“Sam just said that to get her to meet me; she wasn’t the one in Alex’s office telling her I was from Paris and had my own restaurant,” he countered grimly, andthen frowned when he noted Bev listening wide-eyed. Scowling, he took a moment to quickly wipe her mind of what she’d overheard and to make sure she didn’t continue to listen.
“I didn’t say it was a restaurant,” Bricker defended himself quickly. “She just assumed—”
“Semantics,” Cale snapped, cutting him off. “You will do this. I won’t see Alex ruined because of your ‘help.’ ”
Bricker hesitated, but then whipped out his phone.
“Who are you calling?” Cale asked with a scowl.
“Mortimer,” Bricker answered quietly. “I do have a job, you know. I can’t just disappear for the night without checking with him first.”
Cale relaxed a bit, relieved that the man was at least willing. This was one hell of a debacle, one he wasn’t even sure how he’d landed in, but he was confident that between the two of them they could handle things. He’d do his best at cooking, and Bricker would ensure that the customers thought they were happy. Then, the minute he was away from here, he’d start calling around to find someone else to take his place, or better yet, find someone to take the original chef’s place permanently. Alex would think him a hero, and Cale could woo her … and explain later that he wasn’t really a chef and didn’t own a restaurant.
He was just relaxing, thinking his problems mostly resolved if he could just get through this night without poisoning anyone, when a gasp from Alex drew his attention. She’d moved to his “station” to look at his Trout Amandine and appeared rather horrified byhis and Bricker’s efforts. Cale instinctively tried to slip into her mind to control her, but of course he couldn’t. He turned to Bricker in a panic. Fortunately, the man had already noticed. He muttered something into the phone, and then lowered it briefly and slid into Alex’s thoughts to steer her away from the dish. He left her standing blank-faced in the center of the kitchen as he turned back to his call.
Cale sighed and then took a moment to glance at the others in the kitchen. None of them seemed to have noticed. The other cooks were all bustling around, getting their dishes together under Bev’s eagle eye. He suspected he was the one who was supposed to be overseeing the other cooks, but the
sous-chef
had taken over the chore without prompting, ensuring that the rest of the kitchen ran smoothly. The woman definitely seemed to know what she was about. Perhaps he should suggest Alex promote Bev to
chef de cuisine,
and then hire another
sous-chef.
Surely those were easier to find than a head chef.
“Right.” Bricker snapped his phone closed and urged Cale back toward Alex. “Mortimer says it’s all right for me to stay tonight, but we’re going to have to work something else out for tomorrow.”
Cale merely nodded. He had no intention or desire to be doing this two nights in a row anyway. He would find a replacement chef for Alex if he had to call in every favor owed him, he thought grimly, and then turned his attention to Alex as Bricker said, “Everything is in order here, Alex. I will help out and wait tables tonight, and Cale is an excellent chef. Everything will be fine.
You should really just go about whatever it is you need to do and leave things to us without worrying.”
Cale wasn’t terribly surprised when Alex woodenly agreed and turned to walk into her office. Sighing with relief, he turned to his station and the waiting orders. “So, what’s the next order?”
Bricker snorted at the question. “That’s your problem, buddy. I’m waiting tables now, remember?”
Cale glanced at him with alarm. “But—”
“Just follow the recipes. If it’s something like the Trout Amandine and you don’t know what to do, slip into Bev’s mind and get the answer,” he suggested, heading for the door to the dining room.
Cale opened his mouth to protest again, but both he and Bricker halted as Alex suddenly came out of her office, shifting her purse and a stack of papers from hand to hand as she shrugged on a winter coat.
“Where are you going?” Cale asked with surprise.
“To the new restaurant,” she explained hurriedly, heading for the door at the back of the kitchen. “You and Bricker have everything in hand here and there’s nothing to worry about, so I need to get back to the new restaurant. They were waiting on the paint when I left and I have to be sure the right color arrived. I’ll check back here at closing time. See you then.”
Cale gaped after her as she pushed through the back door. A gust of wind rushed into the room, and then the door closed, and she was gone. He stared blankly for a minute, and then turned sharply on Bricker.
“Hmm,” the younger man said with a frown. “That’s a rather startling development.”
“Startling?” Cale ground out with fury. “The only reason I let you convince me to try to cook was to be close to her, and she’s not even going to be here.”
“Yeah. That’s kind of ironic, huh?” Bricker said with a shake of the head. Cale was just winding up to blast the immortal, when Bricker commented, “On the bright side, you don’t look as green as you did when we first got here. I take it the smell of food isn’t bothering you anymore?”
Cale stiffened and took a moment to check himself. There was no nausea, no distaste for the smells wafting in the air around him. He inhaled a deep breath to be sure, but no, it appeared the scent of food no longer repulsed him. Actually, some of the smells in the room even seemed slightly pleasant, he realized with surprise.
“I told you,” Bricker said smugly. He chuckled and turned toward the door to the dining room, adding, “Welcome to the land of the living. Now get cooking.”
Alex felt incredibly relaxed for the first time in weeks as she drove from one restaurant to the other. She had a real and very hunky French chef serving up her recipes, Bricker was filling in for the missing waitress, and all was right with her world. She continued to feel happy and worry-free right up until she arrived at the new restaurant and entered to find the painters busily painting the dining area.
The papers Alex was carrying slipped from her fingers, and a curse slid from her lips as she peered in horror at the three lime green walls already done.
While the curse she’d used was one that would have made her mother wince, the painters didn’t react to it at all and carried on working.
“Stop,” she said finally. “Stop dammit!”
One of the painters shifted on his ladder to dip his roller in more paint, and it was only then Alex noted the earbuds in his ear. Her gaze slid to the other two painters to see that they wore them as well. All three were listening to iPods or some other small MP3 player and hadn’t heard her.
Cursing colorfully again, Alex rushed forward to tug at the pant leg of the nearest man. Startled, he nearly tumbled from the ladder but caught himself at the last moment. Ripping the buds from his ears, he scowled at her furiously. His name was Bill, and he was a big burly guy, intimidating as hell … or he would have been if she weren’t in such a temper.
“What the hell are you trying to do? Kill me?” he barked.
“No, but you’re killing me,” Alex snapped back and waved toward the painted walls. “What is this?”
“It’s paint, lady,” he growled, glaring at her. “You hired us to paint and we’re painting.”
“I told you to wait until I got back,” she reminded him grimly, and silently berated herself for not completing that phone call she’d been starting when Justin and Cale had arrived. She could have asked them what color the paint was or insist they wait until she returned. Instead, she’d put the phone down and forgotten all about it until now. Not that the painters probably would have heard the ringing with their iPods on anyway.
“We did wait,” Bill snapped. “You’ve been gone more than four hours. We finally decided we’d best get started, or we’d be here all night.”
Alex ground her teeth together. She’d only intended on being gone an hour at the most, but with everything that had happened, the time had gotten away from her.
“When an hour and a half passed with no sign of you and not even a phone call, we started painting,” Bill snapped angrily.
“The wrong color,” she shrieked back. “Does this look like White Sand to you?”
“No, it looks like walls,” he snarled.
“I mean the color,” she said furiously. “The paint is supposed to be a soothing off-white called White Sand, not lime green.”
He frowned at her, and then glanced around the room briefly, before shaking his head. “This is the paint they delivered, so this is the paint we used.”
“It’s the
wrong
paint,” she said grimly.
“Well, that’s not my problem,” he said stiffly. “Call the store you bought it from and complain to them.”
“You’re damned right I will.” Alex whirled away in a temper, slipping her bag off her shoulder to dig inside it for her cell phone as she paced across the room. When she realized the other two men, earbuds in and oblivious to what was going on, were still painting, she snapped, “Make them stop.”
Grunting with displeasure, Bill climbed down off his ladder and moved to the nearest man. Alex then turned her attention to her phone but paused as she realized she didn’t know the number. She needed a phone book,or the bill, she thought, and rushed through the dining room and then the kitchen to get to the office.
Alex found a copy of the delivery invoice lying on top of her otherwise empty desktop. She snatched it up, noted that yes, the receipt did say White Sand paint and that the store number was at the top.
Alex plopped her purse where the invoice had been and punched in the number to the paint store, her temper simmering, but she managed to maintain her cool as she explained her problem to the efficient-sounding woman who answered. She even managed to keep her temper under control when the woman said she would fetch the manager and put her on hold. However, after fifteen minutes on hold, she was practically foaming at the mouth. When the manager finally picked up, Alex tore into him over both the mix-up and being on hold for so long. The manager started out trying to soothe her, explaining that he’d taken so long because they’d had to get the delivery papers from the driver.
Unfortunately, Alex wasn’t in the mood to be soothed. She barked out that someone should have let her know rather than leaving her hanging, and was angry enough she feared she might have thrown in an insult about the ineptitude of the woman who had answered the phone and himself for not thinking of that. Whatever the case, that’s when the manager stopped being soothing. He announced coolly that according to the delivery papers six cans of White Sand paint had been ordered
and delivered
and he had a signature on the papers indicating that this was the case and all was in order.
Alex immediately snapped that it certainly wasn’t
White Sand on her walls. Unfortunately, she might have included another insult or two there. She certainly wasn’t very diplomatic. Really, it had been a very stressful couple of months, and she was feeling a bit like a woman on the edge at that point.
Her attitude won her a moment of chilly silence that was followed by the manager’s announcing coldly that he would be more than happy to replace any unopened cans of paint remaining. However, she would have to look to the painters for reimbursing her for the paint already used since they had signed for it … and thank you for shopping with us.
It was the dial tone that sounded after he hung up that snapped Alex out of her hysteria. She listened to it dully, all her anger running out of her like air draining out of a balloon. She sat on the desk, staring bleakly at the unpainted walls of her office and then slowly hung up. Alex knew she’d reacted badly to this latest problem, but dammit, there hadn’t seemed to be a day that had gone by without one problem or another cropping up in the months getting this restaurant ready. She was starting to think the damned thing was cursed.
Taking a deep breath, Alex held it briefly, and then slowly let it out and tried to focus on what needed doing rather than what had happened so far. The tables and chairs were arriving tomorrow, so the dining room had to be painted tonight. She had the painters, she needed paint … and quickly since she doubted the painters would be pleased to sit about kicking their heels for long.
Fine, Alex thought grimly, she would rush to thenearest paint store, buy the proper paint, as well as primer since the lime green was bright enough she doubted the White Sand would cover it, bring it back, and set the men back to work.
Feeling somewhat calmer, she headed out of her office to find the painters. They were in the dining room where she’d left them, but the ladders were gone as well as the rest of the painting paraphernalia and the men themselves were heading out, carrying the rolled-up drop cloths.
“Wait a minute,” she cried, hurrying after them. “Where are you going?”
“To grab a beer,” Bill announced, stomping to the van parked in front of the restaurant and tossing the drop cloths in the open back door.
“But what about the restaurant?” Alex asked with renewed panic. “You have to finish painting.”
The man slammed the truck’s back door and turned to her with irritation. “You said it was the wrong paint and we were to stop painting.”
“Well, yes, but I’m going to go get the right paint and—”
“Nope.” The man spun away to walk around to the driver’s side door.
“Nope?” Alex echoed, and then hurried after him. “What do you mean, no? I need the restaurant painted tonight. The tables arrive tomorrow.”
“Lady, it’s Friday night. We ain’t sitting around twiddling our thumbs waiting on you to buy paint, and then working our arses off until midnight to get the job done.”
“But the tables come tomorrow,” she repeated plaintively.
“Then I guess you’d best get painting, because we aren’t.” He dragged the door open and climbed up behind the steering wheel. He then tried to pull the door closed, but Alex was in the way. Pausing, he scowled at her. “This job has been nothing but a pain in the ass from the start. We were nearly done here and ready to go when you came in and stopped us.”