the chef said. I assumed he was the chef by the white clothes and tall cylindrical hat. He was on the portly side, maybe fifty-five years old and wore a full beard that was greying. “Hey, Lyle. How’s the kitchen treating you?” James asked and rose to hug the man. “Same as usual. I can’t stop sampling my own creations,” he said and pat his round belly. Both men laughed but I wasn’t in the mood to join in after James’ advance. As I sat there watching the two men reminisce, my arousal waned and turned slowly to anger. I couldn’t believe he touched me like that. He didn’t ask and I never gave him permission. Lyle turned towards me, took my hand and kissed it causing me to put my thoughts aside. “And you must be Simone. I’ve selected the best filet in the house for you,” he said as I tried to appear jovial. Then still holding my hand he turned to James and said, “She’s lovely, my friend. My compliments,”
