A Culinary Master Piece (Gordon Ramsay)

The Offer

Annabelle's P.O.V.

I brushed a pair of hands out of the way, anger boiling within me, as I went to refire a meal one of my chefs screwed up.

"Anna," Sullivan, my best friend and server, said as he walked into the kitchen. "Gordon Ramsay is here. He wishes to meet the owner and Head Chef before he orders."

I nodded once and fixed my Chef's jacket before I followed Sullivan out to the dining area. I smiled as soon as I saw Gordon Ramsay waiting at a table. He got to his feet as I approached.

"Hello. I'm Annabelle Hart. It's a pleasure to have you here this evening." I said, offering my hand to him.

He took my hand and pulled me into a hug as he kissed my cheek. "It's wonderful to meet you, Darling. You're the owner, correct?"

"And the Head Chef." Sullivan added.

"Sully." I hissed.

Gordon laughed. "No need to get hostile, Darling. I already guessed that you were the Head Chef. You are wearing a Chef's jacket after all."

I smiled and gestured toward the table. "As we are in a restaurant, I'm sure you would like something to eat. Sullivan here will be taking your order."

Gordon sat down, and Sullivan handed him a menu. I bowed slightly before heading back to the kitchen.

"I swear to God if you fuck up one more thing, I'm going to fire all of you!" I snapped as I stepped behind the line. "Gordon Ramsay is here! I'm not putting up with your bullshit today!"

My staff miraculously started getting orders right. Before I knew it, Gordon's appetizer and entrée were already done. I didn't even realize he was standing at the Pass until I went to put an order up and he spoke, scaring the living hell out of me.

"Sorry, Darling." He smiled. "That meal was outstanding, by the way. The appetizer and entrée have to be my most favorite dishes."

"Thank you, Chef. Do you mind helping delegate the Pass? The one who usually does is ill, and Sullivan can't focus on more than one job." I smiled innocently. "I know you only came for a meal, but I would appreciate the help."

"Sure. What table are we on?"

~

I laughed as Sullivan jumped onto me from behind. We had just finished dinner service, and we were heading to a local karaoke club that he liked.

"Pardon me, Darling." I heard from behind me.

I turned to see Gordon. I hit Sullivan and nodded my head in the direction of the club, and he took off running.

"Hello again, Chef Ramsay. What can I do for you?" I smiled as Gordon walked up to me.

"I couldn't help but notice your kitchen was small in comparison to your dining area." He said. "I was wondering if you'd like me pay for it to be remodeled. It would only take a little over a week."

"Can I show you something?"

He raised in eyebrows. I offered my hand to him, and he hesitated before he let me lead him to the karaoke club. I pushed the front door open and laughed as Sullivan's horrible singing invaded my ears.

"All of these people here are my family." I said to Gordon, gesturing to the people on white coats and server outfits who sat at tables near the stage. "They depend on me for nearly everything. I can't just shut down my restaurant for a week. They wouldn't have any way of getting whatever they needed."

"I'll pay you to work at Hell's Kitchen, and you can pay them in turn." Gordon said.

I looked at him for a minute before I held my hand out to him. He smiled as he shook it.

"You, Chef Ramsay, have a deal." I said. "Would you like to join us for the evening? It's Sullivan's birthday, and he wants to get drunk. He's actually pretty funny when he is."

"I'd be delighted. You won't make me sing, will you?"

"Only if you want to, Chef."

He smiled and followed me to one of the reserved tables by the stage. Sullivan, who was mumbling the words of some song I didn't recognize, pointed to me as he danced around like an idiot.

"So how old are you, Darling?" Gordon asked as we sat at a table.

"I'm thirty-nine. How old are you, Chef?" I gave him a wicked smile.

"Please, Annabelle. Call me Gordon."

Sullivan jumped off of the stage and grabbed my arm. I didn't get a chance to argue when he pulled me up onto the stage and handed me a microphone.