Chapter Thirteen
Ethan
The dining room was empty, save for a two top in the corner. They had been there for the past hour and a half, seemingly oblivious to the fact they were the only ones left from our lunch rush. As Cal and I sat down at the table in the opposite corner for our “time to catch each other up on shit happening in the restaurant” meeting, I let out a long, deep breath, my feet and back silently thanking me for the brief respite from standing.
“How much did cleanup cost?” It wasn’t the most pleasant way to begin our meeting, but I needed to know how much Cal had paid out over the past three weeks. The constant problems had screwed our work flow, and I was betting the capital output was broaching on ludicrous by this point.
Cal leaned back in his chair and let out a deep breath before answering me. “Too much, Ethan. The cleanup for the grease traps backing up alone put me back twelve hundred dollars, not to mention the additional four-fifty for the plumbers to check both the bathroom drains and the traps. Luckily the thermostats weren’t broken and we didn’t have to replace them.”
“And the new inspection?”
Cal pushed a stack of papers across the table. Every invoice was there, along with the seven-hundred-and-fifty-dollar proposal for the fire suppression company to come out and check our kitchen hoods and system. We had to pass the next formal inspection from the city to keep operating. “These past three weeks will cost us well over two grand, and that is a conservative estimate since I haven’t received all the bills yet. Let’s just say we need things to settle down over the next few months or we’ll be in the red soon.”
I looked over the invoices and felt my stomach roil at the staggering amount of problems the restaurant had experienced in such a short amount of time. We had never failed an inspection in the nine years I’d been here, let alone problems with our equipment. The urge to bring up our earlier argument about the need for cameras was overwhelming. Instead, I gritted my teeth and held my tongue. From the look of these bills, I knew it would be a while before he even considered spending money on what he considered “extras.” As Cal went over the weekly figures from the bar, lunch and dinner services, I began taking notes on everything I wanted my kitchen staff to begin taking care of. I’d be damned if we were going to fail another inspection, and I wanted to know where the ball was being dropped. A shadow fell across the mountain of paperwork in front of me.
“Mr. Calvin Sharpe?”
Both Cal and I looked up from our pile of notes and receipts at the owner of the smarmy voice, who blocked our light.
“Yeah, I’m Cal Sharpe. Can I help you?”
The guy was average height with pale skin and dark brown eyes set so close together, he looked like he had a perpetual glare. His suit was tailored. He slapped an envelope down in front of Cal, sneering.
“My name is Jon Atwood, Esquire.” He paused for a moment and watched as Cal’s expression morphed from confusion to surprised awareness. “I see you remember my name. My employer hasn’t heard back from you and we wanted to make sure you fully understand the deal we’re offering. All the details are provided. We’re aware you’ve been experiencing...difficulties lately with your restaurant and would strongly suggest you reconsider our offer.”
Cal stared back at the guy standing in front of us, an annoyed expression on his face. “Mr. Atwood? I appreciate you taking the time to come all the way down here, but seeing as how I never replied to your first letter, what makes you think I’ll suddenly change my mind now?”
My eyebrows shot up at Cal’s mention of a first letter. Why had no one told me about all this shit? Did Claire know and she was keeping it from me too? Or had Cal been keeping this from everyone?
Mr. Smarmy-Ass aimed his oily smile at me. “I know you want to support your staff, Mr. Sharpe, but you need to ask yourself if you’d prefer to be in the red or in the black. Sharpe’s on Fifth has had a long and successful run. I’d hate to see your good track record marred by bad publicity from the problems you’ve been having.”
The man pulled a card out of his pocket and slid it onto the table next to the envelope. “Whenever you’re ready to talk business, you can reach me at this number.”
Cal’s eyes narrowed. “I appreciate you dropping by, Mr. Atwood, but I have things to discuss with my executive chef before dinner rush in less than an hour. If you’ll excuse us, I’m sure you can find your own way out.”
Shock flashed across the man’s face when Cal dismissed him, but he nodded his head and left our table. As I watched him leave, I was left with more questions than answers.
My head swam, overwhelmed with everything. Problems with our refrigeration and plumbing? Failing inspections we’ve never had problems with before? It was all too much in such a short span of time.
“Cal, what the hell is going on? I’m usually pretty good about staying on top of things, but I gotta tell you, I’m in the dark here.”
Cal paused, then picked up the envelope, dumping the contents on the table between us. “I got a letter about a month ago, expressing interest in buying the restaurant.”
I picked up the pile of paperwork, stomach sinking when I saw the letterhead. Lassiter Corporation, Commercial Property Acquisition Department. “What is Lassiter Corporation doing sniffing around this building?” The better question was, why was Jamie’s dad sniffing around Cal’s restaurant?
Cal’s face was noncommittal as he shrugged and took the paperwork back from me.
“They probably want to turn this whole block into a mall or a parking garage or a strip mall of chain stores, I imagine. They’ve bought up half the spaces on the block and are starting from the other end.”
I made a disgusted sound. “Making everything chains would kill this neighborhood. Do we really need another fast food joint? Or an impersonal coffee shop with logos slapped on all their merchandise?”
“I know, Ethan. This place has been in my family for years. I’d hate to watch it all go the way of the dodo. Which is why you and I have a deal. I know you’ll keep this place a neighborhood institution in whatever form it takes.”
“That’s my plan, Cal.”
He gave me a tight-lipped smile and I had the feeling there was a lot more he wasn’t saying. Cal was nervous and I knew the sudden inspections and recent random shit weren’t helping. This place was fast becoming a money pit, and limitless amounts of money were not a luxury either of us had.
When Cal left to lock up his office, I stalked off to check on the kitchen’s progress with prep for dinner service. If I had to spend every waking moment double—and triple-checking shit to make sure the restaurant didn’t go belly up, I would.
I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen, barking at the line cooks who were standing around, and grabbed my smokes off the desk. One smoke, then I’d be back on their asses until we closed. I’d be damned if I just waited around for the other shoe to drop.
Chapter Fourteen
Jamie
My former alma mater hadn’t changed at all since the last time I stepped foot inside it, but I felt different being back at school. The halls seemed more narrow and the classrooms were definitely smaller than I remembered them being.
Trevor had quirked his eyebrow at me when I stopped by a huge classroom, outfitted with prep tables and cook stations. The students were busy making what looked like an angel food cake. A few were smiling and completely relaxed, most had serious expressions on their faces as they concentrated on following the instructions before them, and one student looked like it was the most painful lesson she’d ever endured. Ethan would have sympathized.
I cleared my throat and pushed away from the windows. “Let’s find Chef Boulanger and I’ll introduce you.”
I took off down the deserted hallway, knowing he’d follow. I knew Trevor. He had been there for me since I
had walked into our apartment in Paris lost and overwhelmed. Trevor had been there for me when all I wanted to do was get back on a plane and head back to Seattle. Trevor would be there for me today and this week, even though he hated the fact I was here.
We made the rest of the walk in silence until we stood outside an office marked L. Boulanger, Professor Emeritus.
I raised my hand to knock, but was stopped when I heard an amused voice behind us. “Monsieur Lassiter? It’s been too long since you graced these hallways.”
I smiled and turned around to face my former teacher. He was exactly how I remembered him—a little older with a little less hair and a few more laugh lines around his eyes, but it was the same Chef Boulanger I remembered from my time here as his student.
I stuck out my hand, smiling when his large warm hand enveloped mine. “Chef Boulanger! It’s good to see you.”
He released my hand and turned to Trevor. “Laurent Boulanger. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
Trevor gave my former professor his winning smile that had never failed to win over the crustiest curmudgeon. “Trevor Pratt. I’m Jamie’s manager. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Jamie has nothing but good things to say about you. It’s nice to finally put a face with all the stories he’s told me.”
Chef Boulanger waved us into his office, indicating for us to sit in the two chairs opposite his desk. Trevor took a seat and I sat down next to him. I was slowly feeling more at ease in the presence of this man, who had known me before my life exploded and didn’t feel the need to remind me of my recent success.
“C’est bon. It’s always good to have someone watching out for your best interests, non?”
The tension I’d felt since we’d entered the building eased a little. I looked over and smiled at Trevor as I leaned farther back in the chair. “I’m lucky he’s put up with me all these years.”
Chef Boulanger didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he sized us up just like he used to do to the students in his class. I’m not sure what he saw, but he finally seemed satisfied and nodded.
“Oui. C’est très bon. Now, about the charity gala. I assume everything is still in place for you to be not only present at the events, but to participate as a guest chef on Saturday morning as well?”
He handed me a schedule of the weekend’s events. There was the brunch on Saturday with guest chefs from the area serving their signature dishes. I smiled, looking forward to not only getting to meet the local favorites, but also to be back in the kitchen doing what I sorely missed—creating dishes I could feel proud of. I barely gave it a glance since I’d gotten the details from the Institute about the schedule and supply list earlier in the week. The second page detailed Saturday night’s formal gala. It was a black-tie event with dinner and dancing, capped off by a silent auction to benefit the school’s scholarship program and the local Chapter of No More Hunger. I had agreed to allow my services to be auctioned off, giving a private cooking lesson in one of the school’s classrooms to the highest bidder the following weekend. It had initially pissed Trevor off to know how long we’d be staying, but after I reminded him he didn’t need to go with me, he hadn’t uttered another word about the whole thing.
I nodded and passed the paperwork over to Trevor, knowing he was itching to see exactly what this coming weekend entailed.
“It looks great, Chef. And everything is set. I’m here through the following weekend and can help with anything else you need. I’m just happy to be back in the kitchen this weekend.”
“I have kept my eye on you, Monsieur Lassiter. Very impressive résumé. I take it Paris was a good opportunity for you?”
I paused for a second, suddenly unsure how to answer. Had my semester in Paris been good for my career? Undoubtedly I wouldn’t be where I was today without the opportunities that came from it. Was I completely happy with those opportunities? I had been, at first. Now I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I settled on the safest answer.
“It was a wonderful experience. I wouldn’t be where I am today without it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trevor shift nervously in his chair, flipping back and forth between the two pages. Chef B’s mouth quirked up into a small smile as he leaned back in his chair.
“Is there a problem, Monsieur Pratt?”
Trevor tensed. “No, sir. No problem at all.”
Trevor handed me the paperwork, pointing to the paragraph I’d only skimmed over when Chef B had handed them to me. I read the section on guest chefs slowly, tensing when my eyes fell on an all-too-familiar name.
I leaned back in my chair again, mixed emotions surging through me. Part of me wanted to give Chef B an excuse so I didn’t have to go through with the weekend’s events and work alongside Ethan Martin. And yet there was another part of me that had known all along it would come to this. I had wanted to see him, to talk to him, to finally get some answers or some form of closure to everything that had been building between us since I saw him in New York. Instead of our confrontation being on my terms, though, the universe had deemed it fit to make sure it not only happened, but it happened in front of witnesses.
“Monsieur Lassiter? Is there a problem?”
I forced a small smile. “No, Chef. I just got caught off guard for a second there. Everything’s fine, sir.”
He stared at me again, assessing. “C’est bon. Malheureusement, I have a meeting I need to get to. Until Saturday?”
I nodded mutely as Trevor stood to shake Chef B’s hand, a serene smile plastered on his face.
As I absorbed this latest development, I politely declined all offers to tour the school and instead I quietly asked if we could just head out. Trevor silently guided us back to the car, but once we were safely inside, he turned and let out everything I knew he’d been holding back in Chef B’s office.
“What the hell, J? Did you know Martin was going to be participating in this when you volunteered? Shit. How much more punishment do you want to inflict on yourself?”
My body went cold as he sat back in the driver’s seat, eyes closed and obviously trying to rein in his temper. “For your information, no, I didn’t know Ethan was going to be one of the guest chefs. But it really doesn’t matter, Trevor, because I still would have volunteered to come. I know you think you know what’s best for me. And you’ve done more for me and my career than I can ever thank you for. But anything regarding me and Ethan is off-limits. That includes our past, our present, and our future.” Together or apart.
I watched as he closed his eyes and raked his hand through his perfectly styled hair. “Jesus, J, I’m just tired of watching you get hurt. It’s like he delights in using you as his own personal punching bag.”
Bristling at this accusation, I glared at him until he opened his eyes. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m no one’s punching bag. I could have declined to present his award. I could have let him go back to his hotel drunk off his ass and never looked back. Helping him was all me. And I could go back on my commitment here and fly back to New York. But I won’t because this shit needs to get resolved. I’m tired of avoiding Ethan and my past, as if our relationship never existed. It did exist, and if I’m ever going to get past it, I need to face it.”
He started the car, but let it idle for a minute before turning to me, his voice barely above a whisper. “You still love him, don’t you?”
I stared out the front windshield, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m not really sure of anything anymore, Trev. All I know is I can’t go another eight years not knowing what the hell got us to the point where we can barely be in the same room without ripping each other apart.”
Trevor gritted his teeth, but didn’t say anything else on our drive back to the hotel. He gave the keys to the valet and headed toward the revolving doors. When he realized I wasn’t following him, he sighed and walked back over. “You’re not coming
upstairs.”
It wasn’t a question. He needed me to admit where I was going out loud. A pang of guilt settled in my stomach as I nodded.
“If you’re really my best friend, you’ll understand why I have to do this.” I looked out over the busy street. “I’ll be gone for a while. Don’t wait up.”
I turned and walked away before he could respond. I didn’t have the strength to fight with him tonight, not when my emotions were too raw and too close to the surface. I needed to find some sort of closure so I could finally put Ethan in the past.
* * *
Half an hour later, I found myself on the corner of Fifth and Union. I’d had every intention of taking the scenic route across downtown Seattle, but the cold, damp weather had me at my destination much sooner than I was ready for. Taking a deep breath, I walked the last few hundred feet and pushed open a beautiful wood and glass door.
An attractive young brunette smiled at me when I walked in. “Welcome to Sharpe’s on Fifth. Can I get you a table, sir?”
“Actually, I just wanted to take a quick look around. Would that be okay?”
She nodded and went back to her podium, giving me a moment alone to look over the restaurant.
My shoulders tensed as the memories of hanging out here with Ethan the semester before I left for Paris assaulted me. After Cal had offered him the internship, Ethan had spent hours here learning everything he could about the restaurant business. He had a heavy course load at school, too, and there were some days when he barely made it home to sleep. It was hard on our relationship, but I stopped by Sharpe’s as much as I could, even if it was to catch a quick glimpse of him between his shifts.
The place looked different from the last time I had stepped foot inside it. It was still deceptively spacious with impressive windows flanking the entire front wall. But the interior had changed. Deep green and burgundy window treatments and linens offset the dark mahogany wood of the booths and tables. The feel was both warm and refined but not stuffy, something difficult to pull off in the restaurant design.
In the Fire Page 10