CHAPTER
TWELVE
All Madison wanted to do was rush home and celebrate with Kyle.
But she made herself do what good bosses do. After they’d cleaned the kitchen, she passed around a really fine bottle ofPineau des Charentes,a French digestif Jacqueline had raved about, and thanked them for their service. They joked about the drama resulting from Silver’s review. Everyone understood. She and her staff needed to stay grounded and keep doing the job.
Then Rico walked in…
He clearly was ready to celebrate as Nanine’s chandelier gave a sultry jangle, judging by the dashing suit he’d changed into and the coveted bottle of Armagnac in his hand. She’d bet he’d also splashed spicy cologne on. Terrific…
Her staff got the message. When a Michelin-starred chef like Rico Gurat of Paris’ Maison Su appeared, her oldLa Fleurcolleague from Miami to boot, it was time to say good night. Like they’d done on the multiple other occasions he’d stopped by over the past few months.
Madison only grabbed her coat, a polite smile on hermouth. “I’m on my way out, but obviously you heard the news.”
“Everyonehas heard the news. Chef Marcel even called me. He was practically in tears, he’s so proud of you. He thinks Silver’s review means you’re a shoo-in for a Michelin star.”
She made a show of rubbing her stainless steel counter down like she’d spotted an errant stain, all while trying to clamp down the rising swell of emotion rushing up her throat.
“We will see,” she ground out. “You know the job.”
Besides, she still worried about what Silver had said about the past. That could prove to be a problem, despite the hubbub following the review. Despite the fact that a crown prince had called for a reservation today. Nowthatwas something she hadn’t even seen at the famed restaurant she’d worked at in Miami. If those kids in Liberty City could see her now…
“Still, a Silver review is like the Mona Lisa of culinary reviews.” He held up the bottle. “Chef Marcel also said he’s talking to your restaurant group about opening a place here in Paris. That would be another huge coup for you and your roommates.”
Noncommittally, she said, “It would,” even though she hadn’t been part of Kyle and Chef’s discussions this week. They’d agreed she had enough on her hands.
“Lots to celebrate.” He held up the bottle, his gaze razor-sharp. “Do you have time for a drink?”
She winced. Letting him down easy was on the menu, it seemed. “Unfortunately, no. Rico, I need to get home. To Kyle.”
He rubbed his fine jawline. “I see. I had wondered when you didn’t respond to a few of my texts around the holidays. Well, I do not like losing to him, but I will not let it affect our friendship.”
No, they’d worked elbow-to-elbow night after night in the kitchen. He’d always treated her with respect, unlike many other male chefs. “Good. I mean, we’re professionals besides friends.”
Pierre joined him in a low chuckle. “Indeed. Still, I hope when things calm down you will join me for some professional events. You’ve been invited into a few of the chef circles I attend. For after-shift drinks. For a Sunday dinner where everyone brings something. To awho’s-who in the Paris cooking scenedinner.”
She’d been to a few such events in Miami. So far she’d kept her own company here in Paris, mostly filling her spare time with her roommates, Nanine, and of course, Kyle. “I appreciate the invite. Sure, when time allows.”
Although she had no idea when that would be. Right now, she wanted more time with Kyle, and she couldn’t remember ever wishing for more personal time away from the job before. Then again, Kyle was setting new records in her life. More importantly, she was starting to believe. In him and them and all her dreams coming true.
“Come on, I’ll walk you out. I noticed some people clustered out front.”
“Yeah, Claude mentioned that.”
Rico opened the door to the front of the house and waited for her to make Pierre comfortable in his cage before heading out.
When they exited the restaurant, a camera flash blinded her. “Chef Garcia, what is your reaction to William Silver saying you wouldredefine an entire generation of restaurants?” a male voice called out in French.
She set Pierre’s cage down as she locked the front door. Standing on the sidewalk were a cluster of people huddled together in the cold. Clearly, she’d underestimated the number of people waiting when Rico had originally mentioned it.
“We’d like to make a reservation,” another man cried out in English, thrusting his hand out to her in entreaty. “We’ll pay anything you want. We’re only in Paris for our honeymoon for another two days. Please! It would be something to tell our grandkids.”
She tensed. Grandkids? Paying? What the hell?
“Chef Garcia, how do you receive your inspiration?” a woman in a dark blue coat called out in French.
“We want a reservation too,” a woman demanded in French, practically elbowing the newlyweds.
