I tensed and struggled to keep my hands from curling into fists, chuckling darkly. “Mishaps? They’ve been disasters, but we can handle this Cal. We’ve been handling it.”
Cal assessed me for a moment then passed me a few documents before leaning back in his chair. “Everyone pitching in to help clean has helped, but we’ll be shut down for at least a week while we wait for the service company to come out and recharge the suppression system. Our reopen date will depend on how quickly we can get everything inspected again, which I’m sure the agency is going to love since we’ve had yet another failure this month.”
I looked over the paperwork, overwhelmed. There were bills for the plumbing and refrigeration repairs, estimates for recharging the suppression system, a list of every inspection we had failed thus far, and estimates for the food we’d have to replace after this latest disaster.
“Cal, I’m sure—”
He cut me off and scrubbed his hand over his face before smiling sadly at me. “I’m thinking about taking Lassiter Corp’s offer, Ethan.”
My body went ramrod still as a cold shiver went down my spine. “You can’t be serious. What about our deal? I almost have all the money. Screw our original time frame. I can have the money ready in six months. Maybe even sooner.”
Cal’s smile disappeared as he held out his hand for the paperwork. “Ethan, this has nothing to do with not wanting to sell to you. You deserve this place more than anyone. Correction. You deserve a good place to start your own restaurant more than anyone, but I can’t help but worry the place is turning into a money pit. For both of us. I can’t keep up with the repairs and still keep us in the black, and you can’t sink all your money plus a loan into buying the place without a surplus stored up to deal with the possibility of more equipment failures and repairs. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing I’d sold you a lemon.”
My stomach in knots, I leaned closer to the desk. “We can make it work, Cal. I know we can. Lassiter’s company only wants the space so they can knock all this down. Is that what you want? For all of this—” I gestured toward the door leading to the kitchen, raising my voice in exasperation, “—to be gone? Everything you’ve worked your ass off for the past thirty years, to suddenly be wiped off the map?”
As I looked at Cal across from me, struggling with his own emotions, I gritted my teeth. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I can’t ignore the bills and problems anymore. And you’ve been too much like a son to me for me to ignore all this and sell it all to you anyway. I’ll keep you in the loop, but for right now, I’m exploring all the possibilities.”
He sagged in his chair and rubbed at his eyes, effectively ending our discussion on the matter. As I got up to leave, I looked at my boss and friend one last time. “Just promise me you’ll let me know before you do anything. I think I deserve that much.”
Before he could answer, I stormed across the hall and slammed the door to my office. I picked up the closest magazine on my desk and threw it across the room, then sank down in my chair, my head in my hands. What the hell was I going to do? Starting from scratch in a new space with new equipment was so far out of my budget it wasn’t funny.
The blinking light on my phone caught my eye. I needed to calm down before I lost my temper. I took a deep breath and grabbed the phone, punched in the numbers for my voice mail and waited. Chef Boulanger’s heavily accented voice greeted me. “Monsieur Martin, just a reminder you are scheduled to volunteer in the Institute’s kitchen this weekend. Also, you signed up to participate in the charity silent auction. Your contribution involves your services as a personal chef and will be sold to the highest bidder. Please remember to dress accordingly.” He paused and I knew he was going in for the kill. “All contributions received at the events will be donated to No More Hunger, a charity I seem to remember you being passionate about. See you there.”
I cursed when I hung up the phone. First the restaurant was in jeopardy, now I was stuck doing this event. Preening and posing for photos with rich people had never been high on my list of favorite things to do, but Chef B was right. I knew what it was like to have to dig through garbage to find food, and after finding Tyler doing the same I wanted to do my own part to help.
When Claire stuck her head in my office and saw my face, she frowned. “What’s up, E? You look like someone pissed in your cornflakes.”
I rolled my eyes and hit replay on the voice mail and punched the speaker button, watching the play of emotion on her face as an amused smile curled her lips. She jabbed me in the ribs and I winced.
“You’re being auctioned off like a piece of meat. I love it.”
“I hate it, but I can’t get out of it. I promised Chef B months ago and I don’t want to let anyone down.”
She smiled at me fondly. “You won’t let anyone down. You take care of everyone.”
“Yeah, right. This place is slowly headed down the toilet and it’s all my fault.”
“Ethan, listen to me. You, out of everyone here, put in long hours to keep us up and running. These random things are just a small setback, okay?” She ruffled my hair as she headed out my door, closing it behind her.
“I hope so. I really don’t want to be there to watch Cal hand out the final checks.” I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. Just for five minutes, I needed equipment to not break, catch on fire, or be covered in shit. Five minutes.
“Chef?” Tyler’s voice was muted through the closed door. “I think we’re almost done.” A loud crash and swearing followed. “Never mind. We’re not quite done.”
I got up and headed to the door. It was stupid to think I could catch five minutes of peace. There were always more fires to put out.
Chapter Twenty
Jamie
The drive to the Institute had been quiet. Trevor, thankfully, had left me alone save for a text telling me what time he planned on meeting me in the lobby. No other discussion on his declaration of his feelings or what had transpired between him and Ethan. Nothing but silence. We would have to talk about it all, deal with the huge elephant in the room with us, but right now I needed to get through this weekend. I wasn’t prepared to throw away nine years of friendship, but I also wasn’t willing to let it all go without letting him know exactly how much all this had cut me.
“We’re here, Mr. Pratt. I’ll be back to pick you both up at two o’clock.”
Trevor leaned forward and shook the driver’s hand before following me out of the car. “Thank you. I’ll call the service if we’re running late.”
Without waiting for him to catch up, I began walking to the front doors of the school’s restaurant. Once there, though, my guilt got the better of me and I held the door open for him. He stood there and stared at me, waiting for me to say something, but that one gesture was all I could muster today.
“Not today, Trevor. We’ll talk at some point, but I can’t do this today.”
His face fell, but instead of saying anything he simply nodded and walked through the doors to the back of the restaurant. Calling on every drop of Lassiter blood in me, I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face. A group of people stood at the doors leading to the kitchen, shaking hands and laughing. A few were dressed in chef’s coats while others were in plain clothes. Before I could scan the entire group, my eyes lighted on the tall, older gentlemen at the center of the group.
“Monsieur Lassiter. Glad you could make it. I was just introducing everyone. This is Natalie Turner, head chef at La Tour in Portland.” I reached out my hand to the chef standing next to Chef Boulanger.
“Nice to finally meet you, James. I’ve been following your career. Quite impressive.”
Natalie was about five foot ten with well-defined forearms and spiky blond hair. Her grip was firm when she shook my ha
nd. She was well known for not taking any crap in the kitchen or in public.
“Thank you. You’ve made an impressive name for yourself and La Tour. I haven’t made it to Portland in a while, but from the reviews La Tour has been getting, I need to visit soon. It’ll be a treat working beside you today during the brunch service.”
She smiled warmly, but before we could discuss today’s menu, Chef Boulanger clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“And I think you know our other guest chef today, oui?”
Keeping a smile plastered on my face, I turned around to greet the other chef. I drew in a quick breath when I saw him. Ethan smirked, but his deep green eyes were guarded. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his usual restless energy wasn’t there.
I stuck out my hand for him to shake. He hesitated, and I was convinced he’d refuse. When he finally shook my hand, I held on a little bit longer than I knew he wanted me to, squeezing gently. A moment of sick satisfaction came over me when his eyes widened in surprise. I didn’t catch Ethan off guard very often, but I’d take it if I could get him to realize that sooner or later he would have to talk to me.
“Ethan. I didn’t know you’d be one of the guest chefs here today until I got to Seattle. Somehow, that little bit of information got lost along the way when I called Chef B to volunteer.”
Ethan snorted and shot a glare at our former teacher. “Yeah, I think I missed that memo too.”
Chef Boulanger chuckled, then waved his hand toward the double doors in the back of the room. “The rest of the staff has already assembled and is waiting for us with all the preparations you requested. I think you will find our students more than adequate for all your sous chef needs. You have an hour before we open our doors to our guests. Bonne chance et merci pour votre aides aujourd’hui.”
There were several basic stations already set up and manned by students from the school. Their serious expressions told me they were simultaneously trying their hardest to hide their nerves in front of Ethan, Natalie and me. Trevor slipped into the background, leaning up against the door leading to the offices as he tried to keep out of the way.
After I slipped my chef’s coat on and washed my hands, I surveyed my prep station. challah bread, almonds, maple syrup, bourbon, and other items covered the table. An overeager student with a nametag that read Sarah was all ready and waiting for me as I surveyed the pots and pans.
“I already pulled the butter and spices for your recipes, Chef. What would you like me to work on first?”
I pushed all thoughts of beating Ethan senseless aside and grinned. As I pushed the bowl toward her, I wondered if I had ever been that green and eager when I was in school. Probably even more so. I’d wanted to impress anyone and everyone in my effort to break away from the traditional Lassiter image.
“Thank you, Sarah. Everything looks great. How about you prepare the almonds and the egg mixture while I work on the bread and syrup?”
As I set about cutting the challah into thick, hearty slices, I tried to stay calm and focused. Instead, my mind kept wandering over to the station next to me. Ethan had already lined up several pans and pots, measuring out what looked like grits into boiling water. He never once looked up at me or Natalie.
Needing some form of interaction to keep my mind off what to do about the man standing next to me, I called out, “Hey, Natalie. What dish are you gracing us with today?”
She smiled. “A green chile frittata with a mint-melon side dish. What are your incredibly talented hands creating over there? It smells delicious.”
Ethan tensed, making me bite back a laugh. Instead of looking up, he began grating the cheese in front of him faster. Someone would have to check for scraped knuckles and blood if he kept up that pace. “Almond-crusted French toast with a bourbon maple syrup. It practically melts in your mouth.”
All movement at Ethan’s station stopped and I waited to see whether he was going to join in or ignore us completely. He bit out a curse, which made me want to push as many of his buttons as possible.
Unable to stop myself, I added, “I don’t think it can compare to Ethan’s dishes. Creamy grits and hearty sausage. I’ll have to try some later. I bet it’s delicious.”
When he met my eyes his predictable Martin temper was present, but simmering just behind it was an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. He gave me his trademark smirk as he waved at my prep station. “My sausage is superb as always, Golden Boy.” He leaned over to look at my prep station and snorted. “Most people like an edge to their entree. However, with the heavy-handed use of that egg mixture you’ve got over there, I’d be careful of your French toast getting too soggy. No one likes a limp...dish.”
The sarcastic sneer that dripped from the word French hit home. The urge to throw a large, preferably sharp knife at him was slightly less than the urge to throw my head back and laugh. It had been ages since we’d been anywhere near a kitchen together. Hearing the snark that came out of his mouth any time he was near a cooking utensil made me realize how much I had missed it.
Unable to stop myself, I backed away from my prep station and walked over to his. The tension in his body told me he didn’t want me anywhere near him, but he kept his eyes trained on the food in front of him. Without asking permission, I picked up a set of tongs and began turning the sausages he’d just placed in the frying pan behind him. His almost imperceptible curse told me I’d hit my mark. It took everything in my power not to turn and face him, to try and force him to talk to me or at least acknowledge my presence in the kitchen next to him, even though I knew he wouldn’t. Not with everyone here. Not when we couldn’t have the knock-down-drag-out he wanted to have with me. There was no way to count the number of hours we spent in his apartment’s kitchen cooking side by side, but I had ached for times like that during those first few years we were apart. Even with all this tension between us, I missed cooking with him.
As casually as I could, I peered over my shoulder at him, stunned for a moment to see him staring at me, the intensity in his green eyes enough to make my knees wobble. I swallowed hard and put on my best Ethan smirk. “Your sausage looked like it needed help.”
He muttered another curse and took the tongs from me, effectively moving me away from him and his station. “Trust me, I know my way around a sausage, Lassiter.”
“Oh, don’t I know it. Your meat-handling skills are legendary.”
His head snapped up. I’d scored a point for Team Lassiter.
A snort behind me recalled my attention to the students who were present in the kitchen with us. I had no idea if they were used to banter like this, but they were all filing it away in detail to tell their friends about once they were cut loose to grab a few drinks with their fellow students.
Natalie snorted as I made my way back to my station and went back to whisking the egg mixture. “I have a feeling I’m missing a vital piece of information in this repartee, but carry on boys. Carry on. I do love a show with my meal.”
Ethan’s reply was cut off when Chef Boulanger came in to announce the arrival of the first guests.
I raised an eyebrow when Ethan looked at me. His expression softened just a touch, before he gave me a slight nod. Then, in a flurry of movement, the floor staff descended on us, sliding orders in for our dishes the restaurant had on the menu today.
Orders came in more quickly than I’d expected they would, effectively cutting off any more banter between me and Ethan. As the organized chaos in the kitchen increased, the realization I was out of practice at this startled me. At the same time, I hadn’t felt this invigorated in so long and I knew with more certainty than I’d known anything in a long time my upcoming sabbatical from the limelight was going to be worth it.
After two hours of non-stop plate pushing, I waved Sarah forward to take over for a minute while I grabbed a bottle of water. As I leaned against one of the walk-in fr
idge doors, I glanced at Ethan’s station. The ease and fluidity with which he moved was amazing to watch. Ethan had always been a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen, but watching him now, I had a chance to see just how much he had grown as a chef. Every move was efficient. He gave orders to his sous chef, who prepped alongside him, but his tone of voice had mellowed over the years. He dominated, letting everyone know who was boss in his work-space, but there was a gentleness about him I had rarely seen him show anyone, save me or Claire, as he worked alongside the much younger and greener students. He’d changed, and I hadn’t been here to see it happen.
* * *
The last orders had been sent out, and the flurry of activity that had dominated the kitchen for almost four hours came to a standstill. More students appeared to clean up the stations, smiling politely and declining when I offered to pitch in.
Natalie walked up and bumped her shoulder against mine. “Nice work today, James. Don’t report me, but I snuck a piece of your French toast earlier and the combination of the almonds with bourbon maple syrup is brilliant. You’ll have to share the recipe with me.”
The smile on my face matched the one on Natalie’s.
“Of course. And I won’t report you if you won’t report me for sneaking a piece of your frittata in the back in an effort to figure out which spices you used.”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Himalayan pink salt, but don’t tell anyone. I love to keep people guessing.”
My laughter surprised me. It felt like ages since I’d had anything to really laugh about. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Her smile softened when she caught me watching Ethan, who was talking with one of his sous chefs. “As is yours. Be sure to look me up if you ever venture my way.”
I nodded, then turned my attention back to the other side of the kitchen. It had felt good to be in the same kitchen as Ethan, but the feelings churning inside me were anything but pleasant.
In the Fire Page 15