“I’m sorry I was short with you.”
“It’s okay. On another note, not to re-stress you out more, but that chef in Paris is blowing up your phone. How important are those calls? Can they wait until after we’re done filming?”
“I don’t know.”
“We can listen to them together.”
The pizza arrived, and Lori jumped up and paid for it on her corporate card. “Smells good.”
They both dove into the pizza, and Andrew opened the mini-bar. “Beer or soda?”
“Water’s good.”
He tossed her a bottle of water, then grabbed a soda and popped the top. “Let’s hear the messages.”
“Here we go.” Lori put the phone on the coffee table and pressed the button to play on speaker.
Three messages. All from Francois Dumont. With his heavy accent, it was almost hard to understand them, but Andrew had been face-to-face on these rants enough to know that Francois had been red-faced and practically spitting his words. He was in an all-out ego-driven tirade over one of the chefs.
“What is wrong with that guy?” Lori’s face twisted into a grimace. “Did the guy he fired work for you?”
“No.” Andrew handled his own kitchen. If there was a problem, he’d have taken care of it long before Francois ever caught wind of it. “I’m Chef de Cuisine in a different restaurant he owns.”
“Then why is he calling you?”
“He’s mad and wants to rant. Probably wants me to do the dirty work, or clean up after he created a mess by firing someone on the spot.” It was truly exhausting. “Happens all the time.”
“So Chef de Cuisine translates to babysitter? Plus he gets all the glory for your hard work? That doesn’t sound fair at all. Then this is your time to shine.” She took a bite of pizza and raised the slice in the air. “You need to rock the rest of this competition.”
Seeing Francois through someone else was eye-opening. Andrew’s phone rang again.
“It’s him,” Lori said. “You can take it, but don’t mention the show. If you do, my hands are tied. I have to report it, and you’ll be disqualified.”
“I’m clear on that.” Andrew pressed the speaker button and answered. “Francois. I just got your messages.”
“I have fired that miserable excuse for a chef. I will not tolerate him changing things on my menu without my prior consent. It’s the last straw. I need you to come back and cover for him. They are in chaos in that kitchen. They are waiting on you.”
“I can’t be there tonight, Francois.” His excuse to leave wasn’t buying him the time he needed.
“What?” Francois became even more agitated. “What is it that could be so important that you can’t come back and take care of this tonight? You are my right hand. You are here to keep things running smoothly. Things are not running smoothly.”
“Francois, I told you I’d be gone. I wish you had let things lie until I got back. That’s not even my restaurant you’re having a problem with.”
“Your restaurant. None of them are yours. They are all mine. And you work for me. Where I need you.”
Andrew glanced over at Lori, who’d turned her head. He was embarrassed, and for the first time realizing how poorly Francois treated him for all he did for him. And had since the day he’d started working for him.
“Francois. I haven’t been totally honest with you. I’m off dealing with important personal affairs, and I’m back in the United States. If I could, I’d be there. As I’ve always been. But it’s not doable this time.” In five years, no matter what happened, when Francois called in a tizzy Andrew had dropped what he was doing and shifted gears to dig Francois out of a bind of his own doing.
“I had no idea,” Francois said.
He seemed to calm down a little bit.
If Andrew forfeited the contest and went back now, he’d be right where he’d been. Not such a bad place at all. But if he stayed, and he won, that would be one nice chunk of change toward starting his own restaurant. No matter where he decided to open it. Of course, if Francois fired him, Andrew may have no choice but to stay in the U.S. to do it. Once Francois had blackballed a chef, it took a long time to earn his way back into the circle.
Andrew tried to keep his voice calm. “I’m sorry to let you down. I promise you, Gillian is ready. Give her the chance, Francois.”
“You know how I feel about women in charge of my kitchen.”
“Trust me on this, Francois. I’ve never steered you wrong.”
A long, guttural moan came from the phone. “I’ll handle it,” he grumbled.
Andrew could imagine the wrinkle in Francois’ forehead, the one that creased so deeply it made his eyebrows seem to meet and curve into devil-like horns on the ends.
“We’ll talk when you get back.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hung up the phone and let out a long breath, dropping his forehead into his hands. “Not good.” With his eyes closed, he saw the same scenario play out in his head a dozen times, and that was just in the past two years. Francois had a short fuse. He ran though chefs like they were day-old bread.
Andrew had never, until now, considered that he was the only constant around Francois since he’d been in France. And yet, would he ever reach the heights of his own career in the shadows of Francois?
“Well played,” Lori said.
“I hope I haven’t just closed the door with him. He’s not forgiving,” Andrew said. “At all.”
“Well, the right thing will happen.”
“You’re one of those, huh?”
“One of what?”
“Those look-on-the-bright-side types. Kelly would’ve given me the exact same advice. Only I don’t think
