Every new beginning comes from another beginning's end.
~Seneca (Lucius Annaeus Seneca)
***
With her headphones in place, Savannah was lounging at the Seattle Airport. The past three days had been much too hectic, but she wouldn't have it any other way. She had chosen to be a freelance chef; it came with her profession. The music playing soothed her as she went through her appointments and other events. She didn't have many things lined up, which was as rare as hens' teeth.
The only thing marked important was the meeting she had coming Friday with the Siftons. She had done minor research about them, which was nothing more than the aspect of hospitality that interested her: food and dining. Her study said that Sifton Hotels had one of the best dining experiences as claimed by patrons. Which was...good, she decided.
Just then, she saw some things get altered in her calendar, and that meant only one thing: her assistant was online. That's it; now Abbey—short for Abigail Fury—would call.
Cue the call in 3...2...1... Her phone rang. Like I said, she thought.
"Hello, Sav."
"Tell me."
"Oh, no. It's nothing much. I saw you were going through your schedule, so I thought I'd list them out myself."
"Well. Okay."
"Hm. Coming up this Friday is your interview with the Siftons. Yesterday itself I spoke to Mr. Gerald Sifton over the phone. He is really looking forward to doing business with you."
"Did you tell him about my work ethics?"
"Yeah. I told him you aren't looking for any permanent stuff...and that, though you don't linger at a place, you do repeat the establishments if required."
"What'd he say to that?"
"He was cool with it. He knew you were the best, and that they chose you because you freelance and don't want to be tied down—makes it easier for them, too. He was telling me about his experiences with chefs who expected a more-than-once thing, how hard it was to convince them that it was a one-time thing."
"Hm. Okay. Friday at what time?"
"That's exactly why I wanted to talk to you, actually. He said he was free from 10AM to 1PM. After that he has things to attend to after that. What time should I schedule it for?"
"Ten-thirty should be okay. What will I need?"
"About that, he said, nothing. He has full confidence in you, and from what he's heard of you he is sure that you'll not let him down. Basically he just wants you."
Oh, how good it would have felt to throw this in his face. Her success. People wanted her now, without her having to seek it out.
But. Why was she even thinking about him? Where had he come from suddenly, out of nowhere? She was not supposed to think about him, not even negligibly. It was a big no-no!
"Okay, I just emailed Mr. Sifton. He's really looking forward to it."
"Oh, I am too."
"By the way. You remember your awareness workshop at Georgetown Uni tomorrow, right?"
"Of course. I wouldn't forget that. Oh, by the way, make a list of all the seminars—with dates—I have in duration Mr. Sifton requires me for."
"Okay, boss. I'll print it for you."
"Good. Anyway, Abbey, boarding's about to start. TTYL, okay?"
"Sure thing, boss. See you in D.C."
"Yep."
She landed in D.C. around four in the afternoon. Abbey was waiting for her outside the exit gate with a placard saying 'Savvy Tori Reece' in hand. Savannah laughed at the writing on the placard. Though there was nothing wrong with Savvy Tori Reece, her full name indeed was Savannah Victoria Reece, but it was funny.
"Boss!" Abbey whooped.
"Yeah, yeah, Abbey, I know you're delighted to see your boss after a whole five days."
"Naturally."
"Come on, Fury. You were with me for six months. You only came five days before me."
Abbey just gave her a super-cheeky smile. "Anyway, tomorrow you have the seminar and then the day after you have Siftons."
"Got it, madam. Thank you."
"Comes under my job description."
"It does."
—x—
It was Friday before she knew. The previous day's seminar had gone very well. The response had been incredible. However, she found it really disgraceful that the cases of verbal abuse didn't decrease even a bit, no matter what. It was a shame.
Anyway, she told herself, it was time to switch on her work mode and slay the Sifton interview. Abbey had told her how anxious Mr. Sifton had been to appoint her. Which was exactly why she was in her 'casual chef's uniform', as she liked to call it—the chef coat on a pair of dress pants with a tote bag slung on her shoulder—walking towards the huge building called Sifton Magna. It was comfy and casual, and, at the same time, it was professional and formal.
She reached the reception and was about to ask the lady about Mr. Gerald Sifton, when someone wolf-whistled. She turned around to have the gaze of a rather familiar looking man eyeing her. He studied her methodically from head to toe, and then his lips turned up into a slow, appreciative smile. He walked up to her, his smile getting wider with each step taken.
"You know, I never really believed in horoscopes. But I think you're gonna change that for me."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"What makes you say that?"
"Today, on a rare show of whim, I went through my horoscope. And, you know what it said?" She quirked her eyebrow. "It said something really beautiful and amazing will happen to me sometime today. And, I think that thing—which clearly isn't a thing—is you."
"Ah. You know, I have this innate talent of recognizing a flirt—however obscure—when I see one instantly."
"I figured you were clever. But, you know, that just makes you more my type."
"Ah. I'm extremely sorry to disappoint you...?
"Rhett. That's my name."
She nodded once. "...disappoint you, Rhett, but you're aren't my type."
He chuckled. "I'd like to correct you here, if I may."
"Oh. So I am wrong, huh? Feel free to enlighten me, Rhett."
"Sure. First, I am everybody's type. Second, despite that, if you believe I'm not, I'll become one. I am very flexible, you see. It's like I am clay, you are the potter; mold me however you fancy."
"Those are some flirting skills you got there. You don't use known pickup lines. That's saying something."
"And, what is it saying?"
"That. You are a philanderer."
"Could be that I was waiting for the right one to come along and sweep me off my feet. I think I just met her."
She laughed wholeheartedly. "Jesus Christ! I like you, Rhett. I really, really like you. You are something else. Not like the usual flirts I've come across."
He curtsied. "Well, thank you, milady," making her laugh again.
"What's your full name, Rhett?"
"I'll tell you mine after you tell me yours. After all, you at least know my first name, I don't."
"Oh. Let's amend that, shall we?" She extended her hand. "Hi. Savannah Victoria Reece, pleased to meet you."
Instead of shaking it, he turned it over, took it to his mouth and kissed her hand. "Rhett Julian Sifton. Pleasure is all mine."
She smiled at the archaic gesture he'd performed. "So, this is your hotel, huh?"
"Not really. My dad's, originally. Being passed on to my elder brother."
"I see."
"Well, what is a beauty like you doing here?"
"A beauty like me is on her way to a meeting with Mr. Gerald Sifton—your dad."
"Ah. What for?"
"The gala that you guys are hosting; Mr. Sifton wants me to be in charge of the food and dining, as the head chef."
"Oh, man! So you are the Savannah Reece, huh. Freelance chef, best in the industry."
"Uh-huh. Overtly hyped, I must say. But, yeah, that would be me." She checked her watch. Ten-twenty-five. "Um. Sorry, but I have the meeting in exactly five minutes. So, I'll get going. Where's Mr. Sifton's office?"
"All you have to do is follow my lead, Savannah Victoria Reece," he said, adding a wink at the end.
She threw her head back and laughed as she followed him. "Take me wherever you want, Rhett. I'll go anywhere as long as it's with you."
Now it was his turn to laugh. "Anyway, here."
"You're not coming?"
"Nah. Hotel management isn't my thing."
"Then what is your thing?"
"Airplanes. I am a pilot."
"Ah. That's nice. Anyway, I'll see you around, I have to be inside."
"Yeah. See you later."
She knocked twice before she heard an authoritative 'come in' from the other side.
"Good morning, Mr. Sifton," she greeted after she closed the door behind her.
"Chef Reece. Good morning. Take a seat."
"Sure."
"You'd like anything?"
"Oh, no, no. I'd appreciate it if we start without further ado."
"Straight to business, I like it. Okay. We've already drafted your contract after I spoke to Ms. Fury the other day. You can add or delete clauses in the contract right now and then sign it off."
"Okay. I'll just go through it. Oh, by the way," she fetched out a list, "this is the list of dates I have to travel in the next three months. Not long trips, just one-day or so. So, it'd be really helpful if those dates could be blocked off in the contract too."
"Yes, sure. Add it there. Well, you mind if I ask what those leaves are for?"
"Of course not. I actually conduct awareness seminars for verbal abuse."
"An extremely good cause, I must say."
"Thank you, Mr. Sifton. Well, the gala, what is it for?"
"Actually, I'm retiring in practice for a few years before it happens on paper too. I want to make sure my son—who's taking over now—does well while I'm still legally the proprietor. But, since he's taking over practically, we're hosting this gala."
"Oh. Okay, that's great. Give my congratulations to your son."
"He will be here in a while; you do that yourself then."
"Okay. Just give me a few minutes, I'll go through the agreement."
"Take your time."
She went through the contract, added a few clauses regarding her rights in the kitchen and over their staff. When he asked who all she'd bring, she told him it would just be her assistant, Abigail Fury.
Mr. Sifton was an easygoing man. He cracked a few jokes here and there, and his laughs were fits of roars and rumbles.
She was done with whatever altercations were needed and was signing the contract when there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Mr. Sifton said. "That should be my son."
The door opened and closed before the voice she could recognize anywhere echoed through the room saying, "Dad."
She'd recognize that voice anywhere.
Zac.
She was imagining it, she assured herself, there was no way it could be him. But it was. Jesus Christ, it was.
"This is Chef Reece—"
"I told you, Mr. Sifton, call me Savannah, please."
He chuckled, also a rumble. "Okay. This is Chef Reece here," he told his son before turning his attention back to her. "My son was looking for the best—you. The background check and research was all him, I was just communicating it through."
Zac had hired her? She was in trouble. If the gala was for his acquisition of the Sifton chain meant that she would be working alongside him and not Mr. Sifton. Oh no!
"Well, dad, I think that's enough," Zac said, pretty mortified by the praise.
She inhaled and exhaled to steady herself. She had to do this. Be professional, she told herself. She stood up and turned with her formal smile in place.
Jesus, she thought, he looked even better now. Same brown hair and those blue-gray eyes. His body had filled out more making his biceps prominent. So much that she wondered if they'd strain his shirt if he flexed—
Bummer! Realizing that her crush on him, the one she had developed in college, was still very much in place—even after what he'd done—was a definite bummer.
—x—
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Until next time...