CHAPTER TWELVE
Marcus and Sarah stared at Emily.
“I was waiting to tell both of you once the details were finalized, but now seems like the perfect time to share my good news. Sarah, you remember meeting Thomas Howell this afternoon at city hall?”
“Yes. I gather he invited you to cook at an exhibition at his hotel.”
“More than that. That’s what I was so excited about, but with everything with Mr. Knowlton and Mom, I mean Maybelle, and then working with Grace, I didn’t even get a chance to tell you, Marcus.”
From the way Marcus tightened his grip on his beer bottle, Sarah gathered there might be something she didn’t know about how he felt about Thomas Howell. “What news about Mr. Hotel didn’t you share with me?”
“His name is Thomas Howell, not Mr. Hotel, and he not only invited me to be part of that event, but he made me a proposition that could be the answer to our money problems.” Emily grinned broadly at Sarah and Marcus, but while Sarah forced herself to smile back, she observed Marcus’s reaction was a frown.
He cleared his throat and took another swig of his beer. “Considering how things have been going, this sounds too good to be true. I’m glad I’m sitting down.”
Tension zinged through the room as Emily made a face at his snide remark before blithely continuing. “But it is. Thomas Howell couldn’t have been nicer when we were talking before you got to the council meeting. He told me he’d heard we’d run into some delays getting back on our feet since the fire.”
Marcus leaned forward. “How much did you tell him?”
Now, it was Emily’s turn to frown and wrinkle her brows, but in obvious confusion rather than anger. “The truth, of course. We haven’t been able to open the restaurant or take any catering jobs, but that as soon as all the permits are approved, we’ll be back in business.”
“I’m sure that thrilled him to no end.”
“He didn’t say either way.”
“What did he say?” Sarah tried to avoid a collision of opinions between Marcus and Emily. From past experience, she knew that both were stubborn and could dig in their heels. Better to defuse the moment, if possible.
“He told me that while the hotel is doing well, the restaurant has had some problems.”
Marcus took another sip of his beer. “That’s an understatement. It’s well known that it’s been floundering almost since day one. So what did he want from you? Our recipes and tricks of the trade?”
“Not at all. He acknowledged that since he opened, his restaurant staffing has been hit and miss. He’s trying to start over and needs an executive chef. He offered me the job.”
“You already have a job with Southwind. And you’ll have a second one if our new restaurant gets off the ground.”
“That’s exactly what I told him.”
Marcus relaxed into his chair and played with the label on his beer bottle. “Now that is good news.”
“But, Emily, I don’t see how what you told him helps Marcus and you monetarily.”
“It doesn’t. That is, until Thomas sweetened his offer. He understands my loyalty to Southwind, so he offered me a six-month executive chef contract. I’ll come onboard and straighten out the kitchen while he continues looking for a new permanent chef. Whether he finds one in one month or six months, he’ll pay me the entire amount of our contract. Thomas also said I can bring my own sous chef, so I can put Grace on his payroll, too. Between what I’ll make and Southwind not having to pay Grace, we can easily handle the expense of the hood.”
“Em, are you sure you heard Thomas right? That doesn’t sound like the kind of contract Harlan would negotiate at our office.”
Marcus crossed his arms. “No, it doesn’t. What out clause does Mr. Hotel have?”
“I can’t believe how cynical you’re being. Thomas is willing to pay because he wants an experienced hand to help him start over.”
“Maybe, but I guarantee you, Mr. Hotel will put something in the contract letting him fire you without paying you for six months. Once you straighten things out and give him our secrets for running a successful restaurant, he won’t need you anymore.”
“Don’t be so silly, Marcus. Thomas isn’t like that. What’s even better is his hotel kitchen is permitted and meets all required codes. He understands the pickle we’re in with the permits, codes, and rebuilding time, so because his kitchen is permitted as a commissary-approved kitchen for preparation and distribution, he’s willing to let me make food there and bring it to Wheaton to sell at one designated location. Surely, once we’re working together, he’ll also let me use his kitchen during off times to prep for catering jobs until Southwind receives its permit.”
Marcus took a few steps from the table but then returned and stood over Emily and Sarah. “Are you crazy? You really think he’s going to let us cater our food out of his establishment? He wants our catering business for the Howellian. Who do you think stepped in when I couldn’t accept the job catering the meal after Lance’s funeral?”
Sarah agreed with Marcus. She didn’t understand kitchens, wouldn’t know a walk-in refrigerator from a walk-in freezer until she opened its door and felt how cold it was, but she understood business competition. She typed complaints and answers every day in Harlan’s office stemming from disagreements. Wouldn’t commissary-delivered food driven in from Birmingham in a hotel-owned temperature-controlled truck have packaging bearing the hotel’s name? Why would Howell let food from his kitchen be associated with Southwind? Surely, he’d want it to be an advertisement for the Howellian and his other businesses.
Glancing at how excited her twin was at having found a partial solution to their monetary woes, Sarah was sure she hadn’t thought beyond the dollar signs. As Emily continued prattling about how kind and warm Thomas was, Sarah wished her sister would rein in her enthusiasm. From the way Marcus bent forward over the wooden back of a new chair, his hands pressed flat into the table, she doubted he’d be able to control his temper and tongue much longer.
“Are you stupid or simply naïve? Don’t you realize his customers will associate our cooking and recipes, if you make them, with the Howellian rather than our restaurant? As long as you’re there, they’ll flock to you. When he’s done with you and has your recipes, he’ll fling you aside to come back to Southwind, but the damage will have been done. The public won’t associate your food with you. You’ll always be the one who prepares food like they do at the Howellian. If they can get the real thing, why should people drive fifteen minutes for a knock-off?”
Seeing two dots of red contrasting with the heightened pallor of Emily’s cheeks and the right tilt at which she held her neck, Sarah waited for Emily to explode. She didn’t. Instead, Emily stood and picked up her purse.
“I think you need to cool off. You’re not thinking rationally. We’ve got a problem, and this is an honorable way out of it. In six months, everything you’re saying can’t possibly happen. Come on, Sarah. Let’s go to your place and let this blowhard calm down.”
Emily stomped out of the restaurant. Sarah stood, torn. She couldn’t help but agree with Marcus. After being married to a rat, Sarah had too much practical experience in observing situations like this. She thought Emily did, too. But her sister was her sister and, like the old saying, “blood is thicker than water.”
“I’ll talk to her,” she assured Marcus as she followed Emily from the restaurant.
“Please.”
When she looked back, Marcus was again seated at the table, the beer bottle pushed away from him, his face engulfed by his big hands.