Buffalo West Wing (14 page)

Cyan’s voice trembled. “They’re really okay?”

“They seem to have suffered no ill effects from being held hostage. They are all in good spirits and eager to get out of there.” Changing the subject, Nourie turned to me. “What are we taste-testing next?”

“Haven’t you eaten enough?” I asked. He and Gardez had sampled every one of the items we’d sent up for the family to share for Sunday brunch. I was delighted to have provided a stellar menu for the First Family as they spent this precious time together. We all knew it wouldn’t last. When one is the president of the United States, there really are no days off. It seemed there were few days off for our Secret Service guards as well. “I would have thought you’d be tired of our cooking by now.”

Nourie glanced at Cyan. “I never get tired of this duty.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Cyan said, smiling. “At first I thought having the two of you around would be a pain in our butts, but now it’s like you’ve always been a part of the kitchen.”

I wouldn’t have gone that far, but then again, I wasn’t flirting.

The two of them chitchatted about everything and nothing as we got our work done, and I enjoyed hearing their playful banter. As for myself, I was content to have done a good job, and more determined than ever to prove to the Hydens that we didn’t need to bring on a new “personal” family chef.

“What a great day,” I said to Cyan after Sunday brunch was served and we cleaned up. “It even seems as though the stainless-steel countertops are shining brighter this morning.”

She laughed. “I would guess your good mood is either because it’s Bucky’s day off or because you have a date planned for tomorrow night.”

Her reminder brought me back down to earth. “Reggie,” I said, dropping my shoulders. “I forgot about that.”

“You
forgot
that one of D.C.’s premier chefs is taking you out to dinner?” She feigned shock. “Ollie, you really are beyond hope.”

Gardez chimed in, “What’s this? Ollie has a date?”

“Want us to screen him for you?” Nourie asked. “We’ve got connections.”

I laughed. “No, I think I’ll be okay. And it’s just a professional collaboration,” I said. “He and I are checking out another chef’s work.”

“Uh-huh,” Cyan said, singsong.

“Sure.” Nourie gave an exaggerated wink. “You’re just checking out the competition. Nice try.”

I laughed and it felt good to do so.

Until Sargeant strode in. “What do you know about dietary guidelines for citizens of Armustan?” he asked.

“Good morning, Peter,” I said, refusing to allow him to ruin my mood. “As it happens, we know a great deal about Armustan. President Campbell entertained their chancellor several years ago. Just after I started working here as a Service by Agreement chef.”

He wrinkled his nose. “That was before my time.”

“Why are you asking about Armustan? After recent activities, I would think they would be the
last
dignitaries invited to the White House.”

“Hmph,” he said with a little head-waggle. “It’s a good thing no one consults you on matters of international affairs then, isn’t it? I am putting together an information sheet on Armustan and will require your assistance.”

Cyan spoke up. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask instead of order, you know.”

Sargeant leveled an angry glare. “I’d be careful if I were you, young lady.”

He looked ready to launch into a lecture, so I asked, “What will you need from me, Peter? I have a number of files and it would help if I knew what you wanted me to pull up.”

He frowned at my interruption. “I’ll let you know,” he said. “But count on it soon.”

When he left, I sighed. “I really don’t get it. What makes him so valuable?”

Cyan shrugged. “Don’t let him spoil your good mood.”

“I won’t.”

Just as I said that, Valerie Peacock knocked on the wall, and walked in. “Good morning,” she said, smiling brightly. “Mrs. Hyden asked me to tell you how much the family enjoyed breakfast this morning. She said it was truly one of the finest meals they’ve ever had.”

Cyan and I exchanged a happy glance.

“I’m here to discuss some big plans for your kitchen,” Valerie continued, “events that are coming up very soon. President Hyden will be announcing his intention to open talks with Armustan and has invited Ambassador Kourosh to be his guest here at the White House for an official dinner.”

Darned if Sargeant hadn’t been right. “I’m surprised,” I said.

“It’s a controversial move, of course. But as you know, this administration wants to focus on building friendships with other nations. Even those with whom we have traditionally disagreed.”

Armustan’s wild-card rebels had taken our people hostage. I’d call that a lot more than a disagreement. But then again, I wasn’t the leader of the free world. President Hyden and his advisors certainly had more experience in international affairs than I did.

I moved to the computer to access the calendar. “Do we have a date for this official dinner?”

She opened a folder to consult her notes, but I’m sure she had no doubt of the date. “February fourth.”

“Wow,” Cyan said, echoing my reaction. “Less than two weeks.”

“Tensions have escalated with this ... incident, and the president wants to move forward as quickly as possible to establish boundaries with these people,” Valerie said.

We’d produced amazing dinners on far less notice than this. I wasn’t worried. Still at the computer, I asked, “How many guests?”

“Approximately seventy-five.”

I nodded, then asked her a few more pertinent questions about the event while I scribbled notes. “That’s not too bad,” I said. “We can have a menu to you very soon. Can we schedule a tasting for Mrs. Hyden this week?”

Valerie consulted her folder once again. “Let’s see,” she said as she flipped through pages. “It looks like Wednesday ... no, sorry. Friday will work.”

“Friday,” I repeated, again making notes. “Lunchtime?”

“Mmm, no.” She jotted as she answered me. “I think this would be a lot of fun for the kids to take part in. How about we make it for later on Friday, after the kids get home from school?”

The kids’ presence would change the tone of a tasting, for sure. But I was determined to roll with the punches. “Four o’clock?” I asked. “Five?”

Turning pages as she concentrated, she shook her head. “The First Lady has commitments taking her until six-thirty. Let’s shoot for seven o’clock Friday evening, shall we?”

“Sure.” I wrote it in.

That done, Valerie looked up, bright-eyed once again. “I have to say that I’m impressed with how accommodating everyone is here at the White House. You didn’t even blink an eye at the short notice for the upcoming dinner.”

“Ollie’s the best,” Cyan said. “She could probably pull off the dinner single-handedly and still impress all the guests.”

Still beaming, Valerie turned to me. “That’s wonderful to know. But I have some additional good news that ought to help make things easier for you all. Virgil Ballantine has decided not to take any personal time and will be here first thing tomorrow morning.”

Like I’d taken a kick to the stomach, I flinched. “Already?”

“We are delighted to have him join us so quickly. The First Lady was afraid it might be several weeks before he was available, but he said he’s eager to get started.”

“That’s great,” I lied.

“And since he will be taking over the responsibility of the First Family’s regular meals, that should free you and your staff up to work on the upcoming dinner. As well as others, of course. This administration will be entertaining quite a bit more often than the prior one did.”

“That’s great,” I said again. Lying again.

“We will be holding a press conference at ten A.M. tomorrow to introduce Chef Ballantine and explain his new role at the White House. The First Lady would like you to be there as she makes the announcement. You won’t be required to say anything, so don’t worry about that. She just wants you there in the background so that the nation sees your support.”

“Of course,” I said.

As soon as she was gone, Cyan silently gripped my arm.

“In the background,” I said. “Tomorrow I get to come in on my day off to stand in the background while the new chef gets presented to the world.”

“It’ll be okay, Ollie,” Cyan said.

But we both knew better.

CHAPTER 13

CYAN RUSHED IN MONDAY MORNING, ABOUT ten minutes late. “Is the new guy here yet?”

In the middle of mixing batter for waffles, I didn’t look up. “Nope. Paul left me a note. I guess Chef Ballantine isn’t scheduled to arrive until just before the press conference.” I gave an exaggerated look around the room. “And our babysitter guards are gone.”

“That’s weird. I wonder where they are.” Peeling off her coat and donning an apron, Cyan frowned. “So no chance for us to meet the new guy before it’s all official, huh?”

“That’s what it sounds like to me.”

Cyan grabbed a bowl of navel oranges and set herself up across from me to peel and section them. “You aren’t supposed to be working today. Where’s Bucky?”

I gestured upward with my chin. “He’s talking with Marcel in the pastry kitchen,” I said. “Since I’m here anyway, I might as well pitch in.”

“Why are you here so early, anyway? The press conference isn’t until ten.”

“Are you kidding? I couldn’t sleep.”

Cyan gave me a sad look. “It’s hard to think of a person we don’t know taking over our kitchen, isn’t it?”

Wiping my hands on my apron, I heaved a sigh. “My stomach is in knots.”

“You’ll be fine at the press conference.”

“Yeah,” I said. “In the
background.
”

Bucky returned and we finished preparing breakfast. “What do we do now?” he asked when two butlers appeared to take the meal up to the residence. “Gardez and Nourie appear to be AWOL.”

I placed a quick call to the Secret Service office and was connected to a female agent. I started to explain the situation, but it was immediately clear that she knew our agent guards were missing. “Didn’t anyone contact you?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “but that doesn’t matter right now. We just need direction. All our meals were being taste-tested before they were served to the First Family. Breakfast is ready to be served. How should we proceed?”

There was a puzzled pause on her side of the line. “You don’t have to worry about serving the First Family this morning,” she finally said. “Breakfast has been prepared and is being served in the residence as we speak.”

“What?” The exclamation came out before I had a chance to curb my reaction. “Wait, wait—what?”

“Agents Gardez and Nourie escorted the new chef to the residence early this morning,” she said apologetically. “I was under the impression you’d been informed he was starting today.”

As much as I felt like lashing out, I knew this wasn’t her fault. Anger bubbled up so quickly, I had to stop myself from shooting the messenger. That would not only be unprofessional, it was just plain wrong. “I didn’t know he’d be in this early,” I said weakly. “Thanks for the update. I appreciate it.”

I hung up, grateful that at least we’d been spared the embarrassment of serving breakfast to people who had already eaten. I turned to Bucky and Cyan, who watched me uneasily. “I hope you two are hungry,” I said.

 

At 9:50, one of Valerie’s assistants appeared in the kitchen. “We’re ready for you, Ms. Paras,” she said, hurrying me with a wave of her hand. “Don’t forget your chef’s hat.”

No danger of that happening. The toque gave me a little height and I was going to need every inch I could get if I hoped to stand toe to toe with this new guy. Although I’d Googled him—repeatedly—there were no clear photos available of him online. There had been a few group shots where his face was very small, and a couple of side-view action shots of him preparing food, but nothing that gave me any indication of what he really looked like.

“Ms. Paras?” the assistant said again, her tone strained. “We need to get upstairs.”

I had removed my stained apron and pulled on a dress tunic. “Yes, let’s go,” I said, positioning my toque on my head. With a final glance to Bucky and Cyan, who stared back morosely, I followed the assistant upstairs.

Today’s press conference was to be held in the Blue Room, and my escort and I took a roundabout way past the gathered crowd of reporters through the State Dining Room and the Red Room to get there. The first floor buzzed with muted conversations, camera operators testing equipment, and Secret Service personnel directing visitors as White House assistants tried to herd groups into the Blue Room in an orderly manner.

Wearing a vibrant red dress and a concerned expression, the First Lady stood in the doorway to the Green Room. She nodded repeatedly to the aides prepping her. I tried not to look anxious, but couldn’t withhold my gaze from racing around the room, looking for the mysterious new chef who had commandeered this morning’s breakfast.