I set the keg down with more care than it requires, buying time to get my face under control. When I turn back, Mei’s moved. Not away, but to the counter where the chili oil is sitting. She reaches for it, her arm brushing against my chest as she stretches past me.
“Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “Just need the...”
“Here.” I hand her the bottle, our fingers brushing in the exchange. “No problem.”
She nods, her eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “Thanks.”
I finish moving the kegs in silence, hyperaware of Mei moving around the kitchen behind me, of the occasional brush of her arm against my back when she reaches for something on the shelf above the stove. There’s a new tension between us, a charge to the air that makes my skin prickle and my hands unsteady.
The front bell rings as I’m positioning the last keg, followed by the distinctive sound of Greta’s voice calling, “Anyone home?”
“Kitchen,” I call back, grateful for the interruption. “We’re doing menu development.”
Greta appears in the doorway, her steel-gray bob tucked behind her pointed ears, her expression somewhere between skeptical and unimpressed. “Smells like someone set a chili pepper on fire in here.”
“That’s the goal,” Mei says, not looking up from the pot she’s stirring. “You’re just in time for the taste test.”
“I live for these moments,” Greta says dryly, but she reaches for an empty plate. “Any particular order, or should I just dive in?”
“We’re working through the options,” I explain, gesturing to the array of dishes spread across the prep table. “Wings, dumplings, popcorn, and something Mei’s calling ‘danger noodles’ that made my mouth go numb for ten minutes.”
“Sounds delightful.” Greta picks up a wing, examining it with professional skepticism. “These the ones with the gochujang?”
Mei nods. “And a hint of black vinegar. For balance.”
Greta takes a bite, her expression carefully neutral. She chews slowly, considering, then reaches for another wing without commenting.
“That’s high praise from Greta,” I tell Mei, who’s watching the interaction with barely concealed amusement. “She once described a Michelin-starred restaurant as ‘not entirely disappointing.’”
“I have standards,” Greta says, reaching for a dumpling. “Unlike some people, who’ll eat anything put in front of them.”
This is directed at me, along with a look that contains approximately seventeen different meanings, none of which I want to examine too closely in front of Mei.
“We should get the rest of the staff in for a proper taste test,” I say, changing the subject. “Get some real feedback before we finalize the menu.”
“Already texted them,” Greta says, wiping sauce from her chin with surprising delicacy. “They’ll be here at two.” She pauses, her expression shifting to something more serious. “Speaking of which, had a visitor yesterday. Guy asking questions about the new menu, how business is doing, whether we’re planning to expand.”
I straighten, immediately alert. “What kind of guy?”
“Dressed nice. Purple suit, gold cufflinks.” She shrugs. “Said he was considering investing in a food concept and wanted to see what the competition was doing.”
My stomach drops. Purple suit, gold cufflinks. Vex. Grishnak’s right hand and enforcer, the same goblin who tried to shake down Mei on the Strip.
But why is he sniffing around now? The debt payments are already on a repayment plan through the bank. The next payment is scheduled for next week, and we’ll make it. So if Vex is asking questions, it’s not about debt collection or pressure. That payment will be made.
Which means this is about something else. Something bigger.
What does Grishnak actually want? Why probe deeper? The bar’s doing better, sure, but not well enough to be a threat to his empire. Unless it’s not about the bar at all. Unless it’s about Mei. Her talent. Her potential. The fact that she’s changing the game here, making people notice us.
Maybe money isn’t the endgame. Maybe it never was.
“Probably nothing,” Greta adds, though her tone suggests she doesn’t believe it. “Just the usual Vegas bullshit. Everyone thinks they’re the next big thing until they’re not.”
I nod, keeping my expression neutral. No point worrying Mei until I know more. “Probably. Still, keep an eye out. If he comes back, let me know immediately.”
“Already planned on it.” Greta picks up another wing. “Now, about these. Are they supposed to make my nose run, or is that a personal failing?”
The conversation shifts to food. Specifically, the precise level of heat in the wings and whether they need adjustment before service. I contribute where I can, but my mind is already three steps ahead, planning contingencies and damage control. If Grishnak’s sending Vex to ask questions, he’s spotted something. An opportunity. A threat. Either way, it’s trouble.
