Guilty Pleasures Read online

  “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?”

  Now it was Nick’s turn to flinch.

  “My parents were so proud…it was the first time they were ever proud of me. Derek was a friend of theirs, and they’d introduced us. They thought it was going to be the beginning of a really profitable partnership. Everything we bought was expensive—everything was tasteful. We had the most important interior designers, the best architect, the finest ingredients. And, of course, Derek brought every successful culinary consultant in to work on the menu. By the time we were ready to open, we invited every critic in the country, it seemed, to get a sneak preview of what would undoubtedly be the hottest restaurant on the West Coast.”

  She looked away, like she was bored with the story, but Nick hung on every word. He knew what was going to happen next. Everyone in the culinary world knew the disaster that was Le Pome.

  “I remember being in Derek’s bed when I read the first review,” she said, her voice dispassionate. “How Le Pome was the biggest, most pretentious atrocity to hit the city in years. How it might be better if we got struck with a big earthquake than subject any patron to our boring, overengineered, overpriced slop.”

  She obviously remembered every word…and he bet that she’d saved the more scathing reviews from that time. It had been a huge failure. Epic. He remembered it when he was working at the Four Seasons, how the owners had snickered over “Derek Black’s Folly,” and “that Worthington girl’s career-ender.”

  “Soon after, we couldn’t get people in if we paid them. Derek started sniping at me. My parents wanted to know what I’d done. I tried changing things…fixing things…” She shook her head. “We closed our doors five months later. Four months after that, Derek had started bouncing on the aforementioned interior decorator and moving on to other pursuits. I was out of a job, my reputation was a shambles, and my parents…well, disowned me. I was such a huge disgrace, and if I’d only listened to them and gotten my degree in business, none of this would have happened….” She took a deep, quavering breath. “Anyway, after that, I swore that I wouldn’t let anybody let me feel that badly about myself again. So I worked hard, I saved. I had a trust fund coming. And when it came, I sank every last cent in my own restaurant, one that I wouldn’t have to apologize or explain to anybody.”

  She looked at him. “Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

  He shook his head.

  “Because the building’s going under new ownership,” she said quietly. “I need a mint in a hurry…my trust fund’s all tied up and close to empty. Because Internationale is a long shot, but right now it’s the only shot I can think of. Because I’m not ashamed of my restaurant, and because I believe we can win.”

  She stopped, and he noticed that her eyes were bright with tears.

  “Because I’m just now figuring out that you don’t believe that.”

  She turned, and before he could stop her, she walked through the kitchen and out the door.

  7

  MARI SAT AT LINDSAY’S house the following day. She had taken a day off, trusting Nick to open and close the restaurant, leaving the instructions on his answering machine. Yes, she was running away, and no, she wasn’t proud. She had never trusted someone else to watch over the restaurant for a full day before. But as she’d told Lindsay, she hadn’t taken sick leave from the restaurant the entire time they’d been open.

  If ever a woman needed a mental health day, she had earned one.

  She sat on Lindsay’s couch, with a stoneware mug of green ginger tea, looking at the folder she’d pulled out from the recesses of her files.

  Lindsay sat down next to her, looking at the clippings Mari had laid out. She made a small, sympathetic noise. “I thought you’d put this all behind you.”

  Mari looked over the newspaper articles and reviews. Le Pome—Don’t Waste Your Time; Derek Black’s West Coast Disaster; Crashing and Burning at San Francisco’s Le Pome.

  “I thought I’d put it all behind me, too,” Mari said. “Apparently there’s still a little bit left.”

  “You know, Nick was just being cautious,” Lindsay said, her voice hesitant. “I don’t think he was trying to be unsupportive. I mean, he might’ve chosen a better way to express it, but…”

  She spread her hands helplessly.

  “I know, Lindsay,” Mari said. “I thought about that. Maybe I overreacted a little.”

  She coul
d see Lindsay relax, but her friend still surveyed her warily.

  “I just…I want somebody who believes in me, Lindsay,” Mari said softly.

  Lindsay looked pained. She didn’t have a ready response for that, so she stood up. “You want some more tea?”

  “No, I’m fine,” Mari said with a smile. “Thanks for letting me crash over here.”

  “Anytime,” Lindsay said. “My parents are looking at locations today, and I promised I’d help them. Are you going to be okay by yourself?”

  “Sure,” Mari answered. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Lindsay obviously wasn’t going to follow that bit of advice—worrying was in Lindsay’s blood, Mari thought with a grin. “I’ll be fine,” Mari repeated.

  Lindsay gave her a quick hug. “There’s plenty of food in the fridge, and you can stay as long as you want,” she said.

  “I’ll be out of here by tonight,” Mari said, squeezing back in gratitude. “I’ll give you a call if you’re not back by the time I leave.”

  “All right.” With that, Lindsay walked out of the apartment with a little wave.

  Mari tried watching television, but nothing grabbed her…and the articles kept glaring at her. Finally, she gathered them up in a wad and walked out to Lindsay’s balcony.

  Lindsay had a gleaming red barbecue on the brick balcony…she didn’t use it often, to Mari’s knowledge, because she wasn’t home much. But Mari felt sure Lindsay wouldn’t mind it if she made use of it today.

  She dumped the articles in the curved metal barbecue, pouring a little lighter fluid on top. Then she struck a long match and lit the edge of one review, watching blue flame crawl over it eagerly.

  I’m not Marion Worthington anymore. Mari watched as the blaze grew, the paper blackening, the word disappearing. I’m not that stupid girl. And I’m not going to keep reacting to something that happened years ago.

  That included how she was going to deal with Nick.

  She’d still enter Internationale. She wasn’t going to let the culinary world keep her down because she’d failed once. She had grown up. She had moved on.

  Just let it go, Mari.

  The smoke from the burning papers rose into the blue San Francisco sky, wafting off on the strong breeze. Mari felt her shoulders relax, for the first time in a long time.

  When it had burned down to ash, she covered it, letting the charred remains cool. Then she walked back into the house. She sat down on the couch, and picked up Lindsay’s phone, dialing Nick’s home number with practiced ease. Her heart picked up its pace a little, but she knew she’d get his answering machine.

  “Nick? This is Mari.” She took a deep, calming breath. “I need to talk to you. Don’t come to my house…I want to meet you at the restaurant. I’ll be out for a while, so why don’t you meet me there at midnight? I’ll talk to you then.”

  She hung up the phone, smiling. He hadn’t been trying to hurt her…and he hadn’t been trying to judge her. She knew that now. Just as she knew something else—that he was the first man in a long time to actually try to protect her and help her out. That he was the first man who she actually trusted.

  She was going to show him that, she thought. Tonight.

  IT WAS A SUNDAY NIGHT…they’d closed down at nine. In the meantime, Nick had checked his phone messages, hoping that Mari had called him so they could talk. He didn’t have Lindsay’s number, and even if he did… Well, it was obvious that Mari needed some space, a little time.

  Unfortunately, she had left a message…that she wanted to meet him at the restaurant, not at her house. That in itself boded ill, he thought. And she wanted to meet him at midnight. That made no sense at all.

  So now he was sitting in a booth at Tiger, the bar the crew had been telling him about. He was sitting next to Tiny, Zooey and Paulo, who had insisted they come out with him. They didn’t know about his midnight meeting with Mari. They didn’t even know he was on the outs with her. Or, technically, just how “in” with her he was.

  He had a strong feeling that she was going to fire him. Or worse…tell him she wasn’t going to see him again.

  “Man, you’ve got to shake it off,” Paulo said, motioning to the waitress. “Want another drink?”

  Nick eyed the whisky sour in his hand. It was still half-full. “No, I’m fine.” He wanted to be relatively quick-witted when he went to plead his case with Mari.

  “You’re not really fine,” Zooey disagreed softly. He was actually surprised she was old enough to get into a bar. She looked at Tiny, who nodded.

  “What’s really going on?” Tiny said. “We’re worried about Mari…and we get the feeling you know what’s happened.”

  “You might’ve been what’s happened, you know?” Paulo added.

  Nick swirled his drink around, hearing the ice clink against the sides of the glass. Well, outside of Lindsay and Mo, these guys were the closest people in Mari’s life. Maybe they could help him come up with a way to win her over. “Mari is mad at me. Because of Internationale.” He grimaced. “Because of my reaction to her announcement that we’d be entering Internationale.”

  “Why?” Zooey asked.

  “I didn’t think we were ready for it,” Nick said, then noticed their expressions. Doesn’t anybody at this restaurant believe in limitations? In taking things slow? “That’s not a reflection on you.”

  “It isn’t, huh?” Tiny’s expression was dark. “So what you’re saying is, you’re scared of bein’ in the competition?”

  Nick felt a flash of anger. “Of course not,” he said, then realized how neatly he’d been trapped when the three of them responded with skeptical looks. “Okay. So maybe it was about you guys. Sort of. But it’s not that I don’t think you can do it. I just know what the competition’s like. We’re really inexperienced, comparatively.”

  “So what?” Paulo said. “Mari thinks we can make it. And just because we haven’t been in a competition doesn’t mean we can’t, you know, cook.”

  “I know that,” Nick said tiredly. “Believe me, I know. You guys are an incredible crew. But it’s not just cooking at these things. You can’t just be great. You have to be perfect. Dead on. Every time. One thing gets messed up, and you’re history.”

  The three of them looked depressed at this. He felt like crap for bursting their bubble…almost as badly as when Mari stalked out of the restaurant, after dropping the bomb about her past on him. “I’m not saying it’s impossible,” he said.

  “Come on,” Paulo said, with a dismissive snort. “Don’t try to blow sunshine, man. If we’re gonna lose, just say so.”

  “There’s a chance we could do well—a slim one, yeah—but if we come up with something really innovative…something that blows their socks off….” He shrugged. “It’ll have to be something they haven’t seen before. Something really outstanding. We have to be ten times better than any of the other entrants.”

  Tiny looked at Paulo, who shook his head. Zooey, however, looked hopeful. “So if we just come up with something really wild and special, we can win it?” she reiterated, her face thoughtful.

  Like that will be so easy, Nick thought, but nodded.

  “All right. So we’ll just work on that,” Zooey said, her little face set with determination. She nudged Tiny. “Won’t we?”

  He smiled gently. “Sure, kid. We’ll show ’em.”

  She smiled, then turned back to Nick. “And you’ll patch things up with Mari, right?”

  He took a deep breath. “That’s going to be a little tougher,” he said, thinking of his midnight appointment.

  “Why?” she asked. “Because you’re sleeping with her?”

  Nick choked.

  Paulo rolled his eyes. “Come on. Who doesn’t know you two are doing the horizontal lambada?”

  “We’ve known about it for months,” Tiny said, with a booming laugh. “You two were being all secret-agent sneaky, thinking you were so cool about it. But that had to be the worst secret I’ve ever seen in my life. Even
strangers would know you two were getting together after hours.”

  “How…what…” Nick floundered, feeling like an idiot.

  “It’s the way you look at her,” Zooey said, grinning. “The way she looks at you.”

  “Hot,” Paulo said, with a wicked smirk. “Like you two just got naked before you walked into the room.”

  Nick felt heat bloom on his cheeks, and cursed himself. Dammit. He was actually blushing.

  “She’ll forgive you,” Zooey said confidently. “Tell her you love her, and she’ll lighten up.”

  Nick felt a strangling tension course through him.

  When he didn’t respond, Zooey’s eyes narrowed. “You do love her, don’t you? You’ve been together for months. You’re crazy about each other.”

  Tiny nudged Zooey gently. “Honey, could you do me a favor? Go ask the bartender to set us up with another round.”

  Zooey looked ready to protest, but at Tiny’s insistent look, she let out an impatient huff. “Okay. Be right back.”

  Tiny waited until she was out of earshot, then he and Paulo both turned to glare at Nick. “Zooey’s a sweet kid, but sometimes, she doesn’t know what’s what. She’s young, she thinks everybody’s in love,” Tiny said with a shrug of his massive shoulders. “Some of us know better.”

  Nick was still astounded at the turn the conversation had taken, and simply gaped at them.

  “But some of us also know…you sleep with the boss, and you’re asking for trouble,” Paulo said. “We haven’t said anything, ’cause Mari’s a great woman and we figure, she knows what she’s doing.”

  “But don’t hurt her,” Tiny said. “I don’t care how you feel about her. If you’re using her…”

  “I’m not using her,” Nick snapped.

  Tiny smiled. “Okay, then. Then we’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not going to hurt her,” Nick said, feeling a burning in his chest. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

  Tiny and Paulo fell silent, and Nick could feel them staring at him. “What?” he finally growled.

  “You know,” Tiny said. “The kid might be onto something.”