All the President’s Menus by Julie Hyzy Read Free Book Online Page A

you depart to return to your country, I hope you have a clearer understanding about how we do things here.”
    Bucky chimed in. “And we have a clearer understanding as to how entertainment is handled in your country.”
    “Well said.” I smiled. Kilian, however, maintained his skeptical expression. Tibor glared. Only Happy Hector smiled back at me.
    By now, the sizzling ingredients filled the room with mouthwatering aromas. I pulled a long spoon from one of the drawers and began to stir the bits around. From the shocked looks on the visiting chefs’ faces I recognized I’d done something to surprise them.
    “Is there a problem?” I asked.
    Hector’s dark eyes were as wide as doughnuts. His mouth opened and he made a noise that sounded like a strangled half laugh. Tibor sputtered and pointed. “That is not yours.”
    I’d stopped stirring when I’d noticed their reactions. Now I picked the spoon up and looked at it. “What do you mean? You saw me pull this out from the drawer. Whose do you think it is?”
    “Not the spoon,” Tibor said. “That is Mr. Bucky’s food creation. You should not be interfering with it.”
    Words failed me for about two heartbeats. “In this kitchen,” I began, “we work as a team.”
    Kilian gave me an indulgent look. “Then how is the president to know who made the
most
delicious food?” At this, he gestured to Bucky with his eyes. “And who is responsible for the lesser offerings?” He shifted his gaze to me.
    I rubbed my forehead. We were in for a long two weeks, indeed.
    *   *   *
    Peter Everett Sargeant folded his hands across the top of his desk. “They are a patriarchal society,” he said with exaggerated patience. “We knew that before they arrived.”
    I treated him to a beleaguered sigh. “I’m simply taken aback by their disregard for my authority.”
    “Are you suggesting that this arrangement is too much for you?” Sargeant raised an eyebrow. “I’d hasten to remind you that you’ve faced more difficult challenges in the past. Tut, tut
.
You’re not getting soft on me, are you?”
    “Of course not.” Bristling, I was reminded of Tom’s similar statement earlier this morning. I chose my next words with care. “I’m not here to whine and complain, but I do think it’s worth your knowing what Bucky and I are dealing with.”
    “Indeed. Your assistant is having trouble engaging the visitors? They aren’t respecting him?”
    “They are, as a matter of fact. But I believe it’s because he’s male.”
    Sargeant waited. I could have sworn he was amused.
    “You don’t intend to help me out here, do you?” I asked.
    Did his eyes twinkle? Or was it my imagination? “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, Ms. Paras, it’s that you rarely require my assistance.”
    In a flash, I heard myself and felt ashamed. Sargeant wasn’t saying it in so many words, but the fractious chefs who were inhabiting my kitchen were my responsibility. It was up to me to find common ground.
    Sure, Sargeant could sit these men down and impress on them—again—that I was in charge and that they needed to respect my authority. But the beliefs they accepted as part of their culture and years of chauvinistic upbringing weren’t about to be invalidated by one lecture from our chief usher.
    I needed to establish my authority, to lead by example, and hope they’d pick up on the lessons.
    Talk about on-the-job training.
    Sargeant shifted, sitting up straighter. “In other business, I understand Marcel remains hospitalized, undergoing tests.”
    “Have you heard when he might return?”
    Sargeant shook his head. “I’d expected an update this morning. You will keep me posted if he gets in touch?”
    I agreed and made ready to stand.
    He sniffed loudly and stared pointedly. “Where are you going?”
    “I thought we’d covered everything you wanted to discuss.”
    “You would be mistaken.”
    I resettled myself.
    Sargeant sniffed again, then steepled his