men to football on the ginormous screen in Daneâs theater room while I went into the kitchen. Chef DâAngelo had sworn I couldnât fuck up his extremely detailed instructions for Chicken Saltimbocca and I prayed he was right. Not only did I want my father to enjoy dinner with us, I also wanted to impress Dane with my developing culinary skills.
A small insecurity I couldnât shake. He excelled at everything. Even as he joked about not having much talent with food and saying all he knew about cooking came from Betty Crockerâsince heâd grown up having personal chefs at his beck and callâhe still made the most amazing omelets and eggs Benedict. Maybe it was crazy to want to do something just slightly better than him. I suspected this was the only arena in which I could compete.
So ⦠game on.
I had a couple of hours to prepare, since weâd had a late lunch on the course. Therefore, I pan-seared boneless, skinless chicken breasts and then slow-cooked them in a creamy white-wine-and-asparagus-flavored Alfredo sauce I concocted, with fresh prosciutto, sage, and chunks of mushrooms. I added crisp asparagus spearheads toward the end of the process, along with quarters of cherry tomatoes, so they were warmed but still juicy. Then I sliced the chicken and arranged it on a platter, drizzling the sauce over it.
As a secondary dish I grilled a couple of medium-rare, peppercorn-encrusted New York Strips.
I set the largest of the tables on the patio so I could place all of the food there with us and no one had to move to enjoy. I served a tossed salad with a zesty Italian dressing. Fettuccine accompanied the chicken; whipped garlic potatoes complemented the steak. Iâd also baked sourdough and artisan breads, which I paired with olive oil and balsamic vinegar with rosemary, and a basil aioli.
Dane selected the wines from his vast cellar and also nestled a bottle of private-reserve Dom in a chiller.
âThis is quite the feast, sweets,â my dad said as he eyed the spread.
âLetâs hope it tastes as good as it smells,â I quipped.
âItâll be fantastic.â He grinned. âI didnât realize you cooked more than spaghetti and fish.â
âIâve been spending a lot of time with the Food and Beverage people at workâIâm sort of inspired. Really, considering how much Iâve eaten the past couple of months, itâs a wonder Iâm still hungry tonight. Or that I have any clothes that fit.â
âYou look sensational, as always,â Dane said with a wink as he offered a glass of bubbly.
My cheeks flushed over his flirtation in front of my fatherâwho cleared his throat and tried not to appear uncomfortable with the way Dane gazed so lustfully at me.
Unfortunately given my mass consumption of food of late, I couldnât block the flash of Daneâs childhood friend Mikaela Madsen from my mind. His supertall, superhot, supermodel-like friend, to be exact.
Sheâd attempted to buddy up to me when sheâd seen Dane and me together a few times, but then dropped out of sight when Iâd left the Lux. And Dane.
I was certain that once she returned from Italy with her boyfriend and soon-to-be business partner, Fabrizio Catalano, and discovered I was back at the hotelâand back with Daneâthat sheâd be knocking on my office door with gifts, like before. Keep her enemies close, I suspected was her game.
She had her own security badge for 10,000 Lux, after all. Something no other nonemployee possessed, given Daneâs ultra-tight safety and confidentiality measures. They didnât apply to Mikaela. Iâm not sure any rules did.
But I didnât want to spoil the evening with thoughts of the Heidi Klum look-alike, so I forced myself to get over it.
When both men had champagne in hand, Dane casually said, âHereâs to good company, good food, and good health.â Not making a fuss about
A small insecurity I couldnât shake. He excelled at everything. Even as he joked about not having much talent with food and saying all he knew about cooking came from Betty Crockerâsince heâd grown up having personal chefs at his beck and callâhe still made the most amazing omelets and eggs Benedict. Maybe it was crazy to want to do something just slightly better than him. I suspected this was the only arena in which I could compete.
So ⦠game on.
I had a couple of hours to prepare, since weâd had a late lunch on the course. Therefore, I pan-seared boneless, skinless chicken breasts and then slow-cooked them in a creamy white-wine-and-asparagus-flavored Alfredo sauce I concocted, with fresh prosciutto, sage, and chunks of mushrooms. I added crisp asparagus spearheads toward the end of the process, along with quarters of cherry tomatoes, so they were warmed but still juicy. Then I sliced the chicken and arranged it on a platter, drizzling the sauce over it.
As a secondary dish I grilled a couple of medium-rare, peppercorn-encrusted New York Strips.
I set the largest of the tables on the patio so I could place all of the food there with us and no one had to move to enjoy. I served a tossed salad with a zesty Italian dressing. Fettuccine accompanied the chicken; whipped garlic potatoes complemented the steak. Iâd also baked sourdough and artisan breads, which I paired with olive oil and balsamic vinegar with rosemary, and a basil aioli.
Dane selected the wines from his vast cellar and also nestled a bottle of private-reserve Dom in a chiller.
âThis is quite the feast, sweets,â my dad said as he eyed the spread.
âLetâs hope it tastes as good as it smells,â I quipped.
âItâll be fantastic.â He grinned. âI didnât realize you cooked more than spaghetti and fish.â
âIâve been spending a lot of time with the Food and Beverage people at workâIâm sort of inspired. Really, considering how much Iâve eaten the past couple of months, itâs a wonder Iâm still hungry tonight. Or that I have any clothes that fit.â
âYou look sensational, as always,â Dane said with a wink as he offered a glass of bubbly.
My cheeks flushed over his flirtation in front of my fatherâwho cleared his throat and tried not to appear uncomfortable with the way Dane gazed so lustfully at me.
Unfortunately given my mass consumption of food of late, I couldnât block the flash of Daneâs childhood friend Mikaela Madsen from my mind. His supertall, superhot, supermodel-like friend, to be exact.
Sheâd attempted to buddy up to me when sheâd seen Dane and me together a few times, but then dropped out of sight when Iâd left the Lux. And Dane.
I was certain that once she returned from Italy with her boyfriend and soon-to-be business partner, Fabrizio Catalano, and discovered I was back at the hotelâand back with Daneâthat sheâd be knocking on my office door with gifts, like before. Keep her enemies close, I suspected was her game.
She had her own security badge for 10,000 Lux, after all. Something no other nonemployee possessed, given Daneâs ultra-tight safety and confidentiality measures. They didnât apply to Mikaela. Iâm not sure any rules did.
But I didnât want to spoil the evening with thoughts of the Heidi Klum look-alike, so I forced myself to get over it.
When both men had champagne in hand, Dane casually said, âHereâs to good company, good food, and good health.â Not making a fuss about
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