Chapter 3
After a dash across the peninsula, Dell impatiently paced inside a posh law office housed thirty stories high in one of the
Financial District’s skyscrapers. The Bay Bridge loomed gray and mighty outside the enormous window. She could see all the
way to Berkeley.
“Babe, sit down,” Tommy said from the leather armchair where he sat sipping the sparkling water they’d been offered.
Dell ignored his plea and took another lap of the lavish space.
They’d been let into a private office and left to wait. The law offices of Brooks, Sterling, and Hoffman, the Moratto family’s
preferred firm, were no slouch. Everything in sight was leather and gold and shiny. A vase of orchids elegantly bowing their
white heads balanced on the giant desk’s corner. Shelves of thick books lined one wall, and a TV was mounted on the other
next to a grid of framed degrees.
“Why are they so late?” Dell asked for the third time. She had places to be. Namely, her restaurant, where the prep for Pierrick
Moreau’s dinner was set to start in under an hour.
Tommy casually shrugged. “Dunno. Probably busy.”
Dell sighed and checked her phone. She had a news alert: An article about Pergo being named best in the Bay had been picked
up nationally. It brought a smile to her lips.
“It shouldn’t take too long when they get here, at least,” Tommy said. “All we have to do is sign, then we’re good to be Mr.
and Mrs.” He reached for her arm when she passed near him and shot her a devilish grin.
She smirked back.
They’d discussed her keeping her last name at length, and he’d come around to the idea, but she knew he still held out hope
she’d change her mind at the eleventh hour.
“Mrs. Moratto is your mother,” she said. “I will remain Ms. Rodgers, thank you very much.”
His grin widened, and he tugged on her arm to pull her down into his lap.
“Tommy!” she squealed as her face heated. All she needed was for their esteemed legal counsel to finally show up and find
her draped across her fiancé’s lap with his hand on her ass. They’d surely be taken seriously then. “You’re going to get us
in trouble.”
He softly smiled. His cheeks were pink. “Don’t worry; I know a good lawyer.” He moved to push his nose into the crook below
her ear just as her phone rang.
It had never left her hand, so she quickly pulled it into view. Mariana was calling her. She’d left her down in the building’s
lobby, and if Mariana had escalated beyond texting, it must have been important.
“I need to take this,” Dell said without standing from Tommy’s lap.
He gestured with his hands as if to say Be my guest.
“Mari? What’s up?” she greeted.
“Pierrick Moreau changed plans. He’ll be at Pergo at six, not seven.”
Dell’s heart leaped up into her throat with the skill of a pole vaulter. She jumped out of Tommy’s lap. “He what?”
“Six, Dell. Six p.m. I’ll let Oscar know, but you need to get to the kitchen ASAP.”
“Yes! Yes, I’m coming. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.” She ended the call and lunged for her bag where she’d left it in the
chair beside Tommy’s.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Pierrick Moreau is arriving early. Dinner just got bumped an hour. I have to go.”
She was two steps toward the door when he pushed out of his chair and reached for her.
“Dell, you can’t leave. We have to sign this thing. They’ll be here any minute, I’m sure.”
She slipped her arm out of his grip with an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
He reached for her again, but he might as well have been trying to grab a slippery fish. “Dell, baby, this is important.”
“Yes, and so is Pierrick Moreau.”
“Just five more minutes!”
“I have to go, Tommy!” she said as she got free and reached the door. “I’ll sign it later. Bye!”
She half expected him to chase her down the marble hall, but he knew not to get in her way when she was on a mission.
When she arrived at Pergo, the organized chaos of the kitchen welcomed Dell like a loyal companion.
She ran a tight ship: The steel was shiny; the knives were sharp.
Every ingredient was fresh and curated from only the best sources.
Prep was in full swing. Chefs manned their stations—chopping and slicing, stirring and sculpting.
She bypassed her office and grabbed a coat off a hook to head straight into the tightly controlled bedlam.
She hardly had her hair in a ponytail before Oscar was at her side rattling off updates.
“We’re firing birds for family and rotating to beef specials tonight.” He nearly bumped into her as they rounded into the
galley of ranges. He wore his customary bandanna, rolled sleeves, and focused scowl. His bulky build left little room for
error in the tight angles of the kitchen.
“Corner!” Dell shouted. “And yes, Chef. Thank you.”
“Sasha has been working on a pistachio gelato, which I have to say is damn fine. She wants to exhibit it tonight.”
“Yes, Chef,” Dell said with the fleeting thought of why Oscar’s opinion of Sasha’s gelato might have been so high. Perhaps
he’d been her private taste tester.
“Simon wants to push a new proprietary red blend with the special too.”
“Yes, Chef,” she said as they kept walking toward the refrigerator.
Pierrick Moreau was the only thing on her mind. She trusted Oscar to appropriately yea or nay requests coming from the kitchen
and sommelier.
He held out a hand to stop her before she walked into the refrigerator. A grin split his lips. His smiles were as rare as solar eclipses, so it put a tiny return smile on Dell’s face. “You gonna show this French dude who’s boss tonight?”
She quietly laughed, feeling grateful her second-in-command both took no shit and knew when to lighten the mood. “It’s probably
best we refrain from calling him a dude given his blessing can make a career, but yes. That is my intention.”
“Excellent. Let me know where I can help, Chef.”
They parted ways, and Dell soon found herself completely in the zone. Not even Jason poking his head into the kitchen could
distract her. Every night in her kitchen felt like conducting a symphony, and this night was no different, except she was
focused on the one single, standout song.
The dish had to be perfect. She’d sent Mariana on a deep dive reading all Pierrick Moreau’s reviews to know his likes and
dislikes. He’d given highest marks to dishes with bold, earthy flavors, so she’d opted for lamb with a black truffle crust
over risotto. It wasn’t currently on their menu but would be if Pierrick Moreau liked it enough.
By the time the rice was impeccably tender, and the shanks seared to perfection, the dining room was buzzing. Jason made a
second visit to the kitchen to mouth He’s here at Dell and slip back into the elegantly dim lighting.
She took a breath and prepared to escort Lauren, her chosen server, to the table, carrying the plate. They paraded into the
dining room with Simon on their heels, ready to recommend and pour the optimal glass of wine to go with the meal.
Dell felt Jason’s eyes on her the whole way from his host desk at the entrance.
Pergo’s dining room glowed a soft golden color. The three dozen tables with black velvet bucket chairs were set up on a split-level floor, with a third of them nestled into an elevated enclave near the marble-topped bar. It was an effortlessly chic tribute to classy elegance.
Pierrick Moreau sat at one of the tables on the upper level. He had view of the bar, the dining floor below, and the San Francisco
street, warm with the beginnings of golden hour.
“Good evening,” Dell greeted him when they arrived at his table. Remnants of his appetizers had been cleared away. “We are
thrilled to have you joining us tonight. We’ve prepared black truffle lamb shanks over risotto for your main course. Please
do enjoy.”
When he looked up at her from his seat, his lips only hinted at rising near the corners. As if they’d thought about it and
changed their mind.
“Bon appétit,” Dell said with a small bow before she walked away.
She casually but swiftly moved toward Jason, as they’d planned. He faced Pierrick Moreau’s table while Dell faced the front
door and held her breath.
“Okay, he’s picking up his fork. Now he’s cutting,” Jason narrated. “So far, so good. Annnd the first bite is in.”
He paused, and Dell thought she might pass out.
“And?”
Jason squinted as he peered across the room.
“Jason!” she snapped in his silence.
He shrugged. “I don’t know, D! He’s chewing! He’s not jumping up and down, but that would be poor form anyway. Just give him
a minute. You know how these guys are: poker face until the coffee is served.”
She grumbled. “What are you reading?” she asked, and nodded at the thick book opened on his desk and tucked between his tablet and keyboard.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, and quickly closed it. He’d flipped it shut so the back cover was on top. She couldn’t tell what
it was, but it looked, oddly, like a textbook.
“Are you studying for a test?” she joked.
He gave her a smile and then changed topic. “How was lunch with Mama de Vil?”
She arched an eyebrow at him with a frown. “Is that supposed to be a play on Cruella de Vil?”
He shrugged. “Needs work.”
Dell sighed. “It was fine, until a small pack of constituents waiting outside the restaurant accosted us with questions.”
“So goes life on the arm of a public figure.”
She smirked at him, but only half-heartedly. She’d had the same thought earlier when she and Tommy escaped the whole scene
in their getaway car.
“What’s he doing now?” she asked in an effort not to think about it.
“Still chewing. Op! He just swallowed. Would you like to know when he gets up to go to the bathroom too?”
She softly punched him in the shoulder. “I’m going to go back into the kitchen.”
“You do that. I’ll be here.”
Dell wound her way back through the dining room, doing her best not to side-eye Pierrick Moreau the whole way. Jason was right:
He was chewing and occasionally swallowing.
The kitchen only made her more anxious. It felt like everyone was collectively holding their breath. Dell felt the weight of it all since she had made Pierrick Moreau’s dinner. Everyone was depending on her.
She soothed her stress by hiding in the fridge and bingeing a sample of Sasha’s pistachio gelato, which Oscar gave her as
remedy. It was indeed damn fine.
“He’s done!” Lauren eventually appeared to breathlessly announce.
Dell guzzled the glass of wine Simon had brought her—he surely would have fainted at her disrespect of it—and took another
breath before reentering the dining room. Her heart beat like a drum as she approached Pierrick Moreau’s table.
He used his crisp white napkin to dab his lips, which were stained slightly red from the same wine she’d just downed in angst.
He looked up at her with little expression before he said, simply, “Exquisite.”
The urge to throw herself at him in an appreciative hug hit Dell hard. She held back and instead politely nodded.
“Thank you.”
He lifted his near-empty wineglass in salute, and Dell walked away feeling like she’d passed a test.
She had. Another gold star.
She gave Jason a discreet thumbs-up and waited until she was back in the safety of the kitchen before she threw up her arms
and announced, “ ‘Exquisite!’ ”
Her staff erupted in cheers that she bashfully tried to quiet so as not to disturb the dining room or let on just how much
Pierrick Moreau had made her night.
By 10:30 p.m., the last table was cleared, and Dell was exhausted. Simon had popped a bottle of champagne, of which she’d had plenty, and it was time to head home. Jason dropped her off, and Tommy greeted her when she walked through the front door.
He lounged on the couch in his pajama pants, watching a late-night show. He immediately sat up when she walked in. “And?”
he eagerly asked.
Dell sauntered toward the couch, coyly biting her lip and imagining running her hands all over his bare chest. She quietly
hummed a laugh before she said, “ ‘Exquisite.’ ”
Tommy leaped from the couch and scooped her into a hug. Her feet left the floor as he spun them around.
“Oh, baby, that’s great! I’m so proud of you.” He set her down, and the room kept spinning.
“Thank you,” she said, and took a moment to press her hand into his chest. She suggestively tapped her fingers against his
collarbone.
He looked down with a soft smile and lifted her hand to kiss it. “I was just waiting for you to get home. I’m exhausted.”
The rejection stung for half a second. She’d had a vision of being knocked into their headboard all night in celebration,
but surely, she’d be passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow anyway.
She gave him a soft, sleepy smile in return. “Good night, then.” She pecked his lips and turned for the stairs.
“I’ll be up soon,” he said.
“Mm-hmm.”
It took all her remaining energy to shower, brush her teeth, and pull on her pajamas. She sunk into bed with the full satisfaction
of having kicked another day’s ass.