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They were right.
She needed a plan.
A way to move forward. To restore the professional reputation she’d permitted Raoul to destroy months ago and now to destroy again. To stand up to the wild dogs circling around her.
To tell Nick that she loved him, that she would stand with him as he made his way through this, to be with him whatever he intended to do next, whether it involved running the Triple G or making another movie.
“Liss?”
She nodded. Inhaled. Exhaled. And said, “It’s a long story, guys, and it begins at a place called Raoul’s. A restaurant in Beverly Hills that I didn’t tell you about because I wanted it to be a surprise…”
Actually, the story began before that. With Carlos. And with Jack. And then, finally, with Raoul.
She told them what a breath of fresh air he’d been. How she’d come to like him. Respect him.
“Trust him,” she said. “That was the real big thing. I’d trusted Jack and Carlos, and that trust had been thrown in my face, and now here was Raoul, gorgeous, successful, honorable, incredibly honorable.”
She told them about the offer he’d made her, the chance of a lifetime—planning an upscale restaurant, developing its menu, becoming its executive chef.
She watched her sisters’ faces light with pleasure, then darken with puzzlement over what they’d read in the interview with Raoul.
“But how—”
Lissa held up her hand.
She took them through opening day. Took them to opening night. The excitement, the diners, the food critics.
Raoul’s demand.
Their delight turned to shock. To horror. To rage. And then she told them about the fish stock. About Raoul’s penis. About the fish head.
There was a second of stunned silence.
“Oh…my…God,” Jaimie said, and she threw back her head and howled.
Emily roared with laughter. “A fish head,” she gasped, “a fish head!”
Even Lissa giggled.
“It was,” she said, “a very small fish.”
That set them off again.
Jaimie finally wiped her eyes, went to the wet bar and brought back three miniature bottles of pinot grigio.
“To hell with glasses,” she said, handing them around.
They unscrewed the caps and clinked bottles.
“To Raoul’s penis,” said Emily. “Here’s hoping the fish stock rotted it off.”
The Wilde sisters tilted the bottles to their lips and emptied them in a few long swallows. There were a couple of errant giggles. Then Jaimie cleared her throat.
“The bastard.”
“Believe me, I called him more than that.”
“And you were out of a job.”
