“Great spread this morning, Major. I meant to tell you earlier.”
Major accepted Lawson Guidry’s proffered hand, his stomach twisting. “Thank you, sir.” He hadn’t slept much this week, visions of and plans for the restaurant running constantly through his mind. This morning he’d given up on sleep around three o’clock and been at work at four, half an hour early, to prepare breakfast for Mr. Guidry’s weekly prayer breakfast.
“What brings you down here at this time of the afternoon?” the older man asked.
Major looked beyond Mr. Guidry toward the offices at the end of the hallway. “I came down to bring Meredith’s takeaway box for her dinner, but she’s not in her office. I need to talk to her.” At her father’s raised-brow look, Major quickly added, “About my part of the financial report on the New Year’s event.” Which was sort of true, though what he needed to ask her about could be done over the phone.
Maybe he read too much into Mr. Guidry’s expression, but he was pretty sure Meredith’s dad didn’t believe him. “She had to go out to meet clients at Lafitte’s Landing—probably won’t be back for a while.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll catch her later, then.”
“Don’t you have an interview scheduled for this afternoon anyway?”
Major checked his watch. “Yes, sir. I guess I’d better get back up to the kitchen, since that’s where I told them to meet me.”
“You’ll have to let us know how it goes.” Lawson raised his hand palm forward, his own unique good-bye wave. “I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Major nodded his farewell, then booked it back to the elevator and returned to the twenty-third floor.
Several kitchen and service staff stood facing him when the doors opened.
“Bye, Chef.”
“Have a great afternoon, Mr. O’Hara.”
“See ya tomorrow, Chef.”
He tossed a good-bye over his shoulder as he exchanged places with them, then headed across the expanse of Vue de Ceil to the kitchen on the opposite side. Vacuums’ whines filled the cavernous space, run by two of the waiters, both of whom had changed from their black pants and white button-downs into droopy jeans and sweatshirts.
In the kitchen, only Steven and the sauté chef and two dishwashers remained. Steven and his second-in-command hovered over the whiteboard, which they’d taken down and laid on the long prep table in the middle of the room, discussing tomorrow’s lunch menu and assigning components to the various staff who would be here.
Major stepped into his office and closed the door. He opened the wardrobe behind his desk, planning to wear his white chef ’s jacket for the interview—but it wasn’t there. He smacked his forehead. He’d dropped it off at the dry cleaner Tuesday and had meant to pick it up after the prayer breakfast this morning.
He swapped his navy polo for the burgundy tunic and watched himself in the mirror on the back of the armoire’s door as he buttoned the double-breasted placket. Hmm. Must have shrunk when he had it cleaned. At least, he didn’t remember the buttons around his gut pulling like that last time he’d worn it.
He sat down at the desk to write a note reminding himself to go to the cleaners tomorrow. The computer dinged, indicating a new e-mail received. Meredith usually checked her e-mail regularly when offsite, so maybe she’d finally decided to respond to him.
But the message was from Anne Hawthorne to set up a time to discuss the menu for her rehearsal dinner and wedding reception. He flagged it for follow-up later, then scanned the rest of the unread messages in his inbox. None from Guidry, Meredith.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was avoiding him.
The five-minute warning of the time scheduled for the interview popped up on the screen. He quickly straightened up his desk, though that consisted of making sure the stapler and tape dispenser were at a perfect right-angle to the desk blotter and that the blotter lay exactly one inch—as measured by the tip of his thumb—from the edge of the desk.
Back out in the kitchen, the dish sanitizers had stopped rumbling, and a solitary Steven was hanging the whiteboard back on the wall.
“Everyone else gone?” Major paused to glance over tomorrow’s menu.
“Yes, Chef. I’m about to call it a day, too, unless you need me for something.” He glanced pointedly at Major’s attire.
Have Steven hanging around for the interview? “No. It’s already after four o’clock. Go on home.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Steven slung his denim chef ’s jacket over his shoulder, tucked his knife case under his arm, and swaggered from the kitchen.
Major gave him half a minute’s head start then stepped out into the warehouse-sized, sky-view room. Just as one set of elevator doors closed behind Steven, another set opened.
Though he thought he’d prepared for it, the sight of Alaine Delacroix once again disarmed him. No woman had the right to be so distractingly beautiful. She held the door while the burly guy with her muscled out a large duffel bag and a couple of equipment cases.
Major jogged over. “Can I help with any of that?”
The guy looked up at him, apparently offended. “Naw, man. I can get it.”
“Chef O’Hara, it’s good to see you again.” Alaine extended her hand.
Heat rushed into Major’s face when he took her hand in his enormous paw and tried not to hurt her. “Ms. Delacroix. Welcome to Vue de Ceil.” He swept his arm toward the room.
Alaine strolled past him. “It looks so different. I’ve only been here at night—and with five or six hundred other people, like at New Year’s.”
More like eight or nine hundred, but who was counting? He followed her. Alaine Delacroix was the kind of woman who could be admired from afar but not someone Major had any interest in getting to know better on a personal level.
Not like Meredith. He didn’t have to worry about hurting Meredith on the rare occasion that called for him taking her hand in his—which he wished happened more often. He also didn’t feel like a prepubescent boy at his first school dance around Meredith the way he did right now. And to put final nails in the coffin in which he would bury his reaction to Alaine, he decided he much preferred strawberry blonds with nutmeg-colored eyes to brunettes with eyes so dark he couldn’t distinguish the pupil from the iris.
“...your office?” Alaine stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face him, those dark brown eyes gazing at him askance.
What about his office? Oh, the interview. “Right through here.”
He led her down the service corridor and pushed open the Enter Only door into the kitchen, motioning for her to pass through ahead of him—and for the overloaded cameraman to do the same.
“Wow. I’ve seen some professional kitchens on TV before, but this one takes the cake.” Alaine ran her hand along the stainless-steel countertops. “Nelson, we’ll want to get some footage of this kitchen. In fact—” She whirled around to look at both men. “I know we discussed filming the cooking segments in the executive kitchen downstairs, but I wonder now if maybe we should do it up here.”
Nelson thunked the equipment cases down on the floor and crossed his arms. “I’d have to see the other space to find out which one’ll be easier to light.”
Alaine returned to her perusal of the kitchen. “Mrs. Guidry said they’ll help us out with getting some new lights installed if our portables won’t be sufficient.”
Major felt as if he’d walked into the middle of a movie. “Cooking segments? I wasn’t supposed to have prepared a cooking exhibition for today, was I?”
“No, no. Your weekly guest spot for my show.”
“Oh.” Now he really needed to talk to Meredith. It wasn’t like her not to tell him when she made decisions that impacted his work. And even if the decision had come from farther up the food chain, the least Meredith could have done was to give him a heads-up. She was his boss after all.
“After we finish the interview, can you show us the other kitchen?”
“Sure.” That would give him a good excuse to see if Meredith was back yet and talk to her. He had to talk through this restaurant thing with someone. He couldn’t talk to Forbes—Forbes was representing his parents in the business deal. Meredith was the only other person he trusted.
Then why can’t I bring myself to tell her about Ma?
He pushed the wayward thoughts aside and led Alaine and Nelson into his office. He’d think about his relationship issues with Meredith later. Much, much later.
“Hey, kiddo. Good meeting this afternoon?”
Meredith looked up from her computer at her dad’s voice. “Yeah. I think we’ve got that wedding reception in the bag.”
“How much are they wanting to spend?”
“At least six figures.”
“That’s my girl.”
Yep. That’s when her parents were proud of her: whenever she brought more money into the company coffers. “It’s not signed yet.”
“I’ll put the pressure on the father of the bride—I’m playing golf with him Saturday morning. You hooked the fish; I’ll just reel it in.” He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Major was down here a little while ago looking for you. Said he needed to talk to you.”
Meredith’s insides cringed, but she kept her expression neutral. “Yeah, I’ve got a couple of e-mails from him that I haven’t gotten around to yet—it’s been such a busy week.”
“Well, before you talk to him, there’s something you should know.” Her father rubbed the back of his neck. “Your mother and I offered to become investors in a restaurant with Major. He’d still work for you as the head of the catering division while the restaurant is in the start-up phase. But as soon as it opens, he’d be running the restaurant full-time.”
Meredith took several deep breaths to try to settle her churning stomach. Major was going to leave B-G? She wouldn’t get to see him every day. She might not see him ever again.
But you’re supposed to be getting over him, remember? Maybe this is God’s way of helping with that goal.
She cleared her throat. “I see. I guess I’ll have to ask him to help me find a replacement executive chef.”
“He hasn’t accepted the offer yet, and we’re not pushing him to make the decision quickly. Let him get through the Hearts to HEARTS banquet.”
“Sounds reasonable.” Meredith dug her thumbnail into the opposite palm. “Anything else?”
“He said he needed to talk to you about the financial report for New Year’s Eve, too.” Dad gave her his stop-sign farewell wave. “See you tomorrow. Don’t work too late.”
“’Night, Daddy.” As soon as he disappeared, she rubbed her forehead. Her head—and heart—split in two: one part of her wanting to be happy that both she and Major would have a chance to move on, move forward; the other part mourning the loss of what she’d always wished would happen.
Major’s Jeep—that old green thing he called Kirby—had still been in the garage when she’d driven in a few minutes ago. Steeling herself to see him for the first time since making her New Year’s resolution, she left the B-G corporate offices and got onto the elevator before second thoughts hit.
The orange, red, purple, and navy of sunset gave Vue de Ceil the aura of a cathedral. She paused for a moment just to appreciate the view.
Is this a sign, Lord? A sign that I’m doing the right thing by letting go of my childish crush on him? Of course it was. As was the fact that he would leave B-G to start a restaurant, and she’d rarely—if ever—see him again.
She entered the kitchen through the Exit Only door, since it was closest—and then stopped. Voices came from Major’s office. His, followed by—a woman’s. Meredith took a step back, bumped the door, and covered her mouth with her hand. He was up here alone with a woman?
He said something; then both he and the unknown female laughed. The refrigerators and other equipment in the kitchen made too much noise for Meredith to clearly make out the words, and through the cracked-open door, she could see only the corner of the wardrobe that stood behind his desk.
Though she gulped, her lungs wouldn’t fill with air. What more sign did she need to prove Major did not return her feelings and that it was time for her to move on?
Dazedly, she backed out through the door and somehow ended up at the elevators. When she’d voiced her resolution, it hadn’t seemed like it would be hard—at least not this hard. But as her mother would say, a goal that’s easily attained doesn’t bring the satisfaction that comes through sacrifice, hard work, and sometimes even tears.
She held her breath to keep the tears at bay, staring out over the darkening city as the glass elevator descended. She refused to go through the pain she’d experienced in college. At least she was fairly certain that Major wasn’t about to marry one of her closest friends as Brent had.
Back in her office, she sat down to work on her report—after all, the more she could get done now, the less she’d have to take home over the weekend. But the tinkling laughter of the mystery woman continued ringing in Meredith’s head.
Who was she? What was it about this other woman that caught Major’s attention—what quality Meredith didn’t have?
Okay, stop. She had to concentrate on the report. See, this was why it was good she didn’t have a relationship with someone she worked with. If she got this distracted by his having a conversation with another woman, what would she be like if Major actually returned her feelings—if they were dating?
Her head started throbbing, so she turned to grab a soda out of the mini-fridge. She’d just laid her hand on the neck of the last bottle when the Styrofoam carryout box caught her eye. Major’s bold scrawl across the top of it sent chill bumps down the back of her neck:
Meredith—sorry I keep missing you. Hope you enjoy. I think this is one of your favorite meals.
M O’H
A raft of tears flooded her eyes, but she blinked hard to make them go away. She jumped when her cell phone buzzed against her waist and began trilling her general ringtone. An unfamiliar number scrolled across the screen.
With a deep breath, followed by clearing her throat, she clicked the appropriate button and pressed the device to her ear. “This is Meredith Guidry.”
“Well, hello there, Meredith Guidry,” came a deep voice. “This is Ward Breaux. You didn’t answer the e-mail I sent earlier in the week, so I figured I’d give you a call.”
Yeah, she’d been meaning to get around to reading that e-mail. “Hey, Ward. I guess you want to talk about my house, huh?”
“That wasn’t my primary reason for calling, no.” The humor that filled his voice conjured an image of him towering over her, giving her that grin and looking at her with flirtatious eyes. “I was hoping I could take you out for dinner tonight.”
“Tonight?” Thursday. Dinner with the other unmarried adult cousins and siblings. “I can’t tonight. I already have plans.”
“Tomorrow then.”
She pulled the phone away, stared at it in astonishment, and put it back to her ear. “Hold on. Let me check my calendar.” She already knew what it would show her. No event tomorrow night that she needed to be at—the event planners were doing that—which meant that her Friday night might include going upstairs to watch a movie with Anne and George if they weren’t going out.
“Am I freaking you out by moving too fast?” Ward’s voice tingled on her skin like ice chips followed by a warm shower.
“No—not at all.” She was freaked out by someone she’d only met four days ago calling her and asking her out for a date, since it had never happened to her. She tried to swallow the knot of nerves blocking her air passage. “It looks like I’m free tomorrow night.”
“Great. Why don’t I pick you up at your office—say around five thirty? Or is that too late for a Friday evening?”
Meredith pulled a pen from under the untidy stack of papers beside the computer and started drawing question marks on the back of a legal pad. “Sure. Five thirty. Here. Sounds fine.”
“I hope you like jazz music. I know the greatest little club down on the river. I thought maybe we could get dinner in downtown and then drive over to Town Square, stroll along the Riverwalk, and then sit and have coffee and listen to some jazz.”
The word JAZZ appeared in big, bold letters under her pen. “I love jazz. And if you’re talking about the Savoy, I’ve been wanting to go there since they opened.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you at five thirty tomorrow evening, then. I can’t wait.”
“Me, too.” She repeated his “Bye-bye now” farewell and hung up. She tapped the phone to her chin and glanced around the office, looking for some confirmation of what had just occurred.
Aside from the fact that for the last three months she’d been trying to think of some way to invite Major to go to the Savoy with her, she was excited about tomorrow night. The idea of going out with someone she didn’t know the first thing about—well, she knew he was a contractor, so didn’t know the second thing about—frightened her a little. But not as much as the blind dates Jenn wanted to set her up on.
Besides, if she was going to end her single status by this time next year, how else did she expect that to happen?
She leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. “Lord, please let him be a nice, normal, Christian guy—with no weird fetishes or obsessions. And if You could keep him from getting distracted by an attractive woman while we’re on our date, I would so appreciate it.”