Served: Facile Restaurant Omnibus Volume One

By Jacey Conrad and Gia Corona

Can you stand the heat?

It’s just another night in The French Quarter’s newest restaurant. And, of course, at Facile that means complete chaos – a distracted head chef, a private party full of family dysfunction and a visit from a celebrity chef trying to poach the best in the kitchen.

The Facile Omnibus, Volume 1, offers a range of hot heroes. If you like culinary bad boys, read about Remy Billodeaux in SEARED. If foul-mouthed, former flames make you sizzle, try Morgan Jeffries in BURNED. In POACHED, you’ll find quiet, capable man of mystery, Damon Blake. But if the sparkly unicorn appeal of a genuinely nice guy is more your type, Jason Parker of BOILED is the man for you. And finally, if you like smooth, cool, and flirty, Byron Caldwell of GRILLED is there to serve your every need.

Each story features a new pairing and setting over the course of one insanely complicated dining service at Facile, delicious bonbons of naughtiness intertwining all of the characters and their problems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanette Battista
• Release date: Jan 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310306419

Jacey Conrad

Jacey Conrad is a sushi-loving, pop culture nerd living in semi-rural Kentucky with her high school sweetheart husband and two impressionable children. She delights in horribly made mutant shark movies and watching Sean Bean die in his various cinematic incarnations.

Book preview

SERVED Volume 1

A Facile Restaurant Collection

Jacey Conrad and Gia Corona

Copyright © 2015 Jacey Conrad & Gia Corona

All rights reserved

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Table of Contents

Seared

Burned

Poached

Boiled

Grilled

About the Authors

Seared: A Facile Restaurant Short Story

Remy Billodeaux sat in the general manager’s office, ensconced behind the giant damn desk that he’d dubbed the Cockpit. It was just another way he tried to bust his business partner Xavier Blackwell’s balls, but the man appeared to be unflappable. Still, Remy bet that the top of his general manager’s desk had seen more action than any other flat surface in the entire restaurant. Whether Xavier wanted to admit it or not, he drew women to him like a magnet drew metal. What he did about that though wasn’t any of Remy’s business.

He sat in the plush leather chair behind the enormous monstrosity of a desk, reading the latest article on his baby, his restaurant Facile. They’d only been open for about six months, but the raves kept coming in, thanks in large part to EJ Lasher, their PR guru. Bon Apetit, Southern Living, Food and Wine, the Times Picayune, various blogs, and local rags all had done write ups on his restaurant. The place had been booked solid since they’d opened, and the reservations showed no sign of letting up.

He scanned the article, looking for gems that he, his other co-owners, and EJ could use in their next bit of advertising.

The three B’s--Billodeaux, Blake, and Blackwell--of Urbane Flavor have created a unique dining experience in a city filled with legendary restaurants. A standout location, décor to die for, and food that manages to straddle the line of being comforting and inventive all make Facile a not-to-be-missed stop that does the French Quarter proud…

It went on like that for a few more paragraphs, capped with a photo of him, Xavier, and Damon standing at the polished onyx bar of Facile. Remy took a moment to peer closely at the picture—he was wearing a black chef’s coat embroidered with the Urbane Flavor logo, and his dark wavy hair was a fucking mess; why hadn’t Blake made him comb that shit?—to note how the bar area photographed.

Glass shelves, antiqued bronzed fixtures, and the huge stone bar were warmed by the red wood floor, beadboard paneling, and furniture. In the bar area, they’d gone with velvet upholstered love seats and long benches with the flair of turn of the century lines tempered with a modern edge. It looked good in the photograph; not so feminine as to frighten away the lads who wanted a steak dinner, but not so ‘boy’s club’ that it put the ladies off.

Although Remy suspected it would take a lot to keep the women from coming in droves to Facile. Xavier had to wade through piles of napkins with scrawled phone numbers every night he worked front of house. Damon never left alone unless he wanted to, and Remy…

Well, Remy was enjoying himself tremendously. He ruled his kitchen with a heavy hand, but that didn’t mean he was above taking time out of his busy schedule to entertain the lovely ladies who filled his restaurant. His restaurant—and by extension him—had a certain cache and he planned to cash in on it for as long as he could.

Not that he wasn’t careful. EJ had taken aside the three B’s when she’d come on board, giving them a talk about sexual harassment lawsuits and appropriate behavior toward their employees. Remy stuck strictly to the bar customers who flung themselves at him. Xavier would kill him if any his one night stands--or one hour stands--cost them business or drove away repeat reservations. So Remy made sure the women he entertained always left well-fed and well-satisfied. So far, he’d had no complaints about either the food or his performance.

He stuck a stray business card in the magazine to mark the page just as Xavier opened the door to his office. The general manager lifted one elegantly arched brow when he saw Remy sitting in his chair.

Another glowin’ review, he told his business partner as he stood.

Xavier took the magazine, flipping through it until he came to the marked page. He quickly scanned it. Good press, he noted. Then, Damon and I look suitably mature. You, he pointed at the photo where Remy’s confident smirk challenged the camera, look like a debauched choir boy. His deep voice was tinged with a London accent.

Remy grinned, but it faded at Xavier’s next question. You give any more thought to that chef’s table set up for tonight?

Remy snarled, pacing around the room as much as it would let him. The argument over the chef’s table had been going on for the past week. Morgan Jeffries was the celebrity chef of the moment with his highly entertaining restaurant rescue show. Audiences tuned in every week for his original food and the highly original invective that he hurled at bosses, employees, and customers. And he was coming for dinner at Facile.

Remy disliked other chefs on principle. He especially disliked the idea of another chef in his kitchen, watching him work, and judging his food. He didn’t care if Morgan Jeffries shit gold and pissed rainbows, the man was not welcome in his kitchen. Remy didn’t care if he came off as territorial--his kitchen was his.

You know how I feel about those, Xavier. So does EJ. I don’t care how popular fuckin’ Morgan Jeffries is, my answer would be the same if it were the goddamn President!

And that answer would be?

Remy rolled his eyes. That answer is NO! he sgrowled.

"Even if it’s what’s best for Facile?" Xavier leaned a hip against the Cockpit and gave him a hard look.

Remy stopped his pacing, turning to glare at his business partner. Xavier simply raised an eyebrow at him once again. Remy crossed his arms over his chest, his most mutinous expression on his face. He’d do anything to ensure his restaurant’s success, and Xavier knew it. Fucker.

You done with tonight’s specials? Xavier asked, changing the subject.

Remy nodded, heading for the door. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He wanted to go into his kitchen and cook until some of his anger subsided. I still need to show the rest of the kitchen though.

Hang on a bit, Xavier said, stopping Remy before he cleared the door. Phillipe Devereaux is sending his daughter over this evening. Wants us to give her a go as front of house manager. I told him we’d think about it, see how she does. Don’t fuck it up, alright?

What the hell? What else could be dropped on him at the last minute? Remy grimaced. Devereaux was their silent partner in Facile. He wasn’t interested in running a restaurant, but he was interested in diversifying his assets and in a good tax write-off. If his daughter was interested in the business then that was probably another reason he was willing to invest his money. But it didn’t mean the chick deserved a job here just because Daddy said so.

She’s probably some useless, entitled brat who just wants to play hostess for a night, Remy scoffed. She’ll get bored after an hour and complain her fuckin’ feet hurt before running home to Daddy. But, fine, I’ll play nice. As nice as he ever played, anyway.

See that you do, Xavier warned him with a smirk. It looked like Blackwell might know something Remy didn’t, or maybe the general manager was just taking the opportunity to bust his chef’s balls. With a small shrug, Remy left the office to return to his kitchen. He had a tasting menu to come up with before Morgan Jeffries arrived.

***

Sabine Devereaux approached Facile with a certain amount of trepidation. Her father was a silent backer of the restaurant that was earning Michelin stars and space on Zagat’s list faster than a frat boy got hammered on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras, and it had been his idea that she go in and see how the place was running. Sabine knew that her father wanted her to have a more active role in the running of the restaurant, both to secure his investment and to make sure she had something to occupy her time, but she hadn’t expected him to speak to the general manager about finding her a job there.

Sabine was a classically trained chef in her own right. She’d studied at the Cordon Bleu in Paris, and she’d gotten a business degree from Brown. She wasn’t interested in running someone else’s restaurant; she wanted one of her own. But her father had asked her to do him a favor, so she figured it couldn’t hurt anything to see how the most popular restaurant in the Quarter did things.

Facile was a rambling old three-story building that had, at one time, seen better days. Chef and part-owner Remy Billodeaux had revived the place thanks to his backers and business partners. They’d sunk major money into the revitalization and now Facile was the crown jewel in the diadem of fine French Quarter dining. Sabine had eaten there only once, but she’d been grudgingly impressed with Chef Billodeaux’s cooking and plating. The man knew what he was doing in the kitchen.

From the rumor mill of the restaurant circuit, he knew what he was doing outside of it too. Remy Billodeaux ran through women the way someone with the flu ran through tissues.

She’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t curious about the much-talked about Chef Billodeaux. More than curious, really. She knew all about the face he showed everyone who came through those doors. He was young, prickly, and private. His public persona was just that: a persona. He cultivated the myth of the brash young executive chef, ballsy and brilliant. An entire forest’s worth of articles had been written about his Facile, but very little new information had been published about the chef who helmed it. She was more interested in the man and mind behind that frat boy exterior—and just how he managed to come up with his inventive dishes and preparations. She was intrigued.

Not many people intrigued her. Sabine wanted to know what made Remy Billodeaux tick. It didn’t hurt that he embodied everything she found attractive in a man: lean, wiry body, hooded hazel eyes, messy dark hair, all capped with attitude and arrogance to spare. She wouldn’t admit it to her father, but she’d been hoping for an excuse to meet him.

Sabine adjusted the deep V of her magenta Victoria Beckham dress and pushed open the door to Facile. We’re closed! a male voice shouted from the open kitchen.

She ignored him and stepped deeper into the space. Her eyes took in the details: the wrought iron and bronze fixtures, exposed brick, richly hued wood, and the greenery that screened the space, turning an open plan into small alcoves of privacy. Seeing the dining room empty of patrons really showed its size and grandeur. She passed the elevator and continued into the depths of the restaurant.

Only to be brought up short by a tall man in a black t-shirt and jeans, curling dark hair falling over one eye in disarray. Remy Billodeaux. A thrill jolted through her at the sight of him. Sabine recognized him from his pictures in the paper, except in those instances he looked rakishly charming. Right now he just looked pissed. Oh, she liked him already.

I said, we’re fuckin’ closed, he snapped, crossing his arms over his lean chest, his hazel eyes narrowed at her. What, did you fail remedial readin’?

Sabine hid a smile at Remy’s heavy Cajun drawl. He dropped his g’s and his th’s all turned to d’s. No. And I’m not a patron, she countered, smoothly stepping around him. He had boyish good looks: slightly snub nose, large eyes, white teeth, a bit of scruff. If he’d been in a suit, she’d say he was attractively rumpled. His accent only served to make him more appealing. She squashed that line of thought quickly. Appealing could come later—and so could she—but right now she had business to attend to.

I’m looking for Xavier Blackwell, Mr. Billodeaux. I assume he’s in his office? She was not interested in being kept from her meeting, even if she wanted to ask Chef Billodeaux a hundred questions about how he managed to make his sauces so divine. She highly doubted he was in the mood to share at the moment anyway. She could wait.

You’re Devereaux’s daughter? The shock in his voice nearly made her laugh out loud as she walked away from him.

***

Remy’s gaze roved over the curves of the woman before him. She was a fucking stunner, that much was true. The fabric of the purplish dress she wore hugged her slim frame. He wanted to dig his fingers into the black hair coiled in a sleek French twist and pull her body against his, learning her shape with his hands before learning it with his mouth.

Her ass swayed as she walked, the heels of her red-soled shoes making sharp clicking sounds with every step. He caught a whiff of her scent as she passed; it was a heady mix of jasmine, steel, and some kind of lemongrass. Remy had never smelled anything like it. He watched her sashay toward Xavier’s office and decided to follow.

He caught up with her just as she was extending her hand across the desk to shake Xavier’s. Remy smirked, expecting the usual dithering and fluttering that all women seemed to indulge in when they got within a ten foot radius of Blackwell, but was surprised when the Devereaux woman was all business.

Call me Sabine, she was saying. "I’m not sure what my father told you,