I had no clue what I was doing.
Boris, clearly just as flustered, had immediately called the hostess from the event management team to give me a crash course in hospitality. She was tied up with other responsibilities, so I figured I'd stick to what I knew and distract myself with my regular duties.
I grabbed the shift handover logbook from Chef Anna. She was a Frenchwoman in her early forties with a square face and small, reserved eyes. Despite being scheduled to leave after the morning shift, she'd stayed back without a single complaint. She moved through the kitchen with quiet resolve, setting an example that the younger chefs couldn't help but follow. Watching her brought a certain calm to the storm swirling in my head.
When I asked for the logs, she handed them over with a small smile and a knowing glint in her eyes.
"Good boy," she said approvingly. "Still thinking about your duties even in the middle of chaos. No wonder you're already in such a high post. Keep it up."
"Thank you, Chef Anna," I said sincerely, grateful for her words and her calming presence.
Of course, I didn't tell her the truth. I wasn't being noble. I just needed something to take my mind off the damn Chairman's insane request.
Back in the kitchen, the brigade was split. One group handled the usual duties for the restaurant 'Garnish'; the other was tied up with the impromptu cocktail event. The energy was scattered, the room buzzing with frenzied chatter. Normally, I'd have put a stop to the noise, but I couldn't bring myself to speak. My nerves had robbed me of my usual edge.
I slipped off to my office, logbook in hand, and tried to bury myself in yesterday's records. That's when I overheard the whispers, three women huddled by the prep station, voices low but filled with barely contained excitement.
"Is that really Mr. Olsen? I can't believe the Chairman actually knows him."
"What's so surprising? They're both businessmen, and I heard they were classmates back in the day. Makes sense."
"Seriously?"
All three leaned in over a phone screen, gasping.
"No way. He doesn't even look forty."
"I swear! My dad works at his firm. Olsen's got an impeccable rep, clean as a whistle. It's what launched his political career."
"No wonder the Chairman's trying to impress him."
Before I could fully eavesdrop, Tanya appeared, her hair a mess and her face tight with worry. She grabbed my arm like I was about to fall off a cliff.
"Tony," she said urgently, "Is it true? Did the Chairman really ask you to be his personal host?"
I let out a dry, humorless laugh and tried to force a smile. It came out looking more like a grimace.
"Yeah," I muttered, "Apparently so."
"Why the hell you?"
"If I had the answer to that, Tanya, I'd be a whole lot calmer right now."
"Tell the CEO," she hissed. "Robbie needs to know!"
I had considered it. But the image of Robbie's panicked face from three days ago kept flashing in my mind, uninvited. I couldn't just call him, not after the awkward way we'd left things.
I opened my mouth to offer some weak excuse, when—
"Excuse me?"
A new, light, and melodic voice cut through the tension. We both turned. Standing before us was a striking young woman with warm bronze skin, a sharply elegant oval face, and a smile that could probably stop a board meeting.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," she said gently, her tone smooth and rehearsed. "I understand things are quite hectic today."
"And you are?" I asked politely, standing straighter.
Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she replied, "Mr. Hawker, I've been asked by Mr. Taylor to meet you."
I blinked. "Boris?"
Of course, he'd said he'd call the hostess from the event team. I mentally kicked myself for forgetting. Relief flooded me.
"You must be Miss Brown," I said, reaching out for a handshake. "Thank you for helping me."
"It's no big deal, Mr. Hawker."
I turned to Tanya, who was still eyeing the newcomer with skepticism.
"She's the hostess," I whispered quickly. "She's here to guide me through it. Don't worry."
Tanya exhaled, her shoulders relaxing a little.
"Meet me in the parking lot after the event," I added in a low voice.
She frowned, startled. "Huh? Why?"
"You'll find out. Just don't forget."
I left her looking puzzled and followed Miss Brown into my office.
Once inside, I shut the door, placed the logbook on the table, and gestured to the chair opposite mine.
"Miss Brown," I began, "I'll be honest—"
"Diana," she interrupted with another bright smile. "Just Diana."
"Alright, Diana," I corrected, trying not to show how tightly strung I was. "This whole hosting thing… It's not exactly my area of expertise. But since it's a direct request from the Chairman, I can't refuse. I'd appreciate any guidance you can give me."
She sat with an elegant poise and a confident nod. "You've got nothing to worry about, Tony."
She paused, testing the name, then continued.
"I'll walk you through the basics. Hosting a cocktail event like this is about presence, observation, and finesse. You don't need to be flashy, just composed, attentive, and charming. If anything feels overwhelming, I'll be close. Just call."
Her ease and warmth were oddly reassuring. I found myself nodding along, the knot in my gut loosening just slightly.
Just one damn evening.
I can survive this.