Chef's Kiss: A Billionaire and His Bartender

Chapter 2: In for a Penny, in for a Pound

It had been a week since Selene started working at "Clair De Lune" and it was… Eventful? Fantastic? Informative? Stressful? Probably all of the above.

She was only allowed to make coffee and handle ice, water, and cleaning. But it was a start. She was also given at least two dozen different manuals, books, and access to the wine cellar. Apparently, the probation period ended with the test that would check how much she knew about cocktails, the history of the restaurant, wines, regions, flavors, and practically anything that made "Clair De Lune" a top-rated and favored venue among the Manhattan elite.

Still, challenges aside, she actually enjoyed the pace. The bartender, Thomas, was a middle-aged man with two kids and a wife. He was experienced and highly regarded in the restaurant. Sure, he liked to mutter and complain, but Selene didn't mind a bit of talking.

In high spirits, she entered through the door that once led her to this wonder and, out of habit, closed her eyes, breathing the lingering smell of scented vanilla candles and… sandalwood?

Quickly noting the new smell, she opened her eyes to discover another intruder that was definitely more visible than a small perfume trail.

There was a man behind the bar who seemed absolutely unbothered by Selene or the fact that he was making espresso using their machine, which was probably the most expensive item in the venue. What also shocked the women was how cozy the man looked behind La Pavoni, handling the complicated machinery with practiced ease, and cleaning the filter basket with knowing hands.

She also quickly noted that he looked much better than Thomas or her behind that bar. Dark clothes (a tight turtleneck and what looked like a pair of plain black jeans, but it was hard to tell behind the bar), a mop of black hair that looked as if no one introduced that man to the hairbrush, and extremely visible dark circles. He was… Trespassing. That's precisely what he was doing, alabaster skin and cheekbones aside.

"Hey! Excuse me, sir! We're closed!"

The man lazily lifted his head to meet Selene's eyes, looking somewhere between mildly surprised and unamused.

"I could say the same to you. Would you offer an introduction?"

"An introduction? I am Selene. The bartender of this closed restaurant. And who are you?" The woman was well-educated and polite, yet hiding annoyance behind mannerisms wasn't her greatest achievement.

"Well, Selene, 'The Bartender,' I am Carter," when Selene failed to react to anything that he said, the man, Carter, promptly added, "The Chef."

Oh… Oh.

***

Selene quickly stumbled into the changing room, trying to forget about the encounter. She has been doing quite well for the past couple of days. Hell, she spent the whole week working without any incidents, only to mess up in front of THE chef.

In her defense, the former had to arrive towards the end of her probation. Why he came back earlier was a mystery she was yet to discover.

But there was another problem, as if screaming at the restaurant owner wasn't enough. The chef was pretty. No, Selene quickly caught herself; he was handsome. Like being on the cover of a fancy magazine captivating. If she didn't know better, she would have mistaken him for a model.

Black jeans hugging his long legs, a turtleneck revealing more of his slender physique and slim fingers, perfect for not only the filigreed art of cooking or coffee making but also mastering the piano and a gentle craft of female pleasure…

Selene blushed deeply, trying to erase the last image that popped into her brain. After all, it was highly unprofessional to work and think about those slender fingers that would probably look pretty snug…

"Selene!" The voice undeniably belonged to Mr. Peters, and there was nothing in this world that worked better as a turn-off.

She checked her look in the mirror, quickly tying her hair into what he called a ponytail, but others would only mistake it for a poor attempt. Still, the rules were rules; even women with short hair had to keep up the appearance chosen by the manager.

When she entered the main hall, the bartender quickly spotted Mr. Peters, who currently looked more displeased than on his typical day. The expression was probably connected to the chef, who was casually leaning against the table occupied by the General Manager.

The chef was talking in a dismissive and slightly annoyed manner, perfectly personifying Mr. Peter's expression with his tone.

"I already have the list ready, Owen, and I've been here for twenty minutes. Change the coffee back to full Arabica. The robusta will be the death of me. And, for f**k's sake, never order that atrocious dark roast. But the new chairs…"

"Elizabeth chose them," quickly replied the manager.

"Makes sense. I actually like them."

Deciding to announce herself and avoid being blamed for eavesdropping, Selene quietly coughed and approached the two men.

"Mr. Peters?"

One didn't have to be a profit or a magician to tell that nothing good would be uttered from those tightly pressed lips. There was barely any pink flesh visible, and Selene was unsure who was the main reason for it — the chef, who indeed returned unexpectedly fast, or the bartender, who messed up. Big time.

"Selene. You are late."

"Yes, I know; I am sorry. First, the train never arrived, and then it turned out it did, but for some reason on another platform, and then…"

"Please, spare me your excuses. You will either start taking this job seriously, or probation will end much quicker."

Selene could only nod and refrain from staring at the chef, who was definitely not planning to say anything.

"I told you once, and I will tell you only once more. It is not a job for quick money."

"I know, Mr. Peters." She really did know. Selene had to learn how to make at least thirty different cocktails, know the history of the restaurant by heart, understand the preferences of their guests, nail the perfect sourness of their coffee, recommend wines, know their location in the cellar… The list was truly endless and much more complicated than she originally anticipated. Quick money, yeah, sure, she thought.

"And also…"

"You can settle the staff affairs later, Owen. I was not finished."

"Of course, sir," Mr. Peters clearly fought a scowl off his face. It wasn't working, Selene quickly retorted to herself.

"Start prepping the bar, Selene."

"Of course," she wanted to get away as far as possible. But a final glance at the chef was almost a necessity. A desire. Not a want.

He didn't even look her way, too busy scribbling something on a napkin of all the places. It was 'the list,' if the young bartender had to guess. Probably all the things that had to be changed to accommodate the tastes of the broody chef. Carter. He looked perfectly concentrated on the task, slightly pursuing his lips, forming a pout. Almost.

Pinkish plump lips would make any woman jealous, but not before they curse the male population and their unfairly thin waists.

She left thinking about the way his voice resonated through the air, even if it was barely louder than Mr. Peters'. But it was the authority, invisible power, and almost visible aura of confidence that made Selene slightly light-headed. Not to mention the depth was unbecoming of his rather frail figure.

A man clearly understanding his world and belonging among the luxury of the Michelin-starred restaurant. She could see him sipping his favorite white wine, easily choosing between Oat and Clay color and rolling his eyes at his less knowledgeable companion.

"Selene," came Thomas' higher voice from behind the bar, "I need ice. Preferably today."

Nodding quickly, the bartender tried to erase every single thought about the chef, not knowing that the former certainly remembered her vigorous behavior. His slightly misty blue eyes carefully assessed the new hire — professionally or otherwise, Selene wasn't sure.

"I thought you would appreciate a change," remarked Owen.

"Hardly a change, hiring a clearly clumsy bartender," shot back the chef. But, after a few seconds, he added, "I'm guessing Elizabeth approved."

"She did. She saw her entering the restaurant and thought it was a good idea." Not to say that manager sounded bitter about the fact, but he had to accept long ago that his authority was not ultimate or even second to chef's.

"Hmm," was the only response given to the manager before the chef continued discussing his list. "We need Island Creek oysters. I shall not serve the ones we have now. That was a poor choice on your part."

Selene still managed to steal small glimpses of the chef. He continued on, absolutely ignoring the glare of the general manager. Selene's and Carter's eyes kept on meeting, him always catching a glimpse of a figure in a white shirt, trying to fix her already barely tied ponytail. Mr. Peters was right. A change, indeed.