The Chef's Choice Read online

The Chef's Choice

  by Josephine Kent

  Romance/Short Story

  Copyright ©2013 by Josephine Kent

  Thank you for your support, and for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To the women who have no idea of how truly beautiful they are. The only thing your loved ones need from you is that you be the best version of yourself that you can envision. If life's not going the way you imagined, then change the things you can, and love the things you can't. And check yourself out in the mirror every now and again.

  Chapter 1

  This coming October, Emille Carter would turn thirty-five years old. And for her thirty-fifth birthday, Emille wanted only one thing. To feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Really, all she wanted for her birthday was to get good and properly laid.

  In order for that to happen, she needed a man. Though she knew any number of gorgeous, eligible men, none of them were interested in a girl like her. And even if they were, she wouldn't believe it. Beautiful men like the ones she hung out with did not go after average girls, much less women that were a few pounds above average.

  Take Peter as an example. Peter was one of very few men that she could actually look up at. Jackson, David, Nathanael and Ryce were more on her level height-wise, but Peter was tall and reed thin to their more husky, muscular builds. Not to say he wasn't fit. He'd have to be, as athletic as he was. Peter trained for competitive sports, while the other guys trained for fitness. Nathanael's physique was due to his great genes. He was perpetually on the hunt for cougar, but either Emille was too big of a bait, or too small. And Ryce? Well, no one knew exactly what Ryce did to look like a god. But he existed on a strict regimen of models, actresses, groupies, all of whom had to be fourteen karat and above. Jack liked a lively, angry woman. More accurately, he made turned them into hostile bit- Suffice it to say, if he was her boyfriend, she'd dump him within twenty-four hours. But hey, women fell for him like rain. And he claimed to be faithful while he was with them. David? Well, she'd never actually seen him with a woman. But then again David was like a tomcat. You heard some noise about him, but you never saw him in action. Therefore, no one knew what kind of woman he preferred.

  Peter's girlfriends were of a class entirely different. They tended to be the willow thin wisps with waistlines as wide as one of Emille's ankles. They practiced yoga, could bench-press a buffalo, and hailed rock climbing in Utah as their ideal date. Peter's girlfriends dieted on pasta instead of salads. Peter's girlfriends - if they had breasts - had breasts that naturally defied gravity. They had breasts that augmenters used as examples of the ideal. Peter's girlfriends never had to twist themselves into awkward positions in the mirror in order to make sure that their ass cellulite wasn’t showing through the fabric of their clothes. Peter's girlfriends didn't have upper arms that were bigger than their faces.

  Peter's girlfriends were perfect.

  Emille hated the bitches.

  Peter was perfect. He was the most caring, talented, kind, handsome man she knew.

  Emille had years of experience in knowing exactly what it would take to catch the attention of an amazing guy like Peter. All she would need was everything she wasn't.

  Since she was not equipped to nab a guy like Peter, Emille decided to go after something more attainable.

  "Hey, Jeff," she smiled sweetly as she stood in the doorway of the office across from hers. The office had been Peter's years before when she'd started with Orson and Son Electrical Engineering, Inc. fifteen years before.

  "Hey, Em," Jeff Stafford replied without looking up from the blueprints on his desk. "Beautiful day out. Isn't it?"

  Taking that as an invitation, Emille stepped closer to the office. "Yes. Yes, it is."

  After making a few scribbles on his notepad, Jeff sat up in his chair and gave her his full attention. "What can I do for you, Emille?"

  This is it, she thought. The land of no return. Could she do it? Jeff wasn't what one would describe as good looking. Well… he was. But you had to look beneath that morning mucus that he hadn't quite gotten out of his right eye. And you had to look past the legion of blackheads on his nose and cheeks. And you had to ignore the fact that a thirty-eight year old man sometimes forgot to brush his teeth. But, underneath all that, Jeff was actually a highly intelligent hunk. A girl would just have to clean him up. Jeff was like… Jeff was like sharing all your cookies with your friends, and then the last one in the package falls to the ground. He was what stood between the rock and the hard place where you either picked up your cookie and followed the ten second rule, or left it there on the ground and did without. All Emille wanted for her birthday was a cookie.

  "Um, Jeff…" she began. Sidling inside as only big girls can sidle, Emille entered the office and closed the door behind herself. The whole office didn't need to hear this. "Jeff," she started again. "If you don't have any plans for this Wednesday, I was wondering… Would you like to have dinner with me?"

  Jeff froze for a good ten seconds.

  At first, Emille didn't know if he was going to laugh in her face, or what. Though it was hard, she made herself swallow the anxiety that followed her bold inquiry.

  He blinked a few times then seemed to come out of his shock. "I'm sorry, Emille. I don't-"

  Rejection. It burned, but she was used to this. She'd become a pro at handling rejection some hundred and twenty-eight pounds before. "It's no problem if you can't," she smiled. She'd become a pro at that too - concealing hurt feelings behind a happy smile. "I'll just ask someone else. My friend Peter and I went fishing this weekend, and I caught a bass. He promised to cook it for me on Wednesday, but he'll be working so I can't share it with him. He's the Executive Chef over at Jackson's Mark."

  "Oh…" Jeff said slowly.

  Emille recognized that tone. He was accepting the cover-up she'd thrown on her true intentions. Only one of two things could happen now. Either he'd tell her he was sorry but he'd be busy this Wednesday and couldn't make it, but maybe next time. Or, he'd change his mind and accept her invitation, and they'd have a long and successful relationship as friends. Just. Friends.

  "Jackson's Mark. That's that steakhouse with the waiting list."

  Emille smiled and nodded. The Mark had gotten pretty popular over the past two years, even though it had been in business for four years now. Lately, they had a waiting list for reservations, but Emille was an insider. Management reserved a certain table for special guests. Table number twelve was always available to her on Wednesdays. "Yes," she answered.

  "I've been wanting to try that place out. Are they as good as the rumors make them out to be?"

  She couldn't help the pride in her voice, and the heavy-lidded know-it-all expression on her face as she proudly replied, "Better. But then again, I'm biased."

  Jeff's grin was so wide, his glasses actually slid back up his nose. "I'm not about to skip on a chance to eat at the finest steakhouse in town," he admitted. "What time were you thinking?"

  "I'll meet you there at seven-thirty." That would give her enough time to go home and change into something a little more date-friendly. Though she usually ate alone at the Mark, the guys didn't need to know that this was a 'Just Friends' dinner.