“Thank you, Jack,” Simon smiled at his assistant. They had been working together for years – ever since culinary school – and Jack did what little he could to make Simon’s life as much fun as possible. Like Simon, Jack had started out wanting to be a chef - only to find out that he hated the fast-paced restaurant environment with all its clanging pots and pans and fire and knives. He was much better at the organization and, when Simon left the academy, he took Jack with him to help him manage the business end of things. Every now and then Simon still brought Jack in as his assistant for episodes that required more than two hands. Jack enjoyed these occasional forays back into the kitchen but, for the most part, he knew his strengths and stuck to takeout.
Outside the studio, Miami was sweltering. It was evening and the sunset had turned the sky into a swirl of indigo, ruby, and gold. The tops of the enormous palm trees that lined the boardwalk swayed in a breeze that the pedestrians down below wished they could feel. At ground level, the air was hot and still.
“Ugh,” Simon said as they walked towards the rental car, “this humidity is outrageous. How do people wear clothes in this city?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but most of them don’t really,” Jack replied, nodding at a couple strolling down the boardwalk in a pair of surf shorts and a bikini.
“Fair point,” said Simon, hopping into the car. As soon as the engine was on, he cranked the AC, sighing in relief.
“Where are we going for dinner?” Jack asked, buckling in his seatbelt. Simon always had a list of new places to try and Jack was happy to go where Simon lead. It had yet to disappoint.
“How do you feel about fusion? I’ve heard amazing things about this new sushi place – with a Caribbean twist.”
“Caribbean sushi?” Jack repeated skeptically.
“I know. I have my doubts as well. But everyone’s raving about it. I want to see if it’s just some stupid fad or if it deserves the hype.”
“Lead the way,” said Jack.
Chapter 3
Two hours later, Simon and Jack sat together on the patio of the Caribbean sushi restaurant, poking at the remainder of their dinner and discussing the final candidates for the Boston restaurant’s sous-chef.
“I think it all comes down to experience,” said Jack. “Tom here has five years more experience than Letitia.” To underscore his point, Jack waved Tom and Letitia’s resumes in turn.
“But Letitia has a way more interesting set of experiences. I went to Le Gant Noir last time I was in Louisiana and it was incredible. Now that was fusion food – unlike whatever it is that we just had for dinner,” Simon prodded the limp sushi on his plate with a look of disgust. “Speaking of which, I’m still hungry. Wanna grab take-out and head back to the hotel?”
“Sure, once we’ve decided between Tom and Letitia.”
“I want Letitia,” said Simon. “Do you remember her interviews? She was a firecracker. The woman could probably run the whole kitchen by herself, if we let her.”
“But Tom was steady. We need someone steady to counterbalance the chef.”
“I don’t think so. I think we need someone who will keep the chef on his toes. Who’ll give him a bit of a challenge? Besides, aren’t you always harping on about the gender imbalance in the culinary industry? She’s got the skills, let’s give her a chance.”
Jack looked over the two resumes one last time. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”
Simon shook his head.
“All right. I’ll have someone call Letitia in the morning.”
“You’re a star, Jack. Now let’s go get some burgers!”
***
The next day, Simon began his morning run feeling very optimistic. Things were coming together with the new Boston branch: the kitchen staff was complete; the lease was signed; the decorators would be done by next week, and the menu was nearly perfect. Everything would be ready for the grand opening before he left for Malaysia. The feeling of satisfaction he got from finishing a project like this was almost like a high. He knew he would be walking on air straight through until he left for vacation. He didn’t even mind thinking about work during his jog today. It just made him run faster.
The scenery didn’t hurt either. Even though it was early in the morning, bronzed blondes in colorful string bikinis were already lounging in the early sun, their enormous sunglasses glinting in the light. They all seemed to be smiling and laughing, rubbing tanning oil on each other’s toned backs and passing around containers of tropical fruits to snack on. Simon licked his lips, thinking about his plans for that evening. Jack had promised him the night off to go experience some “local color” as Keziah the beautiful aide had put it. Simon couldn’t wait.
But, when he finally got back to the hotel, Jack was waiting for him in the lobby. Simon’s heart sank. He could tell by Jack’s face that something big had gone wrong – and that meant that he could kiss his night off goodbye.
“What happened?” Simon asked, nodding to Jack as he headed for the elevator. Without bothering with pleasantries, the other man fell into step with Simon, following him into the elevator.
“We told Jean about our sous-chef and he’s thrown a tantrum. He’s threatening to quit. Says he won’t work with a, and I quote, ‘untrained ghetto urchin who only got hired for her sexy pout’.” Jack made air quotes with his fingers.
Simon raised his eyebrows. “Does she have a sexy pout? I don’t remember that. I would definitely have remembered a sexy pout.”
“Simon, this is serious. Jean is our head chef! He’s the star of the restaurant. We can’t go ahead without him.”
“Sure we can, Jack. He’s not the star. At the risk of sounding like a total ass here, I’m the star. If he’s going to be sexist and, frankly, racist about my choice in sous-chef then he can leave.”
“Simon, you can’t let Jean go. We need a chef. We open in less than three weeks!”
“Okay, what do you want to do, Jack?” The two men got out of the elevator and headed for Simon’s room.
Simon went to run a shower while Jack stayed in the bedroom, talking to his boss through the bathroom door. “I’ve booked us on a flight back to Boston this evening. After filming is over, we’re flying up there to sort this mess out face-to-face. Jean will behave better if you show up in person.”
“That’s your plan? You’re banking on my winning personality to get us out of this?”
Jack shook his head then, realizing Simon couldn’t see him, said, “No. I’m also going to call Letitia back and tell her that we’re very sorry but we’ve had a change of heart. Then I’m going to call Tom and offer him the job.”
“No way!” Simon called. “I’m not costing a completely worthy candidate a job just because Jean has an issue with her gender. She deserves the job – this is Jean’s problem, not hers. I guess we’ll just have to see what my winning personality can do then.”
“I’m sorry about tonight, Simon,” Jack said.
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Simon replied. “It’s not your fault Jean is a dick.”
Jack smiled. “I’ll see you on set in 15, ok?”
“Yep. I’ll be right down. Oh, and Jack?”
“Yes?”
“Remind me to call my mom and tell her I’m going to have to cancel on the Grand Canyon, ok? I don’t think we’ll have time for it now.”
“I doubt it,” said Jack. “Do you want me to call her for you?”
“Nah,” Simon shut off the water and began to towel himself dry. “If I’m going to cancel on her the least I can do is tell her myself.”
“Such a good son,” Jack said with a smile.
“You betcha,” Simon replied.
***
It was dark in Boston by the time they landed and Simon was exhausted. On the plane, he and Jack had alternated between their chef problem and finishing the new menu. It had made for a productive flight, but a tiring one. Leaning his forehead against the cab’s window, Simon watched the ligh
ts of the city go by.
“We don’t meet with Jean until tomorrow afternoon, right?” he asked Jack without turning his head.
“Right,” said Jack. “We can let him sweat a bit. But in the morning we’re doing a tour of the restaurant to check the decorating, and we have to talk with suppliers about the menu after that. I’m hoping to get as much out of the way while we’re here as we can.”
“So efficient. Thanks, Jack,” said Simon, his voice tired.
“Just doing my job, Simon. Get some sleep tonight and take a nice long run. Our first meeting isn’t until 11.”
“Roger that.” Simon was already nodding off in the taxi.
Chapter 4
Emily was holding two different pre-wrapped packages of vegetable skewers, one in each hand, and eyeing them critically. Next to her, her roommate and best friend Isabella was debating between different salmon cuts.
“I mean it’s just veggies on a stick,” said Emily. “I’m sure they’ll both taste great. How hard can this be?”
“You do remember last time we tried to cook something other than pasta with sauce, right?” Isabella asked rhetorically as she frowned at the salmon in the supermarket display in front of her.
“What happened to that turkey was not our fault,” Emily replied. “Your family was in town. It was Thanksgiving. Those hellion little brothers of yours were running around breaking things left, right, and center. We can’t be expected to produce culinary masterpieces in circumstances like that.”
“It was burnt to the bone, Emily. To the bone.”
“Well,” Emily replied, tossing one package of skewers back into the display case, “at least no one got food poisoning. It could have been worse.”
Isabella chuckled. “How does this one look?” She chose a thick filet of salmon from the arrangement.
“Pink,” said Emily.
“They’re all pink,” Isabella replied.
“Well, that one’s a particularly nice shade of pink. Come on, let’s go get some bread.”
Isabella put the salmon into their shopping cart as if it were made of porcelain. “Finally an ingredient we know how to choose,” she said.
“Yes. We can say that at least. If nothing else, we are truly gifted at eating bread.”
“Connoisseurs, really,” Isabella draped her arm around Emily’s shoulders, leaning on her friend.
“Let’s get some cheese too,” said Emily. “That way if this all goes sideways at least we can make some sandwiches.”
“It’s not going to go sideways!” Isabella protested. “I’ve got it all planned. Have a little faith, Emily!”
“Sure, nothing could go wrong with us trying to barbecue.”
“Oh, did we get propane?”
“I thought it was a charcoal barbecue?”
“Oh. Right, yeah. So… did we get charcoal?”
Emily rolled her eyes. “We’re off to a really good start here,” she said.
“It’s an easy mistake to make!” Isabella protested. “Don’t most barbecues run on propane? Anyone could have got them confused.”
“I bet Simon Kavel wouldn’t have,” Emily teased.
“Ugh, that’s because he’s a god among men,” Isabella replied. “How anyone can cook such delicious food and still be so fit is beyond me. If I could cook like that you would have to roll me to school.”
“Just as well that we’re both hopeless cases in the kitchen then,” Emily replied, sticking her tongue out.
Isabella laughed. “You’re probably right.”
***
The next morning was bright and warm and Simon decided to try a new route. He flagged down a taxi and headed down to the waterfront to catch the ferry to Bumpkin Island, one of the many little islands in the Boston harbor that offered woodland trails, beaches, and camping to summer tourists. Because the spring weather could still be unpredictable, Simon was hoping to have the island more or less to himself. Summer holidays were still a few months off and no one but him would be bothering to go all that way for a mid-week morning run. If he couldn’t have his night out in Miami, at least he could treat himself to an extra-long run somewhere secluded where he didn’t have to worry about other pedestrians, their children, or their dogs.
***
“Oh my God, come on, Izzy!” Emily stuck her head out the car window, pushing her sunglasses down her freckly nose to peer back up at the townhouse.
“You know we can’t go without the salmon,” Isabella shot back as she ran back up the stairs to the front door. “That’s the main course!”
“Whatever, we have those vegetable kebab things we got at the market. We are going to miss the ferry!”
On the stoop, Isabella turned, putting her hands on her hips. “But we have to try the salmon! It looked sooo good when Simon made it.”
“Oh for goodness sake stop talking about that man like you know him, Izzy! He’s a celebrity chef, not your neighbor!”
Isabella licked her innocent-looking rosebud lips and waggled her eyebrows in a way that was not at all innocent. “Well, I would love to get to know him, if you know what I mean.”
Emily rolled her eyes, pushing her sunglasses back into place. “Yes, I know what you mean, you dork. Now hurry up!”
“It’ll be fine, Emily. No one’s going to beat us to a grill on Bumpkin Island at this time of year. Especially not on a Wednesday morning. Did you pack the charcoal?”
“Oh, it’s charcoal now, is it? Not propane anymore?”
Isabella stuck her tongue out at her friend and disappeared into the house. A few minutes later she returned with the cellophane-wrapped package of salmon, which she quickly tucked into their cooler.
“Ok. Now we can go,” she said as she hopped into the passenger seat.
“Finally,” Emily replied, sticking her key in the ignition. “Let’s get this show on the road!”
***
Bumpkin Island was everything Simon had hoped it to be: quiet, green, and empty. The island was crisscrossed with trails leading through idyllic forests and along abandoned beaches. The sun had already begun warming the air and the sea breeze was not as chilly as it would have been a month ago. All in all, it was perfect running weather. Simon felt like he’d found his own little slice of paradise.
***
Despite the salmon incident, Emily and Isabella made it onto the second ferry of the morning. To their joy, they were the only ones who got off on Bumpkin. Each carrying a backpack with supplies, they stacked the bag of charcoal on top of their red and white cooler and, carrying the load between them, headed for their favorite spot on Bumpkin: a secluded meadow on the far side of the island. Both girls loved the harbor islands and when they had discovered that Bumpkin had a handful of permanents grills dotted throughout its forests, they had decided they absolutely had to try their hand at an outdoor BBQ.
This was an ambitious project for them as they were notoriously bad at cooking and their usual diet consisted of a constant rotation between pasta with canned sauce, sandwiches, frozen pierogies, and take-out. But Isabella had recently gotten hooked on a late-night cooking show starring Simon Kavel, a celebrity chef from California, and was convinced that she had learned enough now to try something new. Emily teased her, saying that the only thing she paid attention to on the show were Simon’s blue eyes and muscular arms – his actual cooking techniques went right over her head. Isabella was determined to prove her wrong.
“Besides,” Isabella said as they finally reached their destination, “people are always saying that cooking is a science. I’m doing my honors in chemistry for heaven’s sake, how hard can a BBQ be?”
“That’s the spirit,” said Emily, examining the grill with an expression very much at odds with her optimistic reply. “Soooo, how do we turn it on?”
“I think we have to light the charcoal?”
Emily flipped open the cooler and took out two hard lemonades. Shutting the lid, she plopped herself down on top of it. “How’s about we have a drink an
d plan our attack?”
“Emily, it’s like 9:30 in the morning.”
“Well, do you want to tackle this stone cold sober?”
Isabella joined her on the cooler. “Nope. This is terrifying.”
The girls clinked their bottles together and sipped, eyeing the grill across from them with dread.
***
Simon was halfway through his second lap when he heard voices through the trees. As he turned a corner, he found two young women bikini tops and shorts bent over a picnic table and looking very unhappy.
“This is not how it looked when he did it,” said the taller one, her dark hair pulled back in a long ponytail, as she prodded a piece of poorly cut salmon.
Big Bad Billionaires [Volume 1] Page 73