“That’s it?” Mari laughed. “That’s so…stereo typical.”
He shrugged, his hands spread. “As Nick has often said, creativity is not my strong suit.”
“But Nick is creative. Really creative.” Mari shook her head. “You are pathetic, you know that? You’re willing to screw up his career, just because you’re jealous that he’s talented and you’re not?”
“It’s not that simple,” Phillip said, cultured tones slipping into a half-growl. “But I don’t need to explain it to you. The bottom line is, I don’t want him to be a success. And you can help me…or you can lose your restaurant. It’s that simple.”
“Or we can win,” Mari replied, “and then I won’t need your building.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, with a snicker. “One hundred and fifty grand in San Francisco? That won’t get you a parking lot, and we both know it.”
“There are investors…”
“That I can guarantee won’t touch you if I tell them not to,” Phillip said evenly.
Mari glanced at Lindsay, who was staring at Phillip in horror.
“You’re a real bastard, aren’t you?” Mari murmured.
“As you like.”
“I don’t like. One bit.” Mari turned to Lindsay. “Come on. You’re right…we should’ve just left.”
“It’s just a competition,” Phillip said. “You skip this, I’ll make sure that your rent stays the same for the next three years. Keep Nick buried in the Mission District, if you like. Keep on making raunchy entrees and pornographic desserts. But keep him out of Internationale.”
Before Mari could respond, Lindsay’s eyes narrowed. “And you’d put that in writing?”
Mari gaped.
Phillip grinned. “Hmm. Perhaps I should’ve dealt directly with you.”
“It’s not her decision to make,” Mari bit out, and Lindsay looked surprised. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Lindsay followed Mari into the elevator. After the doors closed, Mari didn’t trust herself to speak, until Lindsay finally broke the silence.
“It’s just one competition, Mari. One we’ve only got a long shot at winning, anyway.”
“I can’t believe you.” Mari didn’t even look at her. “I can’t believe you’d even think of stooping to that.”
“Mari, I love you. You know that,” Lindsay said. “But the important part has always been saving your restaurant. This will ensure that, especially if we can get it in writing. Why risk a long shot that will only get you evicted and threaten any chance you have at an investor, when you can save the restaurant right here, right now?”
“Because I’m not giving in to that bastard,” Mari said. “I’m not going to quit just because he feels…”
“You’re not going to quit because it would hurt Nick.” Lindsay’s face was a mask of sadness. “Mari, you’re so in love, it’s making you blind. Ask him. See what choice he’d make. If he really wants to help your restaurant, then he’ll back down. If he doesn’t want to help, then he’ll choose the competition.”
“He’d never let Phillip do this to me.”
“Like you said in the conference room,” Lindsay said softly. “Honey, it’s your decision to make.”
Mari shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” Lindsay said. “I know it seems bitchy. But you’re thinking with your heart, and it could cost you your restaurant. I’m not trying to hurt you. I know I’m not creative or free-spirited like you are, but I know my job. And that’s watching your back.”
“I know,” Mari said, her voice cracking. “I know.”
They rode the elevator down to the lobby, and Mari took a deep breath when they finally made it out to the street.
“So. What are you going to do?” Lindsay said nervously.
“I’m going to think.” Mari sighed. “And I’m going to talk to Nick.”
NICK WANDERED THROUGH the aisles of Whole Foods Market, breathing in the scents of aged cheese, fresh produce, bakery-warm breads and baguettes. Here he was, supposed to be relaxing…and back in his interminable search for food to experiment with.
He grinned. He’d told Mari he was going to see a movie. He could tell from the smirk she gave him before she left that she knew better.
What really got me was the food…the way you love food.
He smiled to himself, tasting a sample of goat cheese on papery-dry wheat crackers. He’d dated other chefs before, but he’d never met one that matched his desires, and understood him, as well as Mari did.
“Nick? Hello. Earth to Nick.”
He turned. “Hmm?”
It was Bob Blackstone, grinning with that slight nervous edge that he always seemed to have. “I’ve been trying to say hello to you for the past five minutes,” he said with a low laugh. “Thought you were dogging me.”
“Sorry.” Nick shrugged. “I just have a lot on my mind lately. So, how are…”
“I’ll bet,” Bob said with feeling. “What with Internationale and all.”
“You know that we’re competing, too, huh?” Nick shook his head. “What, are we at the top of the list or something?”
“Come on, Nick.” Now Bob’s eyes were shrewd. Funny, that Nick hadn’t noticed that before, back when he’d worked for him, so long ago. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw your restaurant in the Chronicle, then in S. F. Food & Wine… I have to say, I didn’t think anybody could pull that stunt off.” He shook his head, laughing a little stronger now. Sales-friendly laughter, Nick thought, not joining in. “I should have known that you could, Nick. Damn! And now you’re going to be in Internationale with that bunch!”
“That ‘bunch’ is a great crew,” Nick said, clamping down on the sudden burst of temper that flashed through him. “They’ve worked really hard.”
Bob obviously knew that he’d mis-stepped, and backtracked. “Well, you could whip any team into shape, Nick.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Bob?”
Bob looked offended for a moment, then his posture deflated. “Blackstone’s isn’t doing as well as it was. What restaurant is in this economy, huh?” He sighed. “Only the top places with the showiest chefs seem to make it anymore. Like you’ve got to have a show on the Food Network to make any kind of money.” His voice was rich with contempt.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nick said, and he meant it. “You’ve been insane about this industry since I met you, Nick,” Bob said, his voice a little lower now. “You could make something out of nothing. I decided to let you make your chops with Four Seasons, then, when you were ready, I thought I’d bring you on. But Marceau beat me to it. Who can go up against those guys?”
“You could have hired me four months ago,” Nick pointed out. “Without competition, as I recall.”
Bob looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Well, that was different.”
Nick shrugged. “Whatever eases your conscience, I suppose.”
He turned to leave, but Bob stepped in front of him. “Hear me out,” he said. “Yeah, well, I probably should have trusted you, but…well, you know why.” His voice was urgent, just this side of frantic. “Now, you’re starting to get your rep back…small press, yeah, but still press, all for a little bupkis restaurant in the middle of a war zone. You win Internationale, and you’ll be able to write your own ticket.”
Nick looked at him, bewildered, when suddenly it struck him.
He thinks we’ll win.
“I want Blackstone’s to be that ticket,” Bob said. “You win Internationale, and I’ll make sure not only is your name on the menu, but you’ll get the biggest press push you’ve ever seen. Hell. I’ll get you on the Food Network. How does that sound?”
“How about changing the name to…I don’t know. ‘Nick’s’ or something?”
Bob goggled.
Nick laughed. “Sorry, Bob. I’m not interested. I want to build something of my own. And I don’t need your help or your gracious offer…but thanks anyway.”
&
nbsp; He walked away with Bob still goggling.
Nick walked out to his car, mulling it over.
You win Internationale, and you’ll be able to write your own ticket.
He hadn’t thought about it that way. Internationale was a way of trying to help Mari…help the restaurant, the crew, make it. He hadn’t thought they had a snowball’s chance in hell in winning at first, then he’d grown cautiously optimistic, but obviously there was buzz. Bob knew it. If Bob knew it, then other people were talking about it.
We might win.
All Nick had wanted was to build his reputation back, and get a restaurant of his own. Then he’d gone to work for Guilty Pleasures, gotten involved with Mari Salazar, and his whole world had turned upside. Now, he wasn’t sure what he wanted…or if he could have everything he wanted.
We might win.
But what would he be winning? And, if he wrote his own ticket…what might he be losing?
He needed to think this through. Talk this out.
Instinctively, the only person he wanted to talk to about this was Mari…and she was the very cause of the conflict in the first place. If he hadn’t met her…if he hadn’t fallen in love with her…
He almost slammed on the brakes.
Of course you’re in love with her, idiot.
He knew he cared about her. It wasn’t until now, when he had the chance of getting out of Guilty Pleasures and back on track, that he realized how much. He wasn’t going to keep climbing up the ladder toward a dream that might or might not happen and hurt her along the way.
I love her.
He drove toward her house. He would wait for her to get back from her meeting.
Then he’d tell her what he felt sure she already knew.
10
MARI WALKED UP TO her apartment with a sense of doom.
I don’t want to have this conversation.
She didn’t know which would be worse…telling Nick that the guy who’d ruined his reputation in the first place was now going after him at Guilty Pleasures, or telling him that his decision to knuckle under to Phillip’s demands might be the only thing that saved her beloved restaurant.
She unlocked the door, and opened it.
There were flowers everywhere, it seemed, she thought as she looked around. Deep violet irises, large white lilies, fragrant freesia and lots of other blossoms she didn’t even know the names of. It was like a garden in her loft.
“Was wondering when you were going to get back from your meeting,” Nick said, grinning.
“What’s the occasion?” Mari said, momentarily floored.
He walked up to her, kissing her lightly. “You are,” he murmured, taking her purse and putting it down on the kitchen table. “See what I’ve got for you.”
He walked her to the kitchen, and pulled a covered tray out of the fridge. He lifted off the top.
“Sushi,” she said, dazzled by the sheer variety he’d picked up.
“The only way to celebrate, remember?” A timer went off, and he put the tray of sushi down on a nearby counter. “Wait a sec.”
She inhaled deeply, trying to get her bearings. This was not making things any easier…but she was touched, nonetheless.
He opened the oven, revealing a pan full of chocolate-chip cookies, and her eyes misted.
“So…am I the celebration, too?” Mari said around the lump in her throat.
“Sort of.” He put the pan down on the stove. “Come here a sec.”
She walked into his arms, and looked into his now-serious eyes.
“I did a lot of thinking today, while I was out.” He smiled sheepishly. “I, ah, didn’t go to the movies. I went to Whole Foods instead.”
She laughed, despite her nerves. It was just so him.
“Anyway, I thought about us. About our conversation about loving food. Why we loved it, what we loved best. And I figured out something that I should’ve been more attuned to before, if I weren’t so… Well, if I’d been paying attention.”
“And that is…?”
“That I love food,” he said, kissing her. “But I love you more, Mari.”
That did it. Tears crawled down her cheeks, and she closed her eyes, tasting the salt of them mingling with his kisses.
“Took you long enough,” she said, when he tucked her head under his chin and held her tight.
“Well, I threw a little party for you to make up for it,” he said, and she let out a watery giggle. “That’s got to count for something.”
“You always think of me,” she said, hugging him fiercely.
How can I tell you what happened now? After all this?
“This way. Let’s eat,” he said, setting the food on the table. They both sat down. “I figured you’d be hungry—and stressed—after the talk with the new owner. How did that go, anyway?”
She tensed. This was the moment.
“He…” She swallowed hard, chickening out. “I’m trying not to think worst case scenario, but it doesn’t look good.”
“What does he want?”
He wants us to pull out of Internationale.
“He was just trying to be a hard-ass,” Mari said instead. “I think he’ll probably want us to move.”
Nick’s brow furrowed. “No way to talk him out of it, huh?”
“No way to reason with the guy. I guess I’ll probably get evicted.”
Nick reached out, held her hand. “Maybe it won’t get that bad. Anything I can do?”
“Probably not.” Except… “Nick, can I ask you a question?”
He smiled.
“Do you still think Internationale is a good idea? I mean, you were against it from the start….” She picked up some sushi, put it down on her plate more to give her hands something to do—and to avoid his probing gaze. “What if we dropped out? I’d lose some deposit money, but…”
“Mari, I know how much my doubting hurt you. I guess I was scared. But after working with your crew and Leon, and after all we’ve come up with—I know we’ve got a shot at winning. I believe in us. Now, I want to compete. I know we can win, Mari. I can feel it.”
She could hear the sincerity ringing in every word. “One other question,” she said slowly. “Phillip’s in Internationale, right? What would you do if he…you know…wins? If he beats us?”
“Then he’ll pull off a miracle,” Nick said, his face darkening momentarily. “But the bottom line here isn’t Phillip, anyway. It’s not even about me. This is for you…and your restaurant.”
He looked out the window a minute, pensively, then turned back. “Besides, I’m not going to let the threat of Phillip hang over my head for the rest of my life. Since I’ve met you, I’ve got better things to think about.”
His words galvanized her.
If I give in to Phillip, I’ll have to live with his blackmail for the rest of my life…anything I do will be dictated by whether or not he’ll evict me. And he’ll keep on hurting Nick, given the chance.
Nick was right. She had better things to think about than Phillip Marceau.
“You okay?” Nick said, stroking her cheek.
“I’m fine,” Mari said. “I just want to focus on the competition from here on out.”
IT WAS FINALLY HERE…Internationale, the day of the competition. It was seven o’clock in the morning, in a huge auditorium, just off of San Francisco’s Union Square. Crews from various restaurants, hard to distinguish in their almost identical chef’s whites, were scrambling to set up in the small, stainless steel “stations” that were designated to each six-person. Each team would have two relatively small ovens, a refrigerator–freezer, a set of four burners, counter space for portable fryers or any other tools they chose to bring. They would have five hours when the competition officially started at nine that morning. They would need to be prepped, with all of their ingredients ready, by nine…but no ovens or burners were to be turned on until that time.
Mari smiled as Tiny, Paulo, Zooey and Juan craned their heads this way and that, taki
ng in the bursts of French and German and Spanish from all the other teams. They themselves were wearing their usual—black long-sleeved T-shirts, black aprons, black loose-fitting pants.
They looked like ninjas at a karate exposition, Mari thought with a low laugh. Well, she was okay with standing out.
If we’re going out, we’re going out with a bang.
Nick was hyper, she noticed…bordering on manic. He logged all the ingredients on his checklist, clicking the ballpoint pen open and shut with his thumb.
“Okay…Meyer lemons, we’ve got the pork, we’ve got the makings for the appetizers…wait a minute. Where’s the Phyllo dough?” He started rooting around in the boxes. “Tell me we didn’t forget the Phyllo!”
“Got it here, boss,” Tiny said, rolling his eyes at Mari. He leaned over and whispered to her, “Is he always like this?”
“I have no idea,” Mari thought. But she had an inkling of why he was being this crazed.
He wanted to win. Not just for himself—for her. And consequently, he was going a little nuts.
“Can’t you talk to him?” Zooey said plaintively half an hour later, after Nick moved things around for the third time and compulsively gone over his list for a seventh time. They were early into their competition booth, set up, watching the other teams get ready. The waiting was grating on all of them.
Mari walked over to Nick, who was muttering to himself. “You okay?”
“Huh?” Nick looked at her, obviously not seeing her but still focused on whatever it was he was concentrating on. “Sorry. Yeah, sure. We’ll be fine. I just want to make sure everything’s ready to go.”
“You’ve ‘made sure’ to the point of paranoia, Nick,” Mari said with a small grin. “Let’s go. Walk with me.”
She noticed Paulo, Tiny, Juan and Zooey heaving sighs of relief as she guided Nick out to a side hallway that led to the basement of the auditorium, away from the traffic and bustle of the other competitors. “I’ve never seen you this…” she searched for a word “…. unglued. What’s up?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. I should’ve warned you…I didn’t think about it until this morning.”
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