you just call him for me?” she pleaded.
A former model, Erica had looks, drive and determination. What she didn’t have was patience. “No.”
“Donovan,” she cried.
“We opened the restaurant six years ago. You know how everything works.” Most of the everyday details had always been her job. And now that he’d sold her his half of the restaurant and moved to Reno, she called him over the most agonizingly silly things.
“But I don’t have your touch.” A tiny whine crept into her voice.
“Being polite is your first order of business.” He closed his eyes trying to maintain his temper. After a couple of deep breaths, he was able to get beyond his irritation. “Erica, you need to hire a general manager to run the restaurant.” A general manager would intercede for her and help keep everything running smoothly. “I gave you the names of people to call. Have you called anyone?”
She avoided his question. “You didn’t need one.” Erica’s voice was soft and wheedling.
Donovan took another deep, calming breath. “But you do.”
She drew her breath in sharply. “Donovan, can’t you just come back to Paris? Your grandmother doesn’t need you and I do. Nobody goes to a hotel to eat the food. And Reno is just a Podunk little town. It’s not like Rome or New York or Paris.”
He swallowed his irritation. “Erica, I’m not coming back to Paris. You can run the restaurant. I left you all the recipes. And you know how to cook.” For someone who didn’t eat, she was a darn good cook.
“Please, Donovan,” she begged.
“No.” He didn’t understand why she thought she wasn’t experienced enough to run a restaurant, or why she was so clingy. Her neediness was one of the reasons why they were no longer married. Her need to be admired, petted and supported had tired him out.
For an intelligent woman, Erica was kind of lazy. She always wanted other people to do everything for her. At first Donovan had been enchanted by her little-girl helplessness. But once they were married, her inability to care for herself got old pretty quick. He’d kept expecting her to grow up, but that never happened. They’d both been relieved to end their marriage after only a year.
He’d opened the restaurant, and her ability to be a charming hostess drew crowds. People returned because the food was outstanding, perfect in taste and presentation. Erica was the center of attention and loved it. The restaurant had been a success. She understood how to run it. He’d even explained everything patiently, writing out a schedule of what to order when and when to expect delivery. He thought she’d be fine on her own, but she wasn’t.
“Erica, I have to go.”
“Donovan,” she cried, and burst into tears. “I don’t know what to do. One of the line cooks quit and I need a new sous chef.”
“I’ll call François about the linen delivery,” he said. “And I’ll have Marie Odile Arceneau call you. She’ll make a terrific general manager and you can go back to being the hostess.” Erica hadn’t made this much of a fuss when they’d divorced.
She stopped crying with not even a residual sniff. “You’ll call him right away?”
“I’ll call him right away.”
She hung up without another word. She’d gotten what she’d wanted and was done with him. But he had the feeling that he would never completely be rid of her. He wanted to go forward and she wanted to go back. And to think he’d once thought her helplessness charming.
The health inspector returned. “You have some changes you need to make, Mr. Russell.” He handed him a list of violations. “You have a month to make corrections.”
He took the papers and just stared at the list. One of the mixers was broken—again. Two temperature gauges in the refrigerators were missing and several first-aid kits were empty. A fire extinguisher wasn’t properly seated in its cradle. One of the line cooks had improperly stored his utensils, which was something Donovan had warned him about repeatedly. And the deep-fryer station should be cleaner. “I will get on these immediately.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose trying to release his irritation. All these violations added up to make him look careless.
Mr. Deacon’s mouth grew even more pinched. “I’ll be back in a month.”
Donovan rubbed his eyes. He had too much work to do and not enough time.
“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Russell,” Deacon said. “You’re a first-rate chef and you know how a kitchen is supposed to operate. You have too many violations, and I can’t help thinking someone doesn’t like you. These violations aren’t enough to shut you down and you still have an A rating, but I feel the need to warn you that these violations can’t go on indefinitely.”
Donovan had no answer. He’d come to the same conclusion himself, but that didn’t mean he could ignore health regulations. He prided himself on himself on the cleanliness of his kitchen. He’d never had so many violations in his entire career. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Fill up those first-aid kits. If I were you, I’d keep extra kits around just to replace the ones that seem to be losing their contents.”
“Will do.” Donovan watched the man leave and pulled himself to his feet. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and dragged a bag out. He’d started keeping medical supplies on hand and had begun checking the first-aid kits every morning when he arrived. How the kits ended up empty, he didn’t know. Even Scott, Donovan’s older brother who specialized in security, was shaking his head over the mystery. He’d installed surveillance cameras that covered almost every inch of kitchen and still the mixers seemed to break when no one was nearby. Temperature gauges in the cold storage areas disappeared. He’d even found cleaning supplies near food prep areas, which was a huge violation.
He picked up his phone and dialed his brother to let him know about the latest inspection and what it had revealed. Something had to be done. Eventually, the health department would get tired of these violations and shut him down. He couldn’t let that happen.
“I got the job,” Hendrix said to her grandmother, Olivia Prudhomme Beausolie. She cradled her phone against her shoulder while she sprinkled food into her fish tank. Her tiny little fish rushed to the surface to eat. She’d never been a cat or dog person. Animals had fur and fur traveled into every corner of a house. Her kitchen was immaculate.
She’d rented the cottage because the cheerful blue-and-white kitchen was huge while the rest of the cottage was tiny. The owner had liked to cook and knocked out a wall to create one large room from two smaller ones, doubling the size of the kitchen and then retrofitting the expansion with industrial appliances. The problem was that as a rental, the kitchen was a detraction unless the space was rented by someone who cooked and didn’t mind the small living room and bedrooms at the front. That someone had been Hendrix after the cottage had stood empty for a number of months.
“A hotel!” Olivia said. “Why a big hotel? I thought you were happy with Mitzi Baxter. You had told me she and her bakery were wonderful.”
“Mitzi’s kids didn’t like me. They thought I was
