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The former Bali surfing instructor gazed around in admiration, taking in the pristine appliances and immaculate counters. Ashton had picked Dae up at the airport half an hour earlier and had intended to take him straight to the apa
rtment he’d rented, but Dae had wanted to see the kitchen first. Ashton understood. He’d been discussing the project with the young Balinese man for the past four months. Naturally, he was curious.
“Glad you like it. You sure this is where you want to be? You have no idea what Chef Cole is going to be like to work with.” Ashton had smoothed things over with the Chicago chef and persuaded him to accept the job at Batouri.
“Can’t be worse than you.”
Ashton ignored the taunt. “He’ll probably start you at the bottom. I’m not sure that’s the best use of your talents. I could find you something in one of my New York or London restaurants.”
Dae shook his head. “I like Vegas. It’s happening.”
After marking the first twenty-five years of his life by island time, Dae was looking for a little excitement. Ashton understood. Hadn’t he gotten out of Africa at twenty for the exact same reason?
“Just don’t lose your shirt gambling.”
“No worries.” Dae tugged at the tails of his bright tropical shirt. “No one would give me a nickel for this thing.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ashton began, before seeing that his protégé was pulling his leg. “That dumb island boy stuff isn’t going to get you too far.”
Dae winked. “It got me here and that’s pretty far.”
With a rueful grin, Ashton stopped playing wise old guy. The role didn’t suit him. Usually he was the one on the receiving end of advice, not the other way around. It was just that most of the time in Dae’s company, the ten-year age difference seemed more like twenty.
Ever since he’d brought the young Indonesian kid under his wing, Ashton had felt responsible for him. Owner of four restaurants with over a hundred staff, he had a lot of people depending on him. But that was business. With Dae it was personal.
A chance to pay forward against a debt he could never repay.
“I found you a place to stay not far from here. It’s on the bus line.”
“You know I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
“Someone helped me out once. It changed my life.” Saved it was more like it. And Dae was far more deserving of help than Ashton had ever been. “The best way to repay me is to succeed.”
“You know I will.”
That was the great thing about Dae. He had a limitless reserve of optimism. Even when his situation had been truly bad in Bali, he’d just grinned and said that things would get better. And they had because Ashton had traded cooking lessons for surfing lessons and discovered the kid had a natural aptitude and a fantastic palate.
“Shall we go check out your new apartment?” Ashton gestured toward the exit.
“Lead the way. How are things going with the new show?” Dae asked as Ashton got behind the wheel of the SUV he’d rented and started the engine.
“I’m not sure. They’re still demanding I give up The Culinary Wanderer.”
“You gonna?”
“The producers haven’t stopped pushing Africa for next year and you know how I feel about it.”
“Maybe you should forget about them. Do the show in New York.”
Sound advice. Vince had been urging him in the same direction. Even his own brain was telling him to dump the travel show and move on to bigger and better things. And with the Phillips producers digging in their heels about doing next year’s show in Africa, there didn’t seem to be any good reason to sign a new contract.
So why was he having trouble letting go?
“That’s probably what’s going to end up happening,” Ashton said. “I’ll know more next week when I go meet with them. They want me to make a pilot for some people to look at.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I have a few ideas.”
