Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"You look like hell," Drea Scott told Madison Baldwin when she walked into La Marée restaurant Saturday afternoon.

Madison frowned at Drea, who wore a simple black dress, her brown hair pulled back in a French braid, her brown eyes sparkling with humor. Drea appeared to be bright-eyed and clear-headed after her night at Maverick's, while she had a hammer pounding against her right temple.

"My headache is your fault," she said pointedly. "I told you tequila shots were a bad idea."

"I only bought you the first shot. The second one was your idea, and I don't know what happened after you started chatting up that sexy guy at the bar. What was his name?"

"I don't know."

Drea's gaze widened in surprise. "Seriously? You didn't get a name?"

"I didn't want his name because I didn't want to give him my name."

"Why not?"

"I wanted to have fun and not talk about myself or my job. I just wanted to be a woman in a bar, which, by the way, was also your idea. Remember? But you bailed on me twenty minutes after we got there. That was not cool, Drea."

"I know." Drea flashed her a guilty look. "But I've been crushing on Marcus for weeks, and I couldn't believe it when he showed up at Maverick's. In fact, I couldn't believe I'd never been there before. Thank goodness, my friend, Lexie, from yoga told me about it. There were a lot of attractive men. I may have to rethink living in Encinitas when my lease comes up. There are a lot more fun places to go to in Oceanside. Anyway, I am sorry for not hanging out with you. But when Marcus told me he'd broken up with the woman he was dating, I had to grab my opportunity."

"You grabbed a lot more than opportunity," she said dryly.

Drea laughed. "Guilty. But you told me to go for it. Don't you remember?"

She vaguely remembered having said something like that. "So, are you two a thing now?"

"I don't know about that, but we had a lot of fun last night and this morning."

"You're moving fast."

"It's been a long time, Madison."

"I know." She was happy for Drea. Her friend had been in a dating slump the past year since she'd caught her ex cheating on her. "I hope it works out."

"We're a long way from working out; I just want to keep seeing him. What about the guy you were with? Will you see him again?"

"No," she said flatly.

"Really? He looked interested from what I saw."

"I don't even know his name, and I don't have time to date. I only went with you last night because the bookings were down, and I was depressed and frustrated. I needed to blow off some steam. But now I need to focus. This restaurant is hanging on by a thread. And if it fails, it's on me. This is my first and maybe my last opportunity to run my own restaurant. I have to make it a success."

"You will," Drea said with confidence. "We've only been open a month. It's early days. And you've been running on empty for a few weeks. When the pressure gets too high, sometimes you need to let off a little steam. I still think it was good you went to the bar last night. And as for your mysterious, good-looking stranger, he probably goes to Maverick's all the time. You could always go back to the bar."

"Did you not just hear me say I have to concentrate on this restaurant? And besides that, I need to find a more permanent place to live. There are so many things on my to-do list, I can't add any more."

Drea let out a sigh. "I hear you."

"Good. How's tonight looking?" she asked with some trepidation, hoping for positive news, but steeling herself for bad.

The smile on Drea's face faded. "Two parties just canceled."

"Why? Why is no one coming here? This place is amazing. Isn't it?"

She shook her head in bewilderment as she looked around the beautiful restaurant that she and the owner, Larry Shaw, had created. It was sophisticated and luxurious, with glittering crystal lights discreetly placed above and between expensive paintings.

Square tables filled the dining room, with a row of semi-circular booths upholstered in deep- blue fabric, offering intimate and cozy seating. The back of the dining room was all windows, offering a view of a garden patio filled with shrubbery and a fresh herb garden that she utilized every day in her menu.

The other side of the room boasted a sleek, marble-topped bar with glass shelves lined with an impressive selection of wines and spirits. Behind the bar was an enormous gleaming mirror adding depth and sparkle to the room.

Everything was top of the line, and perhaps a little over the top, she secretly admitted. Larry had embellished every simple idea she'd had, so while it wasn't her vision exactly, it was still very pretty. It was certainly a place diners should want to come.

She'd called the first two weeks a soft opening, encouraging her staff to bring in their friends and family members and using a publicity firm to market the restaurant on social media. While comments had been positive, they'd seen little increase in business.

She hadn't expected instant success, but she also hadn't anticipated such a slow pace of growth. She had to find a way to get more customers into the restaurant or Larry would lose confidence in her. She could already tell by his daily calls that he was starting to wonder if he'd made the right choice in hiring her, and she couldn't let him question that, because part of the reason he had hired her was because he was good friends with her father.

It was the one and only time in her life she'd accepted a favor from her dad, and now she had two people she couldn't let down—three, if she included herself.

"Everything looks good, and the food is phenomenal. It will get better," Drea said, with an optimistic note in her voice. "It will just take time."

She wanted to believe Drea. Her front-of-house manager had been working in restaurants for almost fifteen years. She'd actually met Drea eight years ago at a restaurant in New York City. She'd been a sous chef then, and Drea, a waitress. For two years, they'd been great friends, until Drea had moved back to Southern California to help her divorced sister take care of her kids.

Despite the distance between them, they'd always kept in touch, and when she'd been hired to run Larry's new restaurant, her first call had been to Drea. She was good with customers and knew exactly how to handle the waitstaff. Plus, she was a great cheerleader to have, and her unflagging cheerful attitude definitely helped her keep her head up.

"It will get better," she agreed. "We just need to find a way to draw more customers in."

"I was thinking about that, Madison." Drea pulled a piece of paper from the shelf underneath her countertop. "You might want to consider this."

"What's that?" she asked warily as Drea handed her the flyer. She shook her head as soon as she read the headline for the San Diego Cook-Off . "No. I don't do competitions like this."

"It would be a great way to get local buzz and interest in you. Everyone who watches these competitions wants to go to the restaurants of the competitors. You'll become a local celebrity."

"I don't want to be a celebrity. I want to be a chef."

"Can't you be both?"

"Even if I was interested, I don't have time." She handed the flyer back to Drea.

"You might have to make time. You need something to jump-start this place. You shouldn't dismiss the opportunity so easily. I've watched this competition before. It's very well-run. The media shows up at every round, and it's televised as part of a series of cooking competitions on the Culinary Network. It's also livestreamed on the Internet. It has a far bigger reach than you might imagine. And while we're not in the heart of San Diego, we're an easy drive for someone who wants to have a fine-dining experience by an incredibly talented new chef in the area."

Drea made a good argument, but she inwardly shuddered at the thought of putting her skills on display in a competition. She wasn't good at competing. She did not like cameras or people watching her every move. On the other hand, it probably would help drive business to the restaurant. "I'll think about it," she said. "But now, I need to get to work."

"One last thing, Madison. My friend, Lexie, said there's an open apartment in her building. It's right on the beach, and it's not far from here. It sounds perfect. I know you're eager to get out of that residence hotel."

"I am. That sounds good."

"I'll text you Lexie's number. She said to call her tomorrow, and she can show it to you. Her aunt manages the building."

"Thanks. It would be a relief to settle in somewhere, and I never seem to find time to look at anything. Although, the way business is going, maybe I shouldn't make a move yet," she added, feeling a weight of fear she couldn't seem to shake. Her initial optimism had definitely taken a hit the past several weeks.

The phone rang. "Maybe this is a new reservation," Drea said with a smile.

"I sure hope so."

As Drea took the call, she left the dining room and entered the kitchen, instantly feeling better. Kitchens had always been her safe space, and this one was perfect in every way. It was a chef's dream. Larry had spared no expense in setting it up, never questioning her expertise on what was needed in the kitchen. But it was too clean and too quiet. She wanted to feel the heat of the stoves, hear the quiet, efficient chatter of her staff, and smell the food cooking. But with the limited number of reservations on the books, none of which were coming in for an hour, there wasn't much to do at the moment.

Her chef de cuisine, Elliott Vemeer, a classically trained French chef, was sitting on a stool checking his phone, while one of her prep cooks was chopping carrots at a very slow pace. Her other prep cook wasn't even in the kitchen. He was probably outside taking a cigarette break.

Her sous chef was flirting with her pastry chef, which seemed to be happening more and more often. She wondered what was going on there and how it might affect their relationship in the kitchen going forward, but she didn't have the energy or the time to worry about that right now.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Hello, everyone. Let's get ready for a great dinner service. We may not have a packed house, but we want everything that leaves this kitchen to be perfect. Let's get to work."

Her words were met with polite smiles and at least the appearance of energy as Elliott got off his stool and put his phone away and her sous chef returned to his station while her pastry chef turned her attention to the cake she was making.

She told herself it was all good, but she was faking it as much as they were. It wasn't all good, and she didn't know what to do about it.

Around seven thirty on Saturday night, Drea came into the kitchen with a worried look on her face.

"What's wrong?" Madison asked immediately. "You're not bringing back a plate, so…"

"It's not the food. Larry just walked into the restaurant with your father."

"What?" she asked in shock. Her father lived in San Francisco, and the owner of the restaurant, Larry Shaw, spent most of his time in Los Angeles. Neither of them was supposed to be in the restaurant tonight.

But she should have seen this coming. She'd had disturbing conversations with both of them over the last few days, with each expressing doubts about her running the restaurant. Her father, Philip Baldwin, had wanted to remind her that if she let Larry down, she was letting him down. She was tarnishing his reputation because he'd recommended that Larry take a chance on her.

Larry was obsessed with the numbers. He had a lot of money on the line, and he was not a patient man. She'd told both of them she just needed time. Each had agreed that made sense, but here they were.

"They just sat down," Drea continued. "Larry wants you to come out and say hello."

"I'll be right there." She took off her chef's coat and walked out of the kitchen.

When she got into the dining room, she paused by the bar. Larry and her father were talking to their server about wine, so it gave her a minute to compose herself. She needed to be calm and to speak articulately. They were not her enemy. Larry was her boss and Philip was her father, and they both wanted her to succeed. It helped her to reframe the upcoming conversation in those terms. But she still delayed, telling herself it would be better to talk to them after they got some wine.

Larry Shaw was a short, stocky man with a square face and thinning brown hair. Her father, Philip Baldwin, was his opposite: tall and lean, with silver hair that brought out his green eyes. She'd gotten her green eyes from her dad, probably the only thing she'd gotten from him. They were as different as two people could be.

But Larry and Philip were very much the same person, both extremely successful businessmen, who based their success on the size of their bank accounts and their prestige on the private clubs they belonged to. They weren't completely shallow, though; they were both philanthropists, and they supported nonprofits and entrepreneurs trying to make a difference in the world. That was one thing she liked about both of them.

Larry was also a little softer than her father, so he was easier to talk to. Larry liked to joke and laugh, while her father rarely found anything funny. He was a man who kept a very tight rein on his emotions, which made it impossible, at least for her, to get close to him.

As the server came over to the bar, she realized her time was up. She walked over to their table and forced a smile on her face.

"Hello, this is a surprise," she said.

Her father immediately stood up and kissed her on the cheek. It was a cool, barely there kiss, but his manners were always impeccable.

"We had a meeting in LA today," Larry said. "Philip wanted to see the restaurant, so we drove down. I didn't expect it to be this quiet so early on a Saturday night."

"There's a line down the street for a food truck," her father said, tipping his head toward the front window. "We could barely get in the door. This is disappointing."

In her head, she didn't hear the word " this "; she heard " you ". You are disappointing . It was a phrase that had been used to describe his feelings toward her since she was a little girl.

As she followed his gaze to the crowd on the sidewalk, she felt another wave of frustration. She'd sent Elliott to talk to the food truck owner last week, asking him to move his truck and his line, but he'd refused, showing Elliott his permit.

"What do you think of the dining room?" Larry asked her dad as Philip took his seat.

"It's very nice," her father said. "I just wish it was more crowded."

"So do I." Larry sent her a pointed look.

"We've only been open a month. It's going to take time. But we're getting good reviews every day. Are you going to have dinner?"

"Yes," Larry said. "I'll have the duck."

She nodded. The duck was his favorite dish and one he had insisted she showcase. "What about you, Dad?"

Her father looked at the menu, then said, "I'll go with the steak. Make sure it's medium rare."

"Perfect," she said, ignoring his request. She always served her steaks medium rare. "What about appetizers and dessert?"

"Why don't you send us a variety?" Larry suggested.

"Will do."

She headed back to the kitchen. "Listen up, everyone," she said sharply. "Larry is here with my father, and we're going to give them the meal of their lives."

For the next hour she cooked, making sure she tasted everything before it left the kitchen. She tried not to think about her father or Larry, just the food. That was where she could shine.

Their plates continually came back clean, so she felt like the meal was going well. After the dessert was delivered to their table, she gave them a few minutes and then took off her chef's jacket and reentered the dining room.

Larry and her father were the only two people left in the room, which gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. But she pushed past that and approached their table with a smile.

"How did you enjoy your meal?" she asked.

"It was wonderful," Larry replied. "You can definitely cook, Madison. We just need more people to know that."

"I'm glad you liked your food." Her questioning gaze moved toward her father.

"It was good," Philip said. His words brought a momentary flash of happiness, until he added, "But clearly you have problems here that go beyond the food."

"Those problems are being addressed."

"I hope that's true. I need to get to the airport. I have a late-night flight to San Francisco." He got to his feet. "Your mother wants to come down two weeks from now. Hopefully, things will look better by then." He turned to Larry, giving him a brief smile. "We'll talk soon. Thanks again for supporting Madison."

"Happy to do so," Larry replied.

She didn't like the exchange between them, the idea that Larry was still doing her father a favor by keeping her on. But with the situation she was currently in, she didn't have any ammunition with which to fight that belief.

"Why don't you sit down?" Larry said as her father left.

She took the seat next to him. "I know the numbers have been slower than anticipated, but I believe it will change. I will make it change."

"I hope so. Your food is wonderful, Madison."

"Thank you."

"But I'm a businessman. If my investments don't turn a profit in a short amount of time, I move on."

"I understand, but four weeks isn't enough time for any restaurant. There's always some massaging of the menu, the prices, everything…"

"I agree. But there is a limit to my patience. I'll give you four more weeks. That will be two months in business. If you can't show a significant amount of growth by then, I'm going to bring in someone who can."

"You won't have to do that," she said, infusing as much confidence as she could into her statement.

"I hope that's true. But I don't live by words, only results. You're a talented chef, but I need someone who can run a restaurant, who can bring in a crowd. I respect your father a great deal, and I want to do right by you, so I'll give you more time. Your success is in your hands, Madison. Don't tell me what you can do…show me."

"I will," she promised. "I won't let you down. Can I get you anything else?"

"No. I need to get going."

"Are you staying in town tonight?"

"Yes, but I'll be leaving early in the morning." He gave her a small smile as he set down his napkin. "I know you probably didn't appreciate our pop-in visit, but your father and I wanted to see the restaurant the way any customer would see it. I didn't want you to do anything special because we were coming."

"I understand." She got up and walked Larry to the door.

As he stepped outside, he had to navigate his way through a thick line of people waiting to get tacos from the food truck parked down the street. She could see his expression tighten as he looked at the crowd, probably wondering why a food truck could draw so many customers while La Marée could not.

There was really no comparison in food quality or pricing. It was a completely different customer base. But it was frustrating to see so many people willing to wait in line for tacos when they were standing right outside her beautiful restaurant. The line was not only blocking her front door but also prohibiting anyone from driving by to see her signage.

On the other hand, the line made it difficult to argue that this street didn't get foot traffic.

Drea came up next to her. "Do we still have jobs?" she asked.

"For the time being, but Larry wants to see a lot of progress by the end of two months—four weeks from now."

"That's not much time. Any thoughts on how we're going to turn things around?"

"I have one thought. I need to get this damn line to go in the other direction. It's blocking our door."

"There's no one trying to get in our door," Drea pointed out.

"Well, they couldn't if they wanted to."

"I don't think there's anything you can do. The owner of the truck has a permit. His truck is parked however many yards away from us it has to be."

"But the line is a hazard. I'm going to talk to whoever's in charge. I'm going to get this line moved."

"Okay, but then what?"

The line wasn't her biggest problem, but at the moment, it was the only problem that seemed solvable. "I don't know. But I'm going to start there."

She moved down the block as fast as she could, which wasn't that fast as she had to weave her way through the line. When she got to the bright-orange truck, she saw two windows, one for purchasing and one for picking up food. There was a young man in one window and a woman in the other.

The large menu board was filled with colorful photos of tacos, enchiladas, and a special of the day. There were all kinds of boastful words, like "world's best" and "Southern California's hottest", and she had to admit there was a delicious smell emanating through the air.

But she didn't care about any of that. Bypassing the line, she went up to the back door of the truck and peeked her head in. "Hello?"

A man stepped away from the grill to give her a questioning look. "Yes?"

"Are you the owner?"

"No. He's not here."

"When will he be back? I have a restaurant down the street, and your line is blocking my entrance."

"He'll be back soon," the man said, turning his attention to the grill.

"Actually, he's back now," a voice said from behind her.

She whirled around in surprise, shocked even more by the man standing in front of her, the man with thick, wavy brown hair, dark-brown eyes, and a sexy mouth that he knew how to use really well.

This was the man she'd made out with last night in the parking lot of Maverick's, the one she'd never thought she'd see again.

"Well, if it isn't my beautiful stranger," he drawled. "You found me."

"I wasn't looking for you. I was looking for the owner of this truck."

"That's me. Gabe Herrera. And you are?"

"I'm the chef at La Marée."

Now he was the one with shock running through his dark-eyed gaze. "You're the chef there?"

"Yes. I'm Madison Baldwin." She cleared her throat. "Your line is blocking my door. I was hoping you would get someone to move it in the other direction."

"I just walked by your restaurant. It's closed."

"Well, yes. It's closed now, but this is happening all the time, even when the restaurant is open, and it's hurting my business."

"My line for tacos is hurting your fancy restaurant?" he drawled, an unmistakable note of sarcasm in his voice. "How could that possibly be? According to the owner, he was bringing in a chef so good, his restaurant would be overflowing with customers."

"When did you speak to Larry?" she asked warily.

"When he bought the space. I heard he was an investor looking for a chef to build a restaurant, so I offered to bring him my business, but he said he was only interested in fine dining."

"Well, that was his choice. He's the owner."

"And you were his pick. Now you're struggling. Interesting."

"I didn't say I was struggling. I said your line is blocking my door. I'd appreciate if you'd move it, starting tomorrow, if not tonight."

He gave her a long look. "I don't have the manpower to keep track of my line. Sorry."

"Really? That's all you're going to say? I thought you were…" Her words faded away as she realized she didn't know what she thought. She knew he was fun and friendly and a great kisser, but she knew nothing else about him.

"You thought I was what?" he prodded.

"A nice guy."

"I am a nice guy. But I have two people working the windows and one person cooking. I don't have anyone else to monitor a line. Why don't you put a cone in front of your door or something?"

"A bright-red cone? That's not going to go with my vibe."

He shrugged. "That's your choice."

She stared back at him. "You're doing it on purpose, aren't you? You're mad you didn't get to put your restaurant in that space. That's why you're parked down the street, why you're blocking the door, isn't it?"

"I can't say I didn't want to show your boss how much business I could bring in," he admitted. "But I also like this street. And I have a permit. You're just going to have to deal with my line. Or I'll have to deal with yours."

Except she didn't have a line, which annoyed her, and the smug look on his very attractive face didn't help. "Did you know who I was when we met last night?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I had no idea who you were. But now that I think about it, your question regarding my choice for a last meal makes a lot more sense. Of course you'd want the perfect roast chicken. No spice for you. Just bland, sophisticated perfection."

"Have you eaten my food?"

"I have not," he admitted.

"Then you have no idea how good my food is."

"And you have no idea how good my food is. Although, this line should give you some indication."

"We're not competing in the same ballpark. You serve tacos for five dollars."

"The best tacos in the world," he told her. "You should try one. I'll even give it to you for free."

"No, thank you."

"Too good for tacos?" he challenged.

She shook her head, wondering how her hot, mysterious stranger had turned into this guy. "I don't know why I ever kissed you last night. You're cocky and obnoxious and boastful. If you have to tell people your food is the world's best, it's probably not."

"And you're pretentious. Acting like the only food worth eating has to be expensive and sophisticated, put together with tweezers, and have very little flavor."

"You're jealous because I got the restaurant, and you didn't."

"Well, I heard you got it because your father is friends with the owner."

She really hated that he knew that. "That's not why I got it. I'm a damn good chef."

"Didn't you just tell me that someone who has to boast about being the best probably isn't? If you're that good, then why is your restaurant half-full every night?"

"This isn't over," she vowed. "I'm going to get your line to move."

"I don't think my line is your problem," he returned. "But feel free to do whatever you need to do."

"Oh, I will," she said. She practically ran down the street, rage propelling every step.

She flew into the restaurant and slammed the door behind her.

Drea looked at her in surprise. "What the hell happened? You look like you're about to explode."

"It was him," she said. "The owner of the food truck. He was the guy in the bar last night, the one I made out with in the parking lot. The one I thought was sexy and fun and kind and… Well, he is none of those things. He's an ass."

"I take it he doesn't want to move his line."

"No. He wants to put me out of business."

"What are you talking about?"

"He spoke to Larry when Larry first bought this building. He wanted to be the chef here. He wanted to make his tacos inside this restaurant. That's why he's parked down the street. He wants to show Larry he made a huge mistake in hiring me." She paced around the room. "But that's not going to happen. I can't let him win. I need to beat him down, Drea. He thinks he can compete with me. He serves food out of a truck."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, but I have to do something."

Drea pulled out the flyer. "Then do this cooking competition. You just said you wanted to beat him. Look at the list of chefs and the restaurants already entered."

She took the flyer, her gaze running down the page to find Chef Gabe Herrera from Picante Express. Gabe was signed up for the competition, along with at least twenty other chefs, some of whom were from restaurants she knew about, others she had never heard of.

"There's a twenty-five-thousand-dollar prize for the winning chef," Drea continued. "And as I mentioned before, the competition will be covered by the local media and food critics from around the country. Each round will be livestreamed on the Internet and broadcast on a show called Chef Battles on the Culinary Network. It's a cooking show featuring various competitions from around the country. You want people to know who you are, and this can't possibly hurt." Drea paused. "Unless you're afraid you'll lose?"

"I'm not going to lose," she vowed.

"Does that mean you're going to enter?"