Page 11 of You'll Be the Death of Me

When she arrived at Pergo, the organized chaos of the kitchen welcomed Dell like a loyal companion. She ran a tight ship: The steel was shiny; the knives were sharp. Every ingredient was fresh and curated from only the best sources. Prep was in full swing. Chefs manned their stations—chopping and slicing, stirring and sculpting. She bypassed her office and grabbed a coat off a hook to head straight into the tightly controlled bedlam.

She hardly had her hair in a ponytail before Oscar was at her side rattling off updates.

“We’re firing birds for family and rotating to beef specials tonight.” He nearly bumped into her as they rounded into the galley of ranges. He wore his customary bandanna, rolled sleeves, and focused scowl. His bulky build left little room for error in the tight angles of the kitchen.

“Corner!” Dell shouted. “And yes, Chef. Thank you.”

“Sasha has been working on a pistachio gelato, which I have to say is damn fine. She wants to exhibit it tonight.”

“Yes, Chef,” Dell said with the fleeting thought of why Oscar’s opinion of Sasha’s gelato might have been so high. Perhaps he’d been her private taste tester.

“Simon wants to push a new proprietary red blend with the special too.”

“Yes, Chef,” she said as they kept walking toward the refrigerator.

Pierrick Moreau was the only thing on her mind. She trusted Oscar to appropriately yea or nay requests coming from the kitchen and sommelier.

He held out a hand to stop her before she walked into the refrigerator. A grin split his lips. His smiles were as rare as solareclipses, so it put a tiny return smile on Dell’s face. “You gonna show this French dude who’s boss tonight?”

She quietly laughed, feeling grateful her second-in-command both took no shit and knew when to lighten the mood. “It’s probably best we refrain from calling him adudegiven his blessing can make a career,but yes. That is my intention.”

“Excellent. Let me know where I can help, Chef.”

They parted ways, and Dell soon found herself completely in the zone. Not even Jason poking his head into the kitchen could distract her. Every night in her kitchen felt like conducting a symphony, and this night was no different, except she was focused on the one single, standout song.

The dish had to be perfect. She’d sent Mariana on a deep dive reading all Pierrick Moreau’s reviews to know his likes and dislikes. He’d given highest marks to dishes with bold, earthy flavors, so she’d opted for lamb with a black truffle crust over risotto. It wasn’t currently on their menu but would be if Pierrick Moreau liked it enough.

By the time the rice was impeccably tender, and the shanks seared to perfection, the dining room was buzzing. Jason made a second visit to the kitchen to mouthHe’s hereat Dell and slip back into the elegantly dim lighting.

She took a breath and prepared to escort Lauren, her chosen server, to the table, carrying the plate. They paraded into the dining room with Simon on their heels, ready to recommend and pour the optimal glass of wine to go with the meal.

Dell felt Jason’s eyes on her the whole way from his host desk at the entrance.

Pergo’s dining room glowed a soft golden color. The threedozen tables with black velvet bucket chairs were set up on a split-level floor, with a third of them nestled into an elevated enclave near the marble-topped bar. It was an effortlessly chic tribute to classy elegance.

Pierrick Moreau sat at one of the tables on the upper level. He had view of the bar, the dining floor below, and the San Francisco street, warm with the beginnings of golden hour.

“Good evening,” Dell greeted him when they arrived at his table. Remnants of his appetizers had been cleared away. “We are thrilled to have you joining us tonight. We’ve prepared black truffle lamb shanks over risotto for your main course. Please do enjoy.”

When he looked up at her from his seat, his lips only hinted at rising near the corners. As if they’d thought about it and changed their mind.

“Bon appétit,” Dell said with a small bow before she walked away.

She casually but swiftly moved toward Jason, as they’d planned. He faced Pierrick Moreau’s table while Dell faced the front door and held her breath.

“Okay, he’s picking up his fork. Now he’s cutting,” Jason narrated. “So far, so good.Annndthe first bite is in.”

He paused, and Dell thought she might pass out.

“And?”

Jason squinted as he peered across the room.

“Jason!” she snapped in his silence.

He shrugged. “I don’t know,D! He’s chewing! He’s not jumping up and down, but that would be poor form anyway. Just give him a minute. You know how these guys are: poker face until the coffee is served.”

She grumbled. “What are you reading?” she asked, and noddedat the thick book opened on his desk and tucked between his tablet and keyboard.