounds almost as delicious to my ears as the food in my mouth.
The waitress is back.
I make sure I look at her eyes and not the ample cleavage from her low-cut tank. I don’t know what the owner was thinking when he allowed her to use it as stand-in for a uniform at a swanky place like this, but God bless him.
Gazing into her eyes doesn’t really get me very far though. Maybe it’s the intense feeling I’m having from the food, but I’m actually fucking speechless.
The pause goes on way too long. Out of the corner of her mouth, she asks, “Are we waiting for the cameras or something?”
“Uh, we’re still rolling,” Kenny states.
I pretend to still be chewing to give my brain time to come up with some of my signature witty lines. Then I fake a swallow – what is wrong with me? – and give her my best critical chef’s look.
“I have to say…” I start, making sure to draw out my sentence for the sake of drama, “that this dish… is…” The waitress’s eyebrows rise expectantly. She pouts a little and, holy crap, it’s adorable. I almost forget to finish what I’m saying. “… delicious.”
Her face lights up and that makes me break out into a smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chase and Kenny exchange a look. I’m never this effusive. Oh, well, screw it.
“I’m so glad you like it,” the waitress says, trying to regain some of her own professional composure. She actually flushes. Man, she really cares about this place.
“Of course, it’s not perfect,” I say, forcing myself back into show mode. “From the amount of pepper in here, it’s a wonder the chef doesn’t have carpal-tunnel from cranking away at the grinder like a fiend.”
“Oh,” she looks as disappointed as she was elated a second ago. Maybe the owner is her brother or something?
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s fantastic.”
“Oh, good!” Elated again.
“Little saucy though, don’t you think?” Disappointed again. “I predict many a man’s tie will end up spotted from a dish this… runny.”
I let some of the sauce drip off my fork to make my point. It’s actually not too saucy, but if I don’t find something to criticize, the viewers will be disappointed.
Still, seeing her face drop again actually sends a little pang of guilt through my chest.
“Well, I’ll… let the chef know,” she mutters.
“On the other hand…”
“On the other hand, the flavors are exceedingly well-balanced,” she cuts in with a sudden boldness that both surprises and excites me. “And I bet you can’t tell what the secret ingredient is that makes