Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

As she drove to her restaurant, Madison was glad she and Gabe had had a chance to talk. But his exciting news had only made her realize their futures could be veering away from each other very soon. Gabe could be moving to LA to start a new life. And she loved being in Oceanside.

Although, her future was up in the air, too. Even if she won everything tomorrow, if the restaurant didn't turn a profit at some point, she would be out, and she'd have to start over again. Who knew where that start might take her? There were simply too many variables in both their lives to even be thinking about a relationship.

But she couldn't stop thinking about Gabe. He was the first person she wanted to talk to in the morning and the last person she wanted to talk to at night. He understood her, sometimes almost better than she understood herself. He'd inspired her to be true to herself, and that had made her cooking better. And even though they were rivals, he'd somehow become her best friend. She couldn't imagine not talking to him every day, not seeing him, not kissing him again. The physical attraction was just as strong as the mental and emotional connection.

But that connection might, and probably would, be broken by their career directions, by their work aspirations. How could he not go to LA and become a celebrity television chef? It was too great of an opportunity for him to get out of his truck and get the fame and acclaim he deserved.

And she was building her brand in Oceanside. She had to focus on her restaurant, on this huge chance she'd been given to prove herself as a chef who could also run a restaurant.

As she parked in the lot behind the restaurant, she reminded herself this was her dream, what she'd always wanted, but it didn't ring all the way true because it wasn't truly hers; it was Larry who'd rented the space, who'd put his money on the line, and it was Larry who had the power to change anything about La Marée, including the chef.

It also bothered her that it might not just be Larry. Her father could not keep his mouth shut if he had an opinion, and as Larry's friend and her father, he was far more invested in her business than he should be. But her dad was the reason she was here, so she had to suck it up and get ready to welcome them all in for dinner.

They'd told her they wanted to celebrate, but it didn't feel like a celebration. It felt like another competition, one she wasn't sure she could win.

Three hours later, her kitchen was humming. Everything smelled delicious. Her cooks were working in harmony, and she felt ready for dinner service. But first she had to get through her meeting with Larry.

He arrived a little after four o'clock and spoke to each of the chefs, as well as Drea and the bartending staff, before calling her into the office fifteen minutes before they opened the door for dinner service.

It felt strange to see Larry's big, stocky body filling her chair, to be the one sitting in the hardback chair in front of the desk, as if she had no higher position than anyone else in the restaurant who had been called in to see him.

"Congratulations on your win," he began.

"Thank you. One more round to go."

"Yes, and I'm expecting you to take the trophy home. We need that for this restaurant to succeed. Second place won't be good enough."

He sounded exactly like her father, which wasn't surprising, since they were very much alike.

"I'll try my best."

"It's not the effort I'm looking for; it's the result. I've been going over the financials, and while I've seen positive, upward growth the last two weeks, it's still not enough. I'm sure you would agree."

"I believe the trajectory is headed in the right direction," she said.

"Yes, but I need the trajectory to move faster. I applaud your efforts to increase business by participating in this local contest. I can see that you have had a jump in reservations after every round, including tonight. Drea told me that you had six new bookings today, many of whom mentioned the competition."

"That was why I entered," she said. "I'm making my name locally, and that's where our customers are."

"What are your marketing plans for next week, after this competition is over?"

"I'll continue to post on social media, and I believe word of mouth will increase business."

"What about other competitions?"

"I don't know if there are any other competitions that are local."

"Perhaps you should travel."

"But then I would be away from the restaurant," she protested.

"Elliott is an accomplished executive chef. He can execute the menu in your absence. I had my assistant do some research. There is an audition for a nationally televised competition next week in Los Angeles. I'd like you to try out. I think if you're coming off a win here, that will make it easier to get selected. Although…" He paused, his gaze sweeping her face. "I spoke to a media consultant, and she believes you need to work on your image."

"What does that mean?" she asked, her alarm growing with every word that came out of his mouth.

"The consultant thinks you come across as quiet and a little boring. She wants to have you see a stylist, work on your wardrobe, and also polish your interviewing skills. She said you seem to get tongue-tied in front of an audience and that won't get you on national television, no matter how good of a chef you are."

"I'm not really interested in being on television," she said, surprised at the direction of this entire conversation. "I want to run this restaurant and make it a success. I can't do that if I'm going to compete in Los Angeles."

"I'm not sure you can do that if you stay here. Social media posts won't get us where we need to go. You're the face of this brand. You have to sell it everywhere, and this is a tourist destination. We want visitors to Southern California to drive to Oceanside to eat at the restaurant run by their favorite TV chef. Why do you think so many Michelin-starred chefs are going on television? It's a way to stand out."

He wasn't completely wrong, but she didn't want to do anything he'd suggested.

"Think about it," Larry added, as he got to his feet. "I'll be back at six thirty with your parents. After dinner, we'd like to take you out for drinks to celebrate. Can you make that happen?"

"Of course."

He came around the desk. "I'm looking forward to seeing this restaurant full tonight."

"Me, too," she said as he left the room.

But she wasn't looking forward to seeing her parents and spending time with them after dinner, when she was sure the conversation would push her in a direction she didn't want to go.

Dinner service went well. The restaurant was busier than it had ever been, which put more pressure on her team to get the food out not only fast but also perfectly. There were a few glitches here and there, but for the most part Madison was happy. When her parents and Larry had finished their meal, they'd told her they'd meet her in the bar at the hotel where they were staying.

She changed out of her chef's clothes and put on a dress and heels before going to meet them.

The bar was as swanky as the beachfront hotel in San Diego. The drinks were even pricier than the ones she served at her restaurant, but since her father was paying, she ordered a very expensive glass of wine, knowing she would need it to get through the celebration, which she suspected would soon turn into an interrogation.

Her mother gave her a warm smile when she got to the table. "Dinner was delicious, honey. Every dish was perfect, and the plates were so pretty. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks," she said, knowing her mom tried to be supportive. She was just often overrun by her father.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" her mother asked.

"A little. But I'm excited to make my own menu. No crazy challenges to complete. I just have to cook my food really well."

"The food of La Marée," Larry said. "I would assume you are making dishes from our menu."

"I was going to do one of the appetizers, yes," she said.

"What about one of the main courses?" her father asked in surprise. "You need to make a dish people will want to come in and try. Isn't that the point of this competition?"

"Well, uh…" She hesitated, wondering why she hadn't chosen to make one of her dishes, except that she made them every night, and it felt a little repetitive. "I'm going to do a new take on our chicken dish. It won't be exact, but it will be close, and it will be good."

"That's ridiculous," her father said shortly. "You should make the exact same dish. It's crazy that you wouldn't do that."

"I don't want to make something I make all the time. The judges said they wanted a one-of-a-kind meal, not something they could come into the restaurant and order tomorrow."

"If the dish you make isn't one-of-a-kind, then you're not doing it right," her father said.

"I agree with Philip," Larry said. "I want to see at least two of the four courses coming off our menu. That's how we get diners into the restaurant. They'll want to taste the dish that won you the title."

"If I win," she muttered.

"None of that. You will win," her father said confidently.

"You're so talented," her mother added. "You can make any dish special, Madison. And I know when I watch those cooking competitions, I can't wait to go to that chef's restaurant and try their signature dish."

"Okay," she said, desperate to change the subject. "Those are all good points."

"It's going to be so fun to see you compete tomorrow," her mother said.

She didn't think it would be fun at all, but she was going to try not to think about them being in the audience. "So, tell me what's happening with Carter and Vivienne."

As her parents started bragging about her siblings, she sipped her wine and tried to relax, but her mind was spinning in a dozen different directions. She was starting to feel like winning was only going to send her down a road she wasn't sure she wanted to take.

After finishing up his food service on Saturday night, Gabe settled on the couch in his living room to work on his menu for Sunday. Max was at the table on his computer, and they both had their headphones on, so as not to disturb each other.

Max was definitely working harder than he was, his fingers flying across the keyboard, while his pad was mostly blank. He felt a little like he had yesterday when he'd been unable to think of a story or a way to plate that story. Then he'd gotten a little nudge from Madison, but that wasn't happening now. It was every man or woman for themselves.

He needed to come up with four perfect dishes, but every choice he made, he second-guessed. He'd never felt so indecisive in his life. And it wasn't just about the menu; it was about his career. He had some big decisions coming up, and he wasn't going to have a lot of time to think about his choices before he had to say yes or no.

He was relieved when he got a text from Madison a little before eleven.

I just got back and saw your light was on. Do you want to talk for a few minutes?

His pulse jumped, and he sent an immediate reply. Yes. I'll come to you. Max is working here.

He grabbed his pad and pen and headed out of the apartment. Her door was open, and she was waiting for him. She looked beautiful and tired at the same time. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, but he wasn't quite sure of her mood or what she wanted to talk about.

"How's it going?" he asked as she invited him inside, and they sat down on her couch together.

"It's been such a long day," she said. "I had a meeting with Larry, then served him and my parents dinner, and then met them all for drinks at their hotel after."

"That explains the pretty dress," he said with a smile.

"It was a swanky bar at a five-star hotel."

"Your parents are rich, aren't they?"

"Yes," she said. "But that's them, not me. As you might guess, my father thinks it's important for his children to make their own money."

"On that point, I might agree with him. Don't kill me."

She smiled. "I don't disagree it's important for kids to make their own way. That's not my problem with him."

"I know."

She kicked off her high heels and tucked her legs underneath her. "Have you been working on your menu?" She tipped her head toward the pad in his hand.

"Yes. And you can see I've gotten nowhere." He turned the pad to face her.

"You just have four headings," she said with a smile.

"I can't seem to commit to an idea. What about you? Do you have every dish plotted out to the last detail?"

"I thought I did, but Larry and my father told me I'd be a fool not to make dishes from my menu. I wasn't going to do that because it didn't feel like it was in the spirit of the competition, which was to push ourselves and come up with something new and exciting. But they feel that customers will want to come to the restaurant to try a winning dish, and I can't say they're wrong."

"It's a solid point," he agreed. "One I don't have to worry about."

"You're not making an upscale version of anything you sell on the truck?"

"No. I'm going to cook a meal that reflects the kind of restaurant I want to have one day."

"That sounds nice."

"It's not really different than cooking the dishes you've built your restaurant around. My menu is an aspiration. Yours is a reality."

"But it's not completely my menu. Larry had input."

He was surprised by that. "I didn't know he helped you create the menu."

"It was more that he edited or took things off he didn't find appealing, so I did come up with the menu. But there were dishes he didn't go for, and I wanted to make one of those dishes tomorrow."

"Then do it. If it wins, he'll probably be happy to put it on the menu."

"If it doesn't win, he'll be convinced he was right."

He could see the troubled conflict in her eyes. "Here's what I think. You can't cook with anyone looking over your shoulder. At the end of the day, it's you who wins or loses, no one else. It's what you said yesterday. You should make something you'll be proud of, whether you beat me or not."

She smiled. "You're right. With such good advice for me, why are you stumped about your menu?"

"I'm making the same mistake, considering other people. I want to honor my grandparents, my heritage, but I also want to be myself."

"Then make something you'll be proud of, whether you beat me or not," she repeated.

"You're so wise," he said dryly.

She laughed. "I know." She paused, a lot of emotions moving through her gaze. "I kind of wish it wasn't all happening tomorrow. I want more time before…"

"Before what?" he asked.

"Before everything changes. You could be moving to LA. I could be entering another cooking competition. Although, that might also be in LA."

"What? When did you decide that?" he asked in surprise.

"I didn't decide. Larry is pushing me to audition next week. He thinks the only way I can make my restaurant successful is to become a celebrity chef."

"Is that what you want to do?"

"Not really. It's nothing I ever considered, and I don't know if I'd be good at it. I don't have your natural charisma. In fact, Larry already has a media consultant lined up to teach me how to talk in front of the camera. Apparently, neither Larry nor the consultant have been impressed with the online interviews they've seen."

"Screw them," Gabe said forcefully. "You're not a puppet. You don't have to jump when he says jump."

"I think I do. If I don't go along with him, he might kick me out of the restaurant."

"You can be successful without doing more competitions. If you want to do it, that's great. More power to you, but if you don't want to do it, you won't be happy, and you won't win because your unhappiness will be reflected in your cooking."

"Yes, but how do I convince Larry of that? If I just say no, he'll probably fire me. I really thought I'd finally be calling my own shots when I got this restaurant, that my time of dancing to someone else's tune was over, but that's not what happened."

"You still have a lot of control, just not all."

"I know I shouldn't be complaining. I'm super lucky to be where I am. Anyway, that's enough about me. Have you thought any further about your options?"

"I've been thinking about them all day, but I haven't come to any conclusions. I'll decide after the competition."

She nodded, then yawned. "Sorry. It's been a long day."

"It has. I should go. I just don't want to." He slid his hand behind her neck and brought her face to his. Then he kissed her, closing his eyes as he savored the taste of her mouth. He felt a deep hunger for this woman, a desire so strong it made him want to forget everything else.

Madison broke the kiss and gave him a breathless and emotional look. "We can't keep going tonight. We both need to sleep, and being together now will make tomorrow harder."

"You're right," he muttered. "I wish you weren't."

She stood up, and he had no choice but to get up and follow her to the door. He paused in the doorway and said, "Good luck in the finals."

"You, too. I mean that, Gabe. If I can't win, I'll be happy you're the one who beat me."

"I'll feel the same." He took a breath. "Tomorrow won't be the end of everything for us, just the competition." He said the words as forcefully as he could, but he wasn't sure he believed them any more than she did.