Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Kyle didn’t like what he was about to do.
Then again, he didn’t feel like he had a choice, and he didn’t like that either. Sitting at the corner table of Maison Su, where the server had parked him, he focused his energy and waited for Chef Rico Gurat to join him.
The cognac they’d poured him was Louis XIII. One thing about Rico—he brought out the good stuff. Then again, when Rico had been sniffing around Madison, he’d brought her the most expensive mezcal on the market as a gift.
He couldn’t fault Rico’s taste in women or liquor, but as he drank in the intimate, low-lit restaurant, he let himself savor his victory. She’d chosen him, not her friend and former colleague.
When Rico emerged from the kitchen, he’d changed into a Gucci suit. His black hair was slicked back, and he practically strutted. Yeah, he knew they were two roosters meeting in the proverbial farmyard.
The chef slid smoothly into the chair across from Kyle and signaled the sever for a drink before settling back with narrowed eyes. “Does Madison know you’re here?”
Right to the point. Good. “No, but she’s doing her best to accept the situation with Dassault. I’m not. I hoped as her friend, I might ask you some questions, seeing as you were the one to break the news to her.”
“Which I fucking hated to do,” he ground out, reaching into his suit for a packet of cigarettes. “Do you mind?”
Kyle waved his hand. “It’s your house.”
He lit a Gitanes and blew out a steady stream of smoke in the muted light as a highball of clear liquid was lowered in front of him, likely mezcal.
“Madison is a friend. I would gut that bastard just for talking badly about her, but he’s got deep ties to the right people, if you know what I mean.
I didn’t tell Madison lightly. I asked around.
You should know my old mentor was one of them.
I trust him with my life. We believe Dassault is doing what he claims.”
So they weren’t going to speak his name aloud. Even in Rico’s own restaurant. That discretion was telling enough of Dassault’s power. “Yes, your mentor told me the same thing and went on about how things are here.”
If he heard another description of the French culinary system and Dassault’s near autocrat-like power over it, he was going to punch someone.
He leaned in. “My question is simple: if this were you, how would you fight it?”
Tapping his cigarette into the crystal ashtray the server had brought with his drink, Rico gave it another puff before blowing a steady stream of smoke to the side. “I’ve given this considerable thought as well.”
“I’m all ears,” he answered, picking up his drink.
Rico leaned his elbows on the table, showing the kind of fighting spirit Kyle imagined had helped him rise in the culinary world.
“You’re doing it. You have the best food critics raving about you.
You’re the hottest restaurant in the world right now.
I’ll bet you have A-listers calling, begging to get in.
Take lots of pictures. Your social media presence is shit.
Rub your clientele in their faces. Madison won’t like it, but it’s good business.
She needs to be the Wolfgang Puck of Paris right now. ”
He snorted and took another drink. “You’re right. She’ll hate that.”
“How far out are reservations right now?”
He gave a wicked smile. “Fifteen months.”
“Fuck!” But he lifted his glass in a salute. “We’re booked out five months, and that’s solid.”
“You know how the restaurant industry is,” Kyle said with a shrug.
“But yeah, we’re hot. But that isn’t what I want to know.
Is there someone I can talk to at Michelin?
According to an interview I saw, Chef Alain Passard at L’Arpège here in Paris talked to them when he was switching from a meat-based menu to vegetarian fare. ”
Rico picked up his cigarette and took a deep puff.
“Yes, but he has three Michelin stars. Madison is new to the game, and Nanine’s does not have that kind of clout.
The person you are dealing with does. He’s got all the major French awards.
The man’s a regular Paul Bocuse minus a sense of honor.
You don’t fuck with people who are Meilleur Ouvrier de France. ”
Rico was asking for a punch and didn’t know it. “Look, I know how elevated the Best Craftsman of France distinction is.” He cursed under his breath. “What about inviting people who would be voting on the Estrella Damm Chefs’ Choice Award?”
Rico’s mouth turned up at the corner. “When I first met you, I wasn’t completely sure you were more than a pretty face.”
Kyle snickered. “People underestimate me at their peril.” Touch Madison and die implied.
“So I see.” He took another drink. “The peer-voted accolade in The World’s 50 Best Restaurants program is top level.
We’re talking the best chefs out there. Mitsuharu ‘Micha’ Tsumura.
Julien Royer. Jorge Vallejo. Just to name a few.
You’d need to call in some big favors to get chefs like them to show up. ”
“Or the right people asking,” Kyle answered carefully. “You and Chef Marcel have prominent chef friends. He’s game. Are you?”
Kyle wouldn’t mention the fact that the chef thought it would change nothing.
He was only willing to help because he was outraged.
Madison meant the world to him. In fact, the man had wanted to drop everything to come to Paris sooner than scheduled so he could talk to her.
Kyle had talked him out of it, however. Knowing Madison, she wouldn’t want to discuss the heartbreaking situation with her old mentor, a man she greatly esteemed.
Rico’s mouth crooked to the side. “You think to shame people for their behavior? I see why you would try. I am not so convinced it will work. People such as this… Normal chefs have colossal egos. This man… He is a megalomaniac, as I expect are those with whom he holds influence.”
“Like everyone else I’ve spoken to recently, you’re the soul of positivity,” Kyle responded through clenched teeth, reaching for his drink.
“I am half French and half Basque.” He gave a Gallic shrug. “Passion and a healthy dose of pessimism run through these veins. But I understand your dilemma. I will make some calls. When will you have extra seating for such persons?”
Kyle had met with his contractors on-site today on that very subject after sharing the news with a very upset Brooke and Axel. “Next Wednesday.”
The news had been a rare bright spot, particularly since Madison’s new fuck it attitude seemed shaken.
Rico continued to smoke, considering the challenge. “So a week. You will need a steady stream of the right people. I trust I do not need to draw you a map.”
Kyle gave a harsh laugh. “As you said, Madison respects me. She wouldn’t if I didn’t know my business.”
He sipped his drink slowly, and Kyle did the same.
Rico was thinking, and Kyle was inclined to let him.
“Few equal William Silver, but there are a couple other food critics I have in mind. You would also benefit from Madison appearing on the hottest TV show featuring chefs. That is something she would surely hate.”
His stomach tuned to cement. She would hate parts of his campaign, and he needed her cooperation. “I plan to minimize her involvement as much as possible.”
Rico looked like he was sticking his tongue to his cheek to keep from smiling. “When you become head chef, there is more of the meet and greet. If you would like, I can swing by and tell her it’s part of the role.”
His feral grin announced he wasn’t finished plying his suit.
“So long as you understand she’s made her choice,” he responded with a challenging quirk of his brows.
“So far.” Rico took another puff. “Women—Madison especially—are mercurial creatures. Which I love about them. It suits my—”
“Passionate and pessimistic soul?” Kyle interrupted dryly, punching him looking more and more possible.
Rico finished his drink, stood, and extended his hand. “I didn’t want to like you, but I find I do. I’ll be in touch.”
Kyle met his eyes and clasped his hand with authority. “Thank you, Rico.”
“Anything for Madison,” he said with a wolfish smile.
Kyle shook his head.
He’d just made a deal with the devil for his girl.