Champagne Taste on a Bad Boy Budget

Chapter One

One

Jamilah turned up the volume on the R and B streaming channel and bobbed her head to the upbeat music as she crossed the kitchen floor.

She was more tired than a swimmer doing laps in molasses, but in this moment?

Life felt good. After months of watching her restaurant business Side Chic’k sink like the Titanic, an unexpected email in the restaurant’s mailbox had changed her whole mood.

She pulled on thick gloves, wrestled a large pot from the six-burner chef stove, and carried it to the sink.

While draining the pot, she leaned into the steam wafting from the boiled potatoes, giving herself an impromptu facial.

The sound of a revving motorcycle engine quickly followed by the tinkling of door chimes brought on another rush of happiness.

Blair. The lifeline she’d just received in the email would allow her the chance to give this ride-or-die chef a nice bonus, maybe even squeeze in a raise.

Lord knows, Blair deserved it. After being the bearer of bad tidings for much of the year, Jamilah couldn’t wait to share some good news.

“Good morning, Blair!”

Blair’s grunt of a response wasn’t exactly Good morning, backatcha, but for flying-high Jamilah it would do.

Had she not been on such an email-induced high, Jamilah might have realized that her red-, blue-, and blond-dyed short ’fro and sleeve-tatted chef’s expression suggested there was nothing good about the day. That Blair barely returned the greeting should have been clue number two.

“I’ve got great news!” Jamilah continued, unbothered. She crossed over to a commercial-size fridge and pulled out fixings for the popular potato salad they offered, still talking while completely oblivious to the look of pained sadness her happy words painted on the face behind her.

“I’ve got news, too.”

Jamilah’s excitement was so high and Blair’s tepid response so low that only the room heard it.

“I put in a crazy bid for this catering opportunity that opened up last minute, a pre-Halloween company-anniversary party happening at the end of the month.”

Blair sighed. Loudly.

“I know. Late notice. Last minute. Sorry! Didn’t dare tell you before now because I knew we’d never get it. Tech company. Two to three hundred guests, with imaginably varied palates. I offered a varied-meat menu, but since our restaurant only serves chicken…”

She shrugged and began peeling boiled eggs as she heard Blair’s knives being sharpened. “I could not believe that email, Blair. They basically accepted my whole menu, so along with our famous fowl flavors—well, locally anyway—I hope you’re ready to dust off those beef and pork recipes.”

A snort made Blair sound as indifferent as Jamilah was excited. “Where are we getting all this money?”

“Don’t worry about that. Like I said, since I thought there was no chance of getting the gig anyway, I swung for the financial fences. Their budget is hefty—a hundred per guest.”

“Wow.” Blair secured a red bandanna around her naturally tight curls and walked into the pantry.

“I know, right?” At another time, Jamilah’s excitement would have been contagious.

“We’re serving the good stuff. Barbecue brisket sliders and Wagyu burgers, pulled pork tacos. Ribs, of course, since this is Kansas City and we have barbecue sauce in our veins.”

She reached for another egg to peel while in her mind the newly created menu was already expanding.

“I’m thinking about adding smoked turkey legs as another poultry dish, a seafood offering like salmon or lobster, and a vegetarian entrée to cover all the bases. What do you think?”

At the lack of response, Jamilah’s hands stilled on the rim of the food processor. “Blair?”

Jamilah had been talking to an empty room. She walked to the pantry. Blair stood with her back to the door, staring at spices.

“Blair, are you okay?” Jamilah asked as she crossed the small room. “Look, I know it’s going to be a lot of work, but it’s a lot of money, too. I’ll be able to pay you what you’re worth for a change, plus a really good bonus, and hire extra hands.”

Jamilah also thought she might be able to quit waiting tables and increase the days they were open from the current two and a half back to the original five. Hire back the waitstaff she’d been forced to let go. Expand the kitchen team.

Okay, girl, chill out. You’re getting way ahead of yourself.

Especially since her chef didn’t appear as pumped as she was. “This catering job will be great for business. We’ll be fine.”

Jamilah said this with more confidence than she felt.

They’d be fine because that’s how it had to be.

She hadn’t sacrificed the last few years of her life to fail.

Hadn’t watched her social life go down the drain along with a relationship—even one that was technically already washed-up—to end up with nothing to show for the high price she’d paid.

This catering job had to be successful. Keeping the doors to her restaurant open, a dream she’d had since the age of thirteen, could very well depend on it.

Blair turned around. “Jam, I gotta tell you something.”

The angst in her voice produced a chill at Jamilah’s neck that ran down the length of her spine. “Is Leon… Did somebody… What’s wrong?”

“Leon’s company is going AI. He’s being replaced by a robot.”

Jamilah laughed. The idea sounded ridiculous, even in this AI age.

Blair didn’t laugh.

“Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

“On the job or in the bedroom, too?”

Blair smiled. Or was it a grimace? Jamilah couldn’t tell. All she knew was that nothing she’d hear today could steal her joy. It had been too long since experiencing the feeling.

“Losing his income is definitely a bummer, but you know he hated that job.” Jamilah walked over and linked arms with Blair.

“You’re not alone, friend. We’ll be okay.

Your bonus will be enough to cushion you guys for the short term, during which Leon can work on the gaming app that’s going to make you guys rich.

He can help with the catering job, too. If you remember, at one time, I was going to hire your husband. ”

“Yeah, before you realized he couldn’t boil water.”

“Speaking of boiling.” She walked over to a wall of shelving filled with canned goods and picked up a restaurant-size can of green beans for a casserole. “Time to get cooking. We open in two hours, and you know how slow I prep.”

Jamilah turned to leave the pantry. Blair didn’t move.

She walked back to find a woman normally tough-as-nails close to tears.

“Oh, Blair, I’m sorry. Forgive me for being insensitive.

Leon losing his job really sucks. I know it was less than a year ago that you purchased a house.

With that and other monthly living expenses, I can imagine how scared you are to lose the security of a two-person income. ”

“It’s not just that.” Finally, Blair met Jamilah’s eyes. “This affects you, too.”

“Maybe,” Jamilah replied, working to keep her voice light. “But unless you’re leaving Side Chic’k, we have time to figure it out.”

Jamilah bopped out of the pantry to the music playing. When Blair failed to follow a second time, she backtracked so quickly it resembled Michael doing the moonwalk.

“Blair. What is it? Talk to me.”

“I hate doing this to you, Jam, but I am leaving. I got a new job. They need me right away.”

Arms crossed, brow creased, Jamilah asked, “What’s right away?”

Blair visibly swallowed before answering. “Sunday.”

“Next-week Sunday, right? Not Sunday as in two days from now.”

“It’s Prime Rib, Jam. They need someone ASAP.”

For a moment Jamilah thought she might be sick.

Prime Rib was an award-winning, five-star restaurant where anyone would kill a cow with their bare hands to work there.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember the steps to an exercise in deep breathing, one that was supposed to help eliminate stress.

Or, in this instant, stop a heart attack.

“Prime Rib, huh? That’s, uh, great.”

Like having a tooth pulled was great. With a pair of pliers. Without a numbing aid.

“I can’t be mad at you, Blair. Working in their kitchen is a coveted spot.”

Jamilah returned to the kitchen, this time with a somber Blair behind her.

“I thought that maybe we could bring in Ed. Give him a crash course in what I do. Have him fill in until you find someone permanent.”

“Ed as in my uncle-with-an-attitude? The one with anosmia, a stiff knee, and a bad back? You’re killing me right now.”

“I feel terrible about the timing, Jam.” Heavy sigh. “I might have another solution. Word has it there’s a new chef in town.”

“Well, unless their name is Bobby Flay, Delicious Miss Brown, or Tiffany Derry my arse is still up the creek.”