"Thanks," the delivery man said as he took his pen and clipboard back. Then he ripped off a pink copy, handed it to her, and moved back into the elevator. "Just phone the office when you've made up your mind and are ready to have the trolley taken away. Someone will come by to pick up everything."
"All right. Thanks," Terri called as the elevator doors closed. "Well." Glancing over the invoice copy she'd been given, she turned and headed to the kitchen. She was curious to see what had been sent. She expected a couple of sample dishes that were on the menu, but you never knew. "Did you look when he brought it in?" she asked Vincent as he followed her.
"No. I just watched him roll it in, then followed him out," he said. They paused by the trolley that had been left next to the small dinette set.
"Hmm." Terri glanced over the trolley. It looked rather like a chrome chest on wheels, or a chrome-colored barbecue. The top was a square lid with rounded edges and a handle. Terri grasped the handle and lifted upward, inhaling the steam released into the room.
"God," she breathed, and she gaped at half a dozen china plates of food. The caterer hadn't sent samples of different things, they'd sent two samples of
ev
erything.
"He said the desserts were in the lower drawer," Vincent spoke up.
Terri hesitated, then stepped back, only then noticing that there was a lower drawer on the trolley. Grasping its handle, she pulled it out and sighed as several delicacies rolled into view. There were two of each of those, too.
"Well, as I said, you don't have to cook."
Before Terri could respond, the elevator buzzer sounded again. The actor moved to the wall panel and pushed buttons, as Terri closed the drawer and then the chest top to keep everything at the correct temperature until Bastien came back.
"Another caterer," Vincent announced. "You'll need to sign for this too, probably."
Nodding, Terri followed him back into the entry. They arrived just before the doors opened to reveal another trolley-pushing deliveryman.
"Terri Simpson?" he asked, glancing at her.
"Yes." She held her hand out for the clipboard and pen.
"Where do you want—"
"The kitchen. Follow me." Vincent turned to lead the way as Terri signed the invoice.
Chapter Eleven
Bastien tapped his foot with irritation and pressed the elevator button again. He wasn't used to waiting so long for the contraption and was becoming a bit impatient. This elevator only serviced the penthouse. It could stop on any floor when requested, but only if you had a key. Other than that, it had to be released from the penthouse suite itself for a straight ride from the ground floor up. Bastien didn't understand the present delay.
Just when he was about to go back into his office and call upstairs to see what was going on, the elevator arrived with a
ding.
Releasing a sigh of relief, Bastien stepped on board, sniffing the air as he pressed the button to take him to the penthouse. There was the faintest scent of cooked food inside. The takeout must have arrived, he realized as the doors closed and the lift started upward. He hoped the delivery guy had just ridden up and was still there. He didn't want Terri paying for the meal.
The entry was empty when Bastien stepped out of the elevator. Following the sound of voices, he headed into the living room, fully expecting to find Terri and Chris indulging in pizza or Chinese food. Instead, he found all three of his guests moving about in a sea of tissue flowers and chrome trolleys.
"This one doesn't have an invoice." Vincent opened the lid of the silver chest he stood by, waited for the steam to clear, then glanced at the contents. "There's a napkin. It has S.C. on it."
"S.C.?" Terri asked, then began to sort through a stack of papers. "S.C., S.C., S.C.," she murmured, sounding stressed. "S—Here! Sylvia's Cuisine." She crossed the room to hand Vincent one of the sheats of paper. Bastien's cousin took the page and proceeded to extract a piece of tape from a dispenser he held, then tape the paper to the top of the chrome warmer.
"This one has B.D. on the plate covers," Chris announced, peering into another of the trolleys.
"B.D?" Terri muttered, and began the sorting exercise again. "B.D. I saw a Bella Donna or Bella Dolci or something a minute ago. That's probably it."
"I sincerely hope it isn't belladonna," Bastien said with amusement, drawing their attention to his presence.
"Oh. You're back." Terri forced a smile to her mouth, but he knew it was purely for his sake. She didn't seem to be in much of a smiling mood.
"Hmmm." Bastien moved into the room, kicking flowers about with each step he took. "Either you overordered on the takeout, or the catering samples have arrived."
"The catering samples," she said with a sigh. Terri waved her hands at the chaos in the room and apologized, "I'm sorry about this mess. I should have been more prepared. More organized. But they came one right after the other; bang, bang, bang."
"Bang, bang, bang," Vincent agreed with a solemn nod.
"And it was so rushed. I'd barely sign for one when another was under my nose."
"Right under her nose." Chris nodded. "They were just shoving them at her left, right, and center."
"Yep." It was Terri's turn to nod. "Chris was manning the panel to release the elevator, and Vincent was showing the deliverymen where to put their carts, and the men just kept handing me clipboards and pens, then ripping off invoices and giving them to me, and there were so many of them…" She waved the papers helplessly. "We don't know which invoices go with what."
Bastien bit his lip to keep back the smile that threatened to stretch his lips. He didn't think she'd appreciate his amusement right now. She looked absolutely frazzled. And adorable. But he didn't think she'd appreciate his telling her that, either, so kept it to himself as well.
"I don't know how we're going to eat all of this food, Bastien. There's too much." Terri peered around with distress, then glanced back to him, held up a pen, and wailed, "And I didn't mean to, but it was all so hectic that I stole a pen!"
"Two of them," Chris said, pointing at the one dangling from her shirt collar, where she had apparently stuck it in the rush.
"Three," Vincent corrected, walking over to pluck another from where she had absently tucked it behind her ear.
Helpful as they were trying to be, their added comments just made Terri seem that much more miserable. Moving forward, Bastien urged his cousin out of the way and tugged her into his arms to pat her reassuringly. "It's okay, baby. We'll sort this out. And we don't have to eat all the food, just taste each one. And we'll do that first—that way, the ones we don't like, we don't have to match up to their invoices."
"But you weren't here, and I signed for them all. I have to make sure the trolleys get back to their proper owners."
"We'll sort it out," Bastien repeated, then urged her around and between several carts to the couch. He paused to sweep several flowers aside, frowning as he did. "How did these flowers get everywhere?" he asked as he urged her to sit.
"One of the delivery guys knocked one of the boxes off the table," Vincent explained.
"And another picked up a box to move it out of the way, tripped, and sent them flying everywhere," Chris finished. "Fortunately, they were all rejects. Terri had the good sense to have us move the usable flowers after the first mishap."
Bastien nodded. "Maybe we should put the flowers away for now. We wouldn't want them ruined by food being spilled on them, or anything of that nature. Not after all the time we've put into making them."
"I'm on it." Vincent bent to pick up the open Kleenex boxes, and started putting them away in the bags they had come in. Chris immediately started collecting the puffy flowers from the floor, and tossing them back into the boxes they'd tumbled out of. Sometimes he'd use his crutch to drag the little suckers close enough to pick up.
Bastien turned back to Terri, and found her bent double on the couch, gathering flowers from the carpet. After a moment, she gave that up and shifted onto the floor, where it was easier to reach them. Her eyes swept the room full of trolleys, and as she straightened to toss a collection of rejects into a box, dismay crossed her features. "How are we ever going to choose from all these caterers' samples, Bastien?"
"Two at a time," he said simply. He joined her on his knees on the floor. The answer seemed logical enough to him. "We put two side by side, try a bite from each, decide which is better, and put the rejects in the hall."
She nodded at his suggestion, then said, "But what if one dish is better from one caterer, but something else is better from another?"
He hadn't thought of that. After considering the matter for a moment, he said, "The main dish is the most important one. We'll go through the samples trying all the main dishes, two at a time. The rejects go in the entry, the rest go somewhere else. That will eliminate half of them right away. Then we start comparing the other dishes."
"Where shall I put these to keep them out of the way for now, cousin?" Vincent held up the shopping bags with all the unused Kleenex and string.
"The office?" Bastien suggested. He immediately decided it was a good idea.
"Yes.
Just put it in the closet in the office for now, Vincent."
The actor nodded and headed off. "I'll drop them in there, then I'm going out for a bite. All this talk of food is making me hungry. I won't stay out long, though. I'll make sure I'm back as quick as I can, to see if you need any help with anything else."
"Thanks, cousin," Bastien called after him. For all the nuisance the actor could be when he felt like causing trouble, Vincent was still a good man. He had always been there for Bastien when he was needed, and Bastien reminded himself they had been as close as brothers at one time. He regretted the loss of that closeness.
"Well, that's the last of it," Chris said a short time later as the last flower landed in a box. "Are we moving the rejects out of the room, too?"
"I'll take them down to the office," Bastien decided, then glanced at Terri. "Honey, why don't you go collect some plates and silverware?"
Her eyes went as round as saucers, and she stood staring at him. He felt uncertainty claim him. "What is it?"
"Nothing," she squeaked, and rushed off in the direction, of the kitchen.
"What can I do to help?" Chris asked.
Bastien just about said, "In your condition? Nothing." But he caught the words back. The editor was in rough shape but had still done his best to help out, both in making the flowers and cleaning up the mess just now. Considering the streak of bad luck he had suffered—what with his apartment being ruined, a toilet falling on top of him and breaking his leg, and his face being turned into a sideshow attraction thanks to the life-threatening bee sting—C.K. had behaved pretty well, even managing to be chipper. Bastien was starting to think he might have underestimated the guy, and he was actually starting to warm up to him.
"Just relax for a minute, Chris," he said. "We could use your help tasting the meals too, if you don't mind."
"No, I don't mind," the editor assured him, and after a hesitation made his way to a chair and sat.
Bastien had caught the look of surprise on the younger man's face at the almost friendly tone he'd used, and from that realized his irritation and lack of concern for C.K. had shown from the start. He felt bad for a moment, then shrugged it aside. It wasn't like he'd been outright mean. He'd just not given the man a chance, really. Now he was giving him one. He wasn't going to kick himself over the past. Besides, he had other things to worry about. Foremost in his mind was why Terri had gaped at him when he'd asked her to grab some cutlery and plates. That had him mystified.
In the kitchen, Terri was muttering to herself as she dragged plates out of the cupboard. "He called me honey." A grin was tugging at her lips.
Honey.
And she thought Bastien might have called her baby earlier, but she'd been so upset at the time, she couldn't be sure. Honey and baby. Baby and honey. Terms of endearment. Did he mean them? It was hard to say. Some people used those sorts of affectionate terms on everyone from their dog to the cashier at the corner store.
She didn't think Bastien was one of those people.
"Honey." Terri savored the word as she collected cutlery, then placed the utensils on plates, and picked them up to rush back out to the living room. She hurried, because she didn't want to miss anything.
"It's Sylvia's Cuisine, then?" Terri glanced from Chris to Bastien, and each man nodded. Vincent had returned earlier, but, unable to eat or really help out because of that, he had found himself bored just sitting about watching them. He'd retired halfway through the selection process.
"I'd say so," Bastien said.
"Me too," Chris agreed. "They had the best overall. Though, I still say that Bella-whatever's had the nicest casserole thingy."
"I didn't like that at all. And it's not even on the menu," Terri pointed out. "Heck, it isn't even on their invoice. I'm thinking they put it on the tray by accident."
"Yeah. They must have," Bastien agreed. "I didn't care for it myself. There was something in it that I just didn't take to."
"Well, I like it." Chris moved over to Bella's trolley and peered down at the food. "So, if neither of you do, can I have the rest?"
Terri dropped onto the couch with a laugh. "Be my guest."
Bastien grinned. "Yeah. Go on. Eat it. You earned it after helping with all this nonsense."
"Well, Vincent couldn't help. Besides, this was more fun than the flowers," C.K. pointed out, taking the whole dish of casserole off the trolley. He grabbed a spoon and scooped out a bite, murmuring with pleasure as he ate.
"Ugh. How can you eat that? It was awful. I can't even
watch
you." Terri made a face of disgust, and covered her eyes with the notepad she had been using to keep track of which trolley had the best-tasting dishes.