Phoebe gave a rich belly laugh. “Let’s hope she doesn’t wear it at the restaurant. The Michelin people might be put off.”
Dean’s face darkened before he punched up a smile. “Yeah. I hadn’t thought of that. So… That’s all I’ve got. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to your connubial bliss and Friday night.”
Sawyer didn’t know what had happened, but he knew Dean. He stepped in front of his friend as he reached for the doorknob. “What was that?”
Dean looked back. “What?”
“You got all somber there.” Sawyer looked over at Phoebe, who nodded.
“Somber…”He lowered his voice and slapped Sawyer on the shoulder. “That’s too big a word for good old Dean. See ya.”
“Stop!” Phoebe called out. “Don’t bullshit Sawyer. Even I noticed the crash of your mood.”
“Is something going on?” Sawyer pressed, feeling the grip of anxiety.
“Come on, guys.” Dean did one of his awkward moment dances. “It’s Friday night. Let’s leave it?—”
“Not on your life,” Sawyer interrupted. “Man, Phoebe must be rubbing off on me. I’m never that direct, but it feels great. Dean, you’re not leaving until you talk.”
Phoebe crossed her arms and struck a pose. “What he said.”
Sawyer followed suit, but he imagined he needed more practice in looking tough.
Dean’s face contorted. Mumbling erupted. “We didn’t want to hurt your creativity, but fine. Chef Rico has it on good authority that Nanine’s former lover has blackballed the restaurant with the Michelin people again.”
Sawyer’s heart might as well have been yanked out of his chest and tossed out the window where it could fall to the ground, run over by a Fiat. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I do,” Phoebe exploded. “That asshole! How dare he? Madison and everyone else at Nanine’s are working their butts off. They’re creating a culinary heaven on earth.”
Dean’s face was stone-cold again. “Like you said, some people are assholes. Kyle’s planning to fight.”
“But there’s no guarantee it will work.” He knew his history, and Dassault had proven he was both willing and capable of dark, dastardly deeds. “Voltaire also said,Clever tyrants are never punished.”
Dean winced. “I don’t think Madison would enjoy that T-shirt.”
Sawyer took off his glasses and cleaned them, a hole in his heart. “What can we do?”
Dean wiped his brow dramatically. “No clue. Even Lady Jacs said they were doing everything she’d advise.”
Phoebe smacked her fist into her palm. “My dad happens to know the top New York food critic. How about I see if they’d be willing to cross the pond and have a meal? William Silver’s review made waves. We need to keep making them. As high as we can until they cannot ignore the storm. That’s a mixed metaphor, but I’m not retracting it.”
Dean leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You two really are perfect for each other.”
Phoebe looked over at him, and they shared a smile.
“We really are,” Sawyer agreed, taking her hand, savoring her assuring grip.
Dean hugged him before turning to leave. “I’m meeting Lady Jacs for apéro. Talk to Kyle.”
You’d better believe he would. But they needed to be smart because Voltaire was famous for another quote.
It is dangerous to be right in matters on which the established authorities are wrong.
