Guilty Pleasures (11 page)

Mari felt a momentary pang, and she wasn't sure if it was sadness at their naiveté…or envy for their happiness.

“Mari! Come on in.” Jack ushered her into his cheaply decorated office, with its peeling desktop and ugly taupe file cabinets. “So…lease is coming up.”

“If we're going to be talking lease renegotiation, I have to insist that my business partner Lindsay be here,” Mari said, in her most businesslike voice. “Unless you're willing to have another year on the same terms. Anything longer or any change in the rent, and we'll definitely need to reschedule, so Lindsay can be involved.”

“No, no, nothing that formal,” Jack said, his laugh friendly. Mari's guard immediately went up. “I'm just notifying tenants in that block of some new information.”

Mari went still. “What new information?”

“That you're not going to be renting from me anymore.” Jack's smile was wide enough to split his face in half. “I finally got somebody to buy those buildings.”

Mari's stomach clenched into a frozen ball.
New owner.
That could mean anything. Rent increased at a huge rate. Everybody evicted. Or the buildings torn down…

Stay calm,
Mari said. “Oh? Who is this new owner?”

“It's part of a conglomerate,” Jack said, waving his hand. “Something about renovating the neighborhood, and I think it's great that somebody's doing it.”

“Somebody other than you, you mean,” Mari muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. So when does the new owner take over?”

“Two months,” Jack said. He was downright ebullient. This conglomerate must be coughing up some hefty cash to make the man this chipper. “I'm sure he'll want to keep you on. I hear you're making some really nice money these days…and if the place gets renovated, you'll probably get even more business.”

And get charged even higher rent.
Mari stood up. “I'll pass this on to Lindsay.”

“I'll send out something official-looking,” Jack said, standing up also. “I'm sure Lindsay will want something on paper and all.”

“I'm sure she will,” Mari echoed.

“Don't be a stranger, now!” Jack said, waving Mari out of the office.

Mari walked back to her car, numb. Lindsay had warned her about the possibility of her rent being raised, but there were legal limits to how much a landlord could raise in a year. Besides, business
had
been better…she felt like she had some breathing room.

Who would have thought her place would get bought out?

She got in her car, started the engine. Now, she was facing possible eviction…or at the very least, a lot steeper rent. Which was almost the same thing, considering the huge rents anywhere else in San Francisco. She certainly couldn't afford to
buy
her own space.

Do not panic,
she told herself sternly as she zipped her way back to her loft.
Things will turn around.

Look at what happened just a few months ago, after all. She'd hired Nick, which had been a gamble…she'd tried a new menu, which was a big risk, especially with its chancy theme and questionable-sounding content. Now, she was finally creeping in the black and happier than she'd been since she opened.

So why not take another risk?

She found a parking spot on the street—a good omen, she thought, considering the near-impossible parking conditions in the city—and went back to her apartment to change into her work clothes. The thought of taking a risk would not leave her mind.

She called up Lindsay, leaving a message that they'd need to talk, not wanting to break the potentially bad news to her over the phone. As she hung up, her gaze caught on one of the flyers Lindsay had left in a bundle of paperwork on Mari's desk.

Internationale Culinary Competition.
Grand prize: one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

That wasn't much, relatively speaking, Mari thought. She'd sunk half a million in Guilty Pleasures. But it would be a cushion until they found a new place…or maybe a down payment for a new place. And the promotional benefits would be enormous.

And maybe, just maybe, there would be a financier who was interested in their unusual style…interested enough to invest.

So why not?
The entry fee was a little steep, but as her father used to say, you have to spend money to
make money. It was one of the few bits of advice that had stuck with her.

Are you crazy?
Her subconscious nagged at her. The people who entered Internationale were all four-star types…internationally known. They were stars of the culinary scene. The competition was about two months away. They'd probably be preparing for this for a year, at least. And they would have top-ranked chefs working on it.

Nick's a top-ranked chef. And before Le Pome, I wasn't a slouch, either.
Before her confidence had been so badly shaken, she had been convinced that she could have entered the lofty echelon of top-ranked chefs. Then she'd convinced herself she didn't need the approval of the culinary world.

She still didn't need their approval, she thought. But she'd take their money…and make her name doing it. She knew her crew, and she knew Nick. She'd been around restaurants all her life, had been working in them since she graduated from the Culinary.

They were good enough. Good enough to take the added pressure of a short deadline, and
run
with it.

Good enough to win, if they only tried….

She picked up the phone, suppressing the jumble of nerves that pulled at her in favor of the excitement that was rushing through her veins. “Hello? Yes. Is this the main office for the Internationale competition?” she asked. “Is it too late to enter? Could you fax me an entry form?”

 

B
Y THE END OF THE
evening shift, Nick was exhausted. He'd been there for hours. There hadn't been
any major hitches, granted, but he had to admit…Phillip's conversation had really thrown him for a loop.

He felt the dull throb of a headache, just behind his temples. Closing wasn't too far off now. He was surprised he hadn't seen Mari yet, though. He was looking forward to seeing her later…and spending some time with her. At this point, he didn't even need the oblivion of sex. He would be more than happy with just breathing in her floral-spicy scent and feeling her arms around him.

Well, the sex would be nice, too,
he thought with a small grin. But that could wait for later.

Mari bounced in, and the first thing he noticed was her energy. She seemed to be suffused with it, moving with frenetic little bursts. She was smiling widely.

“So. I guess things with the landlord went well?” he said, basking in the warmth of her smile.

“Huh? Oh. No. Actually they went really…” She glanced around, seeing the crew staring at her. He could tell that she edited her response. “You guys know how Jack is.”

Again, a rumble of commentary, just like the morning shift. This landlord must be some kind of jerk to be this widely known, Nick thought. He wondered what had occurred, but realized Mari would probably tell him later, when they were alone. Still, it couldn't have been that bad—she was practically dancing with happiness.

“But I got an idea,” she said, “and I really think we can do a lot with it.”

“Really?” Her enthusiasm was infectious. “So. What's your idea?”

“I'm entering us in a competition!”

“A competition?” Tiny asked. Tiny was working a double shift, as was Zooey—
we're really going to need to think of bringing on some more employees,
Nick thought. Then grinned, as he realized he was thinking like one of the owners. “What's the big deal about that?”

“Competitions are good,” Nick replied. “They help get your name out, they give you a chance to show your stuff. Good publicity. Some of them have cash prizes.”

“Whoo-hoo!” Tiny yelled, and the rest of the crew laughed.

“Yeah, I figure…those high-brow society kitchens haven't seen a fight till they compete with our crew,” Mari said. He knew she was right. They were scrappers, every one of them—unorthodox, but definitely gifted, both with persistence and a keen sense of team-work. They'd probably do very well, especially in one of the smaller competitions…something local, or out in one of the smaller towns. There probably wouldn't be a cash prize involved, but they were just starting out.

“When is it?” Antonio, their night runner, asked.

“Not for two months,” Mari said.

“Two months?” Zooey wailed. “That's not a lot of time to prep!”

Nick interrupted again. “It's not so bad. It's sort of like Iron Chef…you know, you get an ingredient—or they say ‘you have to have a fish meal, a meat meal, and a dessert' or something. You have all your stuff there at the beginning of the competition, you've got a set number of hours. Then there's judging, and you're all set.”

“Doesn't sound that bad,” Tiny said, nudging Zooey. “
We
could do that, easy.”

“Competitions can be fun,” Nick said, remembering his own experiences in competition…back in the day, as Tiny would say. “I think you guys could be pretty good at them.”

“Regardless, this one will be worth it,” Mari said, and her eyes shone. “And we're going to bust our butts until competition day, to win. Right?”

“Right!” The crew yelled as one, and Nick smiled again. They were now chattering excitedly to themselves.

“Orders are up, people,” Nick said, wishing he could kiss Mari's full, smiling mouth. He felt better than he had in hours. They grumbled good-naturedly and went back to work, and he tugged Mari into the back room, doing what he'd wanted to before…pressing a kiss against her pliant lips. She parted them willingly, kissing him with enough force to make him hard. He pulled away, his breathing harsh.

“Well. I guess you had a good afternoon,” he said, allowing himself one squeeze before stepping away from her and trying to force his body back to some semblance of calm. “So. What competition are we
entering, anyway? Gilroy? Something in the East Bay?”

“No,” she said, and hugged him. “We're going to enter in Internationale!”

Her words stunned him.
“What?”

She blinked. “Internationale. You know the competition… I understand you were on Blackstone's team, the year they ranked fourth.”

“You can't be serious.”

That took some of the spring out of her step, and he saw her surprise. “Well, why not?”

“Do you know the kind of teams that enter Internationale?” Nick said, still shocked by her revelation. “Henri's, Four Seasons, all the best restaurants in the country compete! And you're going to enter….”

Her eyes glinted, a dangerous violet blue. “Guilty Pleasures. Yes, I am. I know it's not a lot of time….”

“It's more than not a lot of time,” Nick said, lowering his voice. “It's a suicidal deadline. I mean, we'd have to pick a team of six, we'd have to come up with a theme, a menu, we'd have to practice putting it together….”

“I know,” Mari said, and there was a stubborn set to her lips. “But look how quickly we got the menu together…and how well it worked out.”

Nick closed his eyes. The woman was serious…and she was determined. This was going to be very, very bad.

“That was different,” he said. “We still had time to tweak it. We had a full month to just set things
up…and they weren't that difficult. Nothing that the crew couldn't handle.”

“The crew is up for more than you give them credit for,” Mari said, and there was an edge of stiffness in her voice. “You'd be surprised.”

“I'd have to be more than surprised for them to hold up to Internationale standards,” Nick said. “I'd have to be shocked.”

Mari flinched.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension out of them. It had been a rough day, but he couldn't just spout off on this. It was obviously close to Mari's heart…and therefore, it would have to be handled delicately.

“Mari, it's not that I don't think they can handle it,” he said gently. “I know they're good workers, and they're one of the best crews I've seen in a pinch.” He wasn't lying. “And I know we've come up with some interesting stuff in the past. We've done well with it. But
Internationale is different.
”

She nodded, her gaze stony.

He hoped he was getting through to her. “They're the best, Mari. They're not going to be impressed with the stuff we put out. They're not going to appreciate it at all.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe with a few wins from smaller competitions under our belt…more time to prepare…maybe…”

Maybe a name change,
his subconscious traitorously added.

No matter what they did, he secretly felt that Guilty Pleasures would
never
win Internationale.

Mari sat on the edge of a large box of canned corn, and took a deep breath. “Did I ever tell you about my old restaurant? The one that reporter guy was talking about?”

Nick had forgotten the incident…largely because he'd focused on how upset Mari was, and on his feelings, both at David's stance on the article, and on David's confusing stance about Mari herself. “No. You mean…” What was it called again. “Le Pome, right?”

Suddenly, something that hadn't registered before flashed in his mind.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Le Pome. I know that…”

Not only that, but Phillip's comment about Mari being a failure linked together in his mind.

“You know.” Mari's voice was flat. “I wondered when you'd put it together. I was only twenty-three years old when I was head chef of Le Pome. I was hand-picked by Derek Black, wealthy industrialist who wanted a restaurant. I thought he chose me because of my talent. Turns out, he chose me for my ass and my youth. And yes, I did sleep with him. I was stupid and young and flattered.” She closed her eyes, her expression pained. “Did I mention I was stupid?”