Sabrina crossed her arms and tilted her head, sizing him up with a smirk. "Alright, Mr. Big Shot, if I'm going to cook for you, I need to know—what's your craving? Spicy? Sweet? Or are you one of those picky eaters who only survive on overpriced steak and wine?"
She arched a brow, waiting for his answer, half-expecting him to scoff at the question.
He smirked, leaning back slightly as if enjoying her frustration. "I don't have to reveal them to you," he said smoothly. "Use your instinct and make a good guess for your special dishes."
His gaze held a challenge, daring her to rise to the occasion.
Damn it! Sabrina scoffed in her thoughts. Was he serious? How was she supposed to guess a stranger's preferences? What if he had some ridiculously high standards or, worse, an allergy she didn't know about?
Sabrina clenched her jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her frustration.
Without saying another thing, she spun on her heel, strutting into the kitchen like she was walking away from a bad date. She could feel his gaze burning into her back, watching, waiting—probably amused by her silence.
Let him watch. Let him think he had the upper hand.
Disappearing into the kitchen, she exhaled sharply, rolling up her sleeves. If he wanted a challenge, she'd give him one.
Sabrina rummaged through the ingredients, making sure to pick ones that wouldn't cause any issues. She grabbed some chicken, fresh basil, a few zucchinis, and a handful of tomatoes—basics, but safe choices.
For dessert, she spotted some ripe peaches and decided on a classic Southern peach cobbler. Sweet, comforting, and not too complicated.
As she thought about his cold, no-nonsense vibe, she figured she'd need something a little bold to match his attitude. A mix of Italian and Southern food would do the trick—sophisticated yet hearty, like him but with a bit more flavor. She smirked to herself, feeling a little more confident. This guy wouldn't know what hit him.
For the main dish, Sabrina decided on Braised Chicken Roulade with Lemon-Basil Ricotta, wrapped in a delicate, crispy prosciutto crust, served over Roasted Cauliflower Rice with a saffron beurre blanc sauce. It combines rich, flavorful chicken with a touch of luxury and an unexpected twist on traditional sides.
For dessert, she went with Southern Peach Cobbler, but elevate it with Honey-Whiskey Caramel Drizzle and a hint of fresh mint to add a refined, unexpected touch.
She thought for a moment, considering his likely tastes. If he liked spicy food, she mused, I could always whip up a separate hot chili sauce that he could add to the dish later. It would give him a chance to customize the heat, a little something extra to match his unpredictable attitude.
Sabrina kicked off the cooking with a bit more energy than she'd care to admit, a little determined fury stirring in her chest as she gathered the ingredients.
She tossed the chicken into the pan, feeling oddly like she was preparing for a war—except the stakes were a ridiculous contract marriage and a man who seemed like he'd never seen a plate of food he couldn't criticize.
In the middle of all the chaos, Rayna Moran, one of her helpers, waltzed in, her eyebrows nearly hitting her hairline. She looked around, taking in the chaos of pots, pans, and scattered ingredients.
"What happened in here?" Rayna asked, glancing at Sabrina with concern. "Why does it look like a kitchen exploded? And who's the imposing figure waiting in the dining hall? Did a food critic show up or something?" Her voice was full of that perfect blend of curiosity and judgment only someone who had spent too many hours in the kitchen could manage.
Sabrina just threw her hands in the air. "Long story," she muttered, trying to focus on the braised chicken roulade before it turned into an actual mess. "That imposing figure's got a thing for power plays, so now I'm stuck trying to impress him with food. Yeah, you heard me right."
She didn't have time for more questions, not with the pressure mounting in the kitchen and that guy still lurking out there like some hungry hawk.
Sabrina let out an exasperated sigh and waved Rayna over. "Alright, enough with the questions. Help me out here," she said, tossing Rayna an apron. "I can't do this alone, and I'm not about to risk everything on a burnt chicken roulade because I've got a man in the dining room who's acting like he's auditioning for a reality show villain role."
Rayna raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but didn't waste any time. She quickly tied the apron and got to work. "So, what's the game plan? Are we trying to win him over with charm, or are we going full-on 'take no prisoners' in the kitchen?"
Sabrina shot her a glance, half-grinning. "We're going for both, but mostly the 'make sure this dish is flawless or I'm going to end up losing to a guy I can't even stand' route."
Rayna rolled her eyes and chuckled, grabbing some fresh basil to prep. "Sounds like fun," she said with a wink. "Let's make sure this guy leaves with a full stomach and zero chance of ruining your restaurant."
As the two of them worked in tandem, Sabrina couldn't help but feel a little more at ease. At least with Rayna by her side, it didn't feel like the entire kitchen was about to implode.
Sabrina moved around the kitchen like a whirlwind, chopping, stirring, and sprinkling seasoning like she was in some high-stakes cooking competition. She set the braised chicken roulades on the plate, carefully draping them with saffron beurre blanc sauce, then paused for a moment, eyeing the presentation.
She added the finishing touches, delicately placing the garnish on the plate, ensuring everything was perfectly balanced before her gaze flicked back to the dish with a nod of approval.
"Alright, this better look as good as it tastes," she muttered to herself, reaching for a sprig of fresh basil. A quick flick of her wrist and—bam!—garnish was on, looking as fancy as it could get for a place that only had about ten tables.
She gave it one last glance, nodding to herself like she was judging a contestant on a cooking show. "Not bad, Sabrina. Not bad at all. Let's just hope Mr. Big Shot out there appreciates all this effort, or I'm going to need a nap... and a drink."
With the plate ready to go, she passed it over to Rayna. "Get this to him before it gets cold, will ya? I'm not about to have him complain about the temperature when I just put my heart and soul into this meal."
Rayna took the plate with a grin. "Sure thing. And hey, if it doesn't work out, at least you'll have some good leftovers."
Sabrina muttered to herself with a gloomy expression, watching her helper leave the kitchen.
"At least there's that." She let out a long sigh. "Yeah, but if this doesn't work out, I'm probably going to lose this restaurant to that jerk out there. He's got a way of making you feel like everything you've worked for means nothing."
She glanced around the kitchen, her eyes landing on the small details that made it hers—the mismatched mugs, the handwritten recipe cards stuck to the wall. It felt like home, but now, it all seemed so fragile, like it could vanish in an instant if she didn't impress him.
"Well, here's hoping my chicken roulade and cauliflower rice have enough magic to make that guy change his mind," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. "If not... I guess I'll be serving up something else—like my committing defeat and handing over the keys with a side of crushed dreams."
Not too long after, Rayna barged in, her face flushed with panic. "Sabrina, he asked you to go there," she said, practically breathless.
Sabrina raised an eyebrow, wiping her hands on a towel as she glanced up at Rayna. "What's happening now?" She hadn't even had a chance to catch her breath, and now this?
Rayna looked like she was about to explode. "He—" she paused, clearly trying to find the right words. "He's waiting at the table. He won't eat his meal unless you're there. And he's... he's really not messing around."
Sabrina's heart sank. Of course, he was. This whole thing was turning into a pressure cooker, and she was the one expected to cook it without a single burn. She could already feel the sweat beading on her forehead.
"Great, just what I needed," Sabrina muttered, tossing the towel aside.
Rayna gave a quick nod, then bolted out of the kitchen, leaving Sabrina to collect herself.
Taking a deep breath, Sabrina adjusted her apron, trying to suppress the gnawing anxiety in her chest.
Before she left the kitchen, she grabbed the dessert that she had just finished with the final touch, making sure it looked flawless. This wasn't just a meal—it was a fight for her future.
Sabrina took a deep breath before stepping into the dining hall. As she approached him, she couldn't help but feel the weight of his gaze on her, as though he was sizing her up, every step she took.
She walked with purpose, her head held high, determined not to let him see any sign of uncertainty. The plate of desert in her hand felt like a shield, a way to focus her mind and hold on to her confidence. She stopped in front of him, her eyes meeting his with a challenge that she didn't even realize she was casting.
"So," she said, her voice steady despite the nerves swirling inside. "Hope you're ready to taste something you'll actually enjoy."
Without waiting for his response, Sabrina placed the dessert plate in front of him with a swift, practiced motion. The rich aroma of the warm Southern Peach Cobbler with Honey-Whiskey Caramel Drizzle filled the air, the golden crust glistening under the soft light. She didn't flinch as she set it down, her eyes locking with his as she silently dared him to react.
"This better be worth your time," she muttered under her breath, though she doubted he could hear it. The challenge was on, and she wasn't about to back down now.