the kitchen was large and well ventilated. The mats looked new and when she picked up one of the pots, it was heavy and of good quality. Now for the storeroom.
“You could pretend to be interested,” Cal said from just inside the kitchen.
She turned to him. “In what?”
“The front of the store. The color scheme and how the tables will be set up.”
“Oh, sure.” She thought for a second, not sure what to say. “It was great. Impressive.”
“Do you think I’m fooled?”
“No, but you shouldn’t be surprised, either. The only thing I care about is how big the dining room is and the table configuration.”
It was important to know how many tables of six and eight and the policy on large parties. There were few things a kitchen staff hated more than a surprise order for twelve.
“I’ll get you that information,” he said. “So what do you think?”
She grinned. “Not bad. I’ll need to take a complete inventory. How much is my budget for new equipment?”
“Get me a list of what you need and I’ll get back to you.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m the executive chef. I should have final say on what I buy.”
“You forget that I know you. You’ll be online picking up God knows what from Germany and France and sucking down twenty grand before I blink.”
She turned away so he wouldn’t see her smile. “I’d never do that.”
“Oh, right. This from a woman who asked for a set of knives for her wedding present.”
She spun back to face him, more than ready to take him on. “Cal—”
He cut her off with a quick shake of his head. “Sorry. I won’t bring up our marriage again.”
“Good.”
News of her relationship, or former relationship, with Cal Buchanan would be common knowledge to the kitchen staff within fifteen minutes of opening. Kitchens didn’t have secrets. But that didn’t mean she wanted it shoved in their faces. Or hers.
Seeing Cal, talking to him, was strange. She wasn’t sure what she felt. Not angry. Awkward maybe. Sad. Things had been good once. But he hadn’t cared. He’d…
Okay, maybe she was a little angry. It had been three years. Who would have guessed there would be so much unfinished emotion?
At least she wasn’t going to have to deal with him on a regular basis.
“I’ll get you a list,” she said. “I’ll take an inventory after we’re done.”
“Okay.” He looked at her. “Try not to scream.”
“About what?”
“There are contracts in place.”
She knew he didn’t mean with employees, which only left food and services.
“Not my problem,” she told him.
“It is, because you have to deal with them.”
So typical, she thought. Cal was management. He might intellectually understand what it took to get dinner out for two or three hundred, but he didn’t feel it in his soul.
“I’m not working with crap,” she said.
“Can they screw up before you assume it’s crap?”
“If the food had been good quality, the restaurant wouldn’t be shut down,” she told him. “So there was something wrong, and I’m guessing it was the food. I have my own people I like to deal with.”
“We have contracts.”
“No, you have contracts.”
“You’re getting a cut now, Penny. You’re part of us.”
As there weren’t any profits from which to get a cut, it wasn’t a happy thought. “I want to bring in my own suppliers.”
“We honor these first.”
She recognized the stubborn set of his mouth. She could fight and scream and possibly threaten physical violence, but he wouldn’t back down. Her only option was logic.
“Fine. I’ll use them for now, but if they screw up even once, it’s over. I’ll go to someone else.”
“Fair enough.”
“You better have a talk with them. I’ll put money on the fact that they haven’t been delivering their best here. That had better change.”
“I’ll get on it.” He pulled a PalmPilot out of his jacket pocket and wrote on the small screen. Cal was such a guy—always in love with his toys.
“Shouldn’t the new general manager be handling that?” she asked. “Don’t you have coffee you should be selling?”
“Funny you should mention that,” he said.
She leaned against the counter and looked at him. All the warning signs were there—the brightness in his eyes, the slight smile, his sense of being totally in charge of the situation. Not that he was. This was her dream they were talking about and she wasn’t going to let anyone mess with it.
“Let me guess,” she said dryly. “I’m not going to like who you’ve hired.”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, then smiled. “It’s me.”
She’d been expecting either a name she didn’t recognize or someone she’d worked with in the past and hadn’t liked. But Cal? Her stomach heaved once as emotion flooded her.
No. Not Cal. So not a good idea.
“You won’t have time,” she said quickly. Oh, sure, he was good—she remembered that much. He’d walked away from the family steak house to start his own thing, but it hadn’t been because he was failing. On the contrary, profits had been up substantially. But here? Now?
“I’m taking a leave for four months,” he said. “I’ll still go in to The Daily Grind office, but just for a few hours a week. My focus is The Waterfront.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when I asked the first time?”
“I thought you’d turn down the job.”
Would she have? She wasn’t sure. Not that she would let him know she wasn’t sure.
She laughed. “Gee, Cal, I thought your brother was the one with the big ego. Now I see it runs in the family.”
He didn’t even look uncomfortable, which was just like him. Instead he stared at her.
“Given our past, it was a reasonable assumption. Working together under any circumstances could be challenging, but in a restaurant…” His voice trailed off.
She turned away. Her point exactly. “I don’t care who I work with as long as he or she is good at the job. So show up, give a hundred and fifty percent, and we’ll be fine.”
“Penny?”
She breathed deeply, not wanting to give in to the anger inside of her. Deep, buried anger that made her want to lash out. It was the past, she told herself. It was long over. She had to remember that.
But her list of grievances—his wrongs—wouldn’t go away. She wanted to scream them all and demand explanations. Talk about unreasonable.
Still, she couldn’t help venting about at least one of them. An easy one that didn’t really matter anymore.
She turned back to him and put her hands on her hips. “What the hell was wrong with you?” she demanded. “I was your wife. It was a dumb entry-level job. Salads, Cal. Just salads. Why couldn’t