Taste of Love - By Stephanie Nicole Page 0,1
before the start of the dinner crowd, Madison called the new bartender into her office. She expected his reaction to be defensive, so she was prepared to nip it in the bud with some serious leverage. She told him that he only had one last chance to prove himself. She had a stack of bartender applications on her desk, where he could clearly see them. The message was clear: many would love to have his job, so it was time for him to straighten up his act. There was no way she was going to put up with someone who didn't treat her customers well.
Madison had always made a conscious effort to insist that her staff be polite and respectful. There had been too many times when she had dined at an upscale restaurant where she was treated horribly and vowed to never go back. Her business was finally starting to flourish, and she couldn't afford to jeopardize that with staff that wasn't on the same page of customer service.
After the meeting, Madison grabbed her chef jacket and went to the kitchen to assist the other chefs. She looked striking, even though her outfit was so simple. Black was definitely her color. Unlike the others who wore black on black, Madison had white piping following the edges of her jacket, making her stand out from the rest.
Orders began pouring in, keeping everyone in the restaurant on their toes. Whenever they got caught up in the kitchen, Madison would slip out to the dining room and greet her guests, making sure that everyone's meals were created to their satisfaction. She liked to add that personal touch whenever possible, and she had made friends with quite a few of the regulars by doing this.
People rarely left her restaurant dissatisfied. That was just one reason why The TigerLily was rapidly becoming one of the trendiest restaurants in New York City.
Cameron Rome sat in his manager's office and stared out at the beautiful view overlooking Central Park. But he was too mad to really see it. "This is shit, Riley! The songs they are asking me to do are ridiculous. I'm twenty-five fucking years old and they want me to sing about some teenage love? What the hell?" He ran his hands through his black, short and spiky hair.
"Look Cameron, calm down. I'm sure it isn't that bad," Riley Sage told his client. He was used to Cameron's rants.
"It isn't that bad? Tell me what it would sound like for me to sing these lyrics. 'Baby let me hold your hand while we walk on the beach in the sand, I want to look into your eyes all day, we'll be together, we'll find a way.' Come on! It sounds like we are two kids, and our parents don't want us to date. I'm a man, Riley! If I'm going to sing about a woman, it's going to be about us fucking or something." Cameron's voice was getting louder and louder.
Riley took a deep breath. Sure, the lyrics weren't the best, but they weren't horrible. "I'll see what I can do. Besides, it's not like that song will be released as a single, it'll just be a filler track."
"You're missing the point! I'm too old to be singing the bubble gum shit." Cameron pounded his fist on Riley's desk as his fury finally overflowed his common sense. "Fix this or there is no record!"
Before Riley could reply, Cameron stormed out of his office and slammed the door.
He stomped past the receptionist and out into an empty hallway. He stood waiting for an elevator that felt like it would never get there. Impatience took over, and he repeatedly pushed the down arrow, as if by some miracle it would make the elevator arrive sooner. When the doors opened he rushed in, not waiting for the occupants to get off first, and then pointedly ignored their New York glares.
As he got into the hired car that was waiting for him, Cameron's phone rang. When he saw the number on the screen, he groaned. Could this day get any worse? But if he didn't answer, she would call again and again.
Cameron sighed as he answered.
"Cameron dear, how are you doing?" his mother asked sweetly.
"I'm fine, Mother," he said. She always expected such formality, which didn't fit his rocker image. He didn't bother to put any sweetness into his voice - he didn't care if she knew he was perturbed. She probably wouldn't care anyway.
"To what do I