Chapter 18 #2
When they moved away, Kyle put his arm around her. “Thea’s halfway toward selling out. Did you notice her bread case and shelves?”
“I did, and they only just opened. Maybe we shouldn’t be surprised. There’s been a lot of buzz. Silver mentioned her breads and the bakery opening, and he said he’d be visiting it on his next trip to Paris.”
“Can’t beat that praise as you know.” Kyle tugged Spike back from sniffing at the garbage can before turning to her. “How about having breakfast out to celebrate?”
It wasn’t their usual, but she didn’t feel a knee-jerk reaction to say no. Kyle had made celebration part of her Spicy New Reality.
“I’d love that. Then I’ve got to get to work. I’m the one making sure lovebirds everywhere have a special day.”
She said it half as a joke, eye roll included, but it occurred to her that there was something nice about a holiday celebrating love.
She remembered those stupid little Valentine’s Day candies that said things like Be Mine or XOXO. No one had given her those in school. She supposed she would have knocked a guy’s head off if he’d tried.
But now?
Valentine’s Day seemed kind of wonderful, because of Kyle.
Who knew?
Later at the restaurant, Madison and her staff put their heads down and did their job. Only this time she imagined they were doing a service to lovebirds everywhere, making the holiday even more special with their food.
At the end of the night, the clock seemed to tick slower than it ever had in her life.
She couldn’t blame it solely on the holiday vibe.
Normally, she wasn’t aware of outside time, only cooking time.
The three minutes she’d pan roast her duck or the two minutes it took her to prep a dish from sauté pan to plate.
Her professional life was defined by minutes.
Her personal life never had been.
It was unnerving to care this much about getting home to Kyle. Okay, and Spike too.
And then Rico walked into the kitchen when she was cleaning the stove. His usual confident smile was absent, although he was dressed to the nines as usual. In fact, he looked positively jangly, like he needed a cigarette.
Nerves? Rico? That wasn’t like him at all.
Her first reflex was to squeeze the sponge, dribbling water on the floor.
He’d come by once after she’d broken the news about Kyle so they could celebrate their mentor coming to Paris to open a restaurant at last. It had felt like old times, with none of the awkward flirting stuff.
They’d had a drink, and he gave her some chef gossip, stuff she’d have heard if she got out more and met other chefs here.
But it felt really weird for him to show up tonight.
Her staff gave him respectful nods as they continued cleaning around her.
“Hey, Rico,” she called in Spanish. “I thought you’d be knee-deep in lovebirds at your place.”
His frown was massive and portended trouble. “I was, but I decided to stop by. Can we talk?”
Her stomach dropped. “Sure. Why don’t you grab yourself a drink? We’re closing up.”
Nodding, he found a snifter and poured himself a cognac. She gave Pierre an almond, watching as Rico pulled out his phone, tapping his foot agitatedly.
The mood in the kitchen had shifted. Everyone seemed to know something was off. The staff started heading out quickly after Claude came from the front to tell her they were locking up. All the guests had departed. She wished him a good weekend, then she turned to Rico.
He set down his snifter and put his phone away, facing her. “I’ve gone back and forth about coming here a million times, but I can’t live with myself if I don’t.”
Oh no! He wasn’t going to make a Valentine’s Day declaration, was he? “Rico, we talked about this—”
“No, hear me out, Madison.” He stalked forward, his hands fisting at his sides. “We’ve known each other a long time, and I cannot betray what we feel for each other, personally and professionally.”
Here we go. “Rico, really this isn’t—”
“I thought you’d want to know.” He stopped inches away from her, his dark eyes narrowed and searching. “I know I would.”
Oh jeez! Was he going to plant one on her? She took a step back. “Now, hang on, I told you—”
“There’s no easy way to say this.”
She held up her hand, ready to knock him back if he came any closer. “Then don’t. Really.”
“I have to.” His voice crackled with emotion. “Madison… You are not going to win a star.”
Her brain turned to spaghetti. “What?”
He raised his fist in the air. “Chef Auguste Dassault is bragging that he’s fixed it so Nanine’s won’t win a star. Again. He spoke of a long-standing vendetta between him and Nanine Laurent and this restaurant.”
So Silver’s allusion had been a sign after all. Her whole body started to shake. “Where did you hear that?”
He looked off, his jaw locking before he met her gaze straight on. “I was at another chef’s house for a small dinner party recently. Dassault was there. I heard it straight from his mouth. The bastard.”
Her insides started to shut down, like someone was clicking off all the lights in the restaurants in town one by one. All her hard work…
“At first, I thought he was just being an asshole, but since that night, I’ve been asking around. From what I’ve heard about his feud with Nanine, he’s not lying. He did it before, and it sounds like he’s managed to pull it off again. Which affects you.”
The last spark of hope for that star died inside her.
William Silver had been trying to warn her. She should have listened and stopped being stupid.
“Thanks for telling me, Rico.”
He gripped her arm, his rage obvious. “If there’s anything I can do…”
She gave a harsh nod and turned away. He left, and Nanine’s chandelier gave a mournful clang of its chimes as his footsteps faded from the kitchen.
Pierre flew over, landing on the counter, his black eyes searching hers with concern. She didn’t pat him on the head when he shuffled closer. She could not stand being touched by anyone right now.
“?a va?”
“No, Pierre. Everything is not all right. The world is a bad, bad place.”
Her dream was dead in the water, her Spicy New Reality as flimsy and worthless as the piece of paper it was written on. She’d been a fool to believe that people like her could have what they wanted.
She got to dream big. Work until her hands bled. But there was always a ceiling.
People like her didn’t get to win.
She pulled off her chef’s apron, balled it up in her hands, and threw it at the laundry bin.
Her shot missed—of course it did—and she stomped over to snatch it up and dunk it.
She marched over to the dishwasher rack where pots and pans were drying and started putting them away, slamming them on the shelves.
Then she turned to the vegetable bin and started grabbing onions. Her record for cutting onions when she was upset was twenty. She ended up chopping thirty-one, until she finally curled over her cutting board, letting the onions release the tears stinging in her eyes.
Pierre landed next to her and started crying his heart out. She patted him on the head, her heart breaking apart all over again.
“We aren’t getting a star,” she whispered in the silence.
Happy freaking Valentine’s Day.