Gardez asked, “Where’s Bost?”
The large, angry agent appeared in the doorway. “Right here.”
Josh nudged Virgil’s elbow. “I’m here,” he said again. “What can I do?”
“Josh,” Virgil said, the weariness in his voice so apparent that Josh’s shoulders dropped, “this isn’t a real good time.”
“But I thought I could do something to maybe help out.” Josh looked over to Bost, who held his hands up as though to indicate he had no say in this matter. “I’ve been watching all the cooking shows, and I learned a lot already.”
Bucky, Cyan, and I kept working, but our attention was on the little drama playing out in front of us. Josh, with his soulful brown eyes, stared up at Virgil with a mixture of admiration and fear.
Virgil was in the middle of dinner preparations. As much as I would have liked to know exactly what he was creating, I’d been so consumed with my own work for the tasting tomorrow, that I’d mostly ignored him. Was it bad of me to hope he was coming up with another prune-yogurt or fish quiche dish?
The kitchen was silent as we all waited for Virgil’s response. “Listen, Josh,” he said without looking at the boy, “this is a real working kitchen. It’s dangerous in here.” Flicking a glance up to Bost, he added, “I think it’s irresponsible of your bodyguard to let you run around like this.”
Josh shook his head. “I’m not running around. I want to do real cooking.”
“You’re only eight.”
“I’m nine.”
“That’s still too young.”
Josh pointed at me. “But Ollie said—”
Sensing that Virgil was ready to dismiss the boy, I interrupted. “Hey, Josh, maybe you can help me instead.”
Next to me, Bucky rolled his eyes. I ignored him.
Josh’s mouth twisted with uncertainty. “But ...”
“Here.” Thinking fast, I pulled out dough I had set to rise. “Do you know how to knead?”
Josh’s eyes lit up. “I do.” He named one of his favorite Food Network heroes and painstakingly explained the steps he remembered about making bread. He was so intense in his recitation that I couldn’t find it in my heart to tell him I already knew.
“That’s great,” I said when he finished. And it was—he’d remembered every step of the process.
I thought I heard a grumble from Bucky, but I ignored that, too.
I pulled my stool up close to a clear space on the center countertop. “Why don’t we get you set up over here? Go wash your hands first. Really, really get them clean, okay?”
Bost looked bored. Or maybe annoyed. Hard to tell on a face that was carved from stone. Virgil took great pains to keep from interacting with either of us, as though he was afraid of being pulled in to cooperate. Bucky’s eyes rolled so far back into his head—again—that I thought they might stick there.
Josh took his spot on the stool and cheerfully began kneading the dough. He treated the pale mound more like Play-Doh than food, but I didn’t really mind. Even if he dropped it on the floor, it wouldn’t matter. I had more dough mounds stored in back, just waiting to be punched down. “You tell me when you think that’s done, okay Josh?” I asked.
He said, “I sure will!” with such joyful confidence that I felt my breath catch. What a cutie. Kids had never been part of my future plans. To be honest, I’d never really gotten to know any very well, and I’d never felt any maternal urges. But this kid was a real charmer.
Cyan came over to whisper in my ear, “You’re a better woman than I.”
Bost put an end to Josh’s kitchen exploits after about an hour. In that time, Josh had kneaded three piles of dough, refilled our tasting spoons, and helped me make a hummus snack by squeezing a lemon and blending it with chickpeas, tahini, and garlic.
“It’s time for homework,” Bost told him. “Your mother’s schedule.”
Josh reluctantly surrendered his spot. “Okay.”
“Before you go,” I said, “let’s get the bread from the oven and see how it turned out.”
Josh and I donned mitts and removed a fat, gorgeous, nicely browned loaf from the rack. “You did a great job,” I said.
Josh beamed.
“I’m going to send this upstairs with you so you have a snack while you do your homework. But you’ll have to let this cool,” I said. Turning to the hummus mixture that I’d stored in a bowl, I gave him directions for digging out the center of the cooled bread. “Put the hummus in there and you can dip the bread pieces in. What do you think?”
“This is great,” he said.
Bost had to help him carry everything, but within moments they were out the door and I smiled after them, knowing I’d made Josh feel good. Something, at least, had gone right.
Virgil was next to me in a heartbeat. “Did you forget that the family’s food is my responsibility?”
“Nope. Didn’t forget,” I said, and before he could complain further, I turned away.
“You shouldn’t have sent those items upstairs,” he said to my back.
I ignored him.
A little while later, Virgil disappeared. Cyan wanted to ask him about a recent order he’d placed but he was nowhere to be found. “Maybe he went to the washroom?” I suggested.
“For half an hour?” Cyan asked.
Had he been gone that long? I hadn’t noticed. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to.
“I hate to say this,” I said, “but I think I need to talk with Paul. Virgil may technically report to me, but he’s obviously unhappy with that arrangement. As much as I don’t want to admit it, we might be better off if he handled food from the residence kitchen. The sooner he’s out of our hair, the better.”
Cyan wiped her hands on her apron and started to speak, but Bucky stopped her with a look. He addressed the two Secret Service agents. “No offense, guys,” he said to them, “but we should probably not be discussing sensitive kitchen issues in front of you.”
Nourie and Gardez exchanged a glance. Gardez smiled and made a key-turning movement in front of his lips. “I’m not going to say anything.”
Nourie had his eyes on Cyan. “Nobody’s business but your own.”
Bucky didn’t seem satisfied; he came close to me. “I think you
should
talk with Paul. Something just isn’t right with that guy. The longer we wait to fix it, the sorrier we’re going to be.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I said. “Can you two handle everything until I get back?”
“You know it,” Cyan said.
I washed my hands at the sink, and dried them well. I didn’t often just drop in at Paul’s office and I didn’t even know if he would be there right now, but this wasn’t a matter I cared to handle over the phone.
I took the steps up to the first floor and was just outside Paul’s office when I heard a familiar voice.
“She’s harassing me,” I heard Virgil say.
He had his back to me as he complained to Paul.
Paul spied me from over Virgil’s shoulder. He held up a hand in greeting, which I knew was more for Virgil’s benefit than for mine. Virgil ignored it and kept complaining. “It’s bad enough I have to report to her, but now she’s grabbing my responsibilities. She sent food upstairs with the Hyden’s son ...”
“Josh,” I said, interrupting.
He spun, his face contorted in anger.
I was incredibly composed. Virgil’s anger and fury only fueled my inner calm. “The Hyden’s son’s name is Josh,” I said. “It wouldn’t hurt to call him that.”
Paul moved to step between us, almost as though he expected us to come to blows. “I understand there’s a difference of opinion on where each of your responsibilities begin and end ...”
“I’ll say,” Virgil interjected. “She’s out to get me. I tried to talk with her and get us started on the right foot, but she resents my being here.” He cast a derisive look my way. “Not that I blame you for that. I would feel threatened, too, if a chef of my caliber suddenly appeared on staff. No hard feelings.”
“No hard feelings?” I said incredulously. I bit back my next retort. It wouldn’t do to lose my temper in front of Paul. Not at all.
At that moment, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I chose to ignore it.
Paul had his hands up. “We’re all adjusting,” he said. “It would be foolish to expect everything to run smoothly right away. Let’s all just step back and try to see what the best course of action is.” He took a step back in emphasis, but didn’t give either of us a chance to respond before saying, “What we should do is schedule a meeting. Just the three of us, where we sort out grievances and establish ground rules.” Turning to me, he said, “I know you’re swamped with preparations for the state dinner, Ollie. Why don’t you come up with options that are good for you ...” he turned to face Virgil, “and then you and I will coordinate. How does that sound?”
Virgil’s voice rose. “Ridiculous, that’s how it sounds. Are you planning to take more of my responsibilities away? I don’t know why I even agreed to come here in the first place.”
I turned at the sound of heels against tile. Valerie had come up the same steps I’d used. Clutching a portfolio, she hesitantly approached. “Am I interrupting?”
Paul smiled. “What can I do for you?”
She pointed to Virgil as she joined us. “I need him. Photographers are here from
Masterly Male
magazine for the feature they’re doing on our new chef.” She gave a sheepish grin. “Can I steal him away from you for a little bit?”
Virgil’s face underwent a total transformation. Pulling his shoulders back, he smiled broadly and checked his watch. “They’re right on time. Thank you, Valerie.” To Paul, he said, “Don’t underestimate what I can do for this place.”
Paul and I watched him go. As soon as they were gone, I asked. “What did I do to deserve him?”
“You managed to turn Bucky around,” he said. “Maybe whatever worked on him will work on Virgil Ballantine, too.”
I shook my head, talking half to myself. “Bucky comes from better stock. He might be moody but he was here with Henry and he understands how things work. Virgil is a diva. He’s in this for himself, and has his own agenda.” I looked at Paul. “I worry what will happen if he succeeds.”
“Succeeds?”
“In pushing me out of here.”
“He’s not—” Paul must have seen my face because he stopped arguing. Instead, he said, “Give him time.”
“I don’t have time. The First Lady already isn’t terribly fond of me.” I mentioned both the disastrous first breakfast and the one this morning where Cyan and I followed Virgil’s instructions to the letter. “She hated it. And he led her to believe the menu was my idea.”
“You didn’t correct him?”
“How could I?” I asked. “We were talking to the First Lady. I didn’t want us to come off as two squabbling children. But that’s exactly what we are.”
“I’ll try to set up the meeting I mentioned.”
I thanked him for his concern. “And I’ve got plans to talk with Henry Saturday. It will be nice to get his take on all this. I feel like I’m in over my head.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. Henry left the kitchen in very good hands.”
“Thanks, Paul.”
I checked my cell phone as I walked down the stairs. One missed text. I opened the phone and clicked to read a message from Gav.
Saturday has opened up. You free around five? Coffee? Dinner?
I was about to text back that I’d love to meet him, when I remembered my plans with Henry. Instantly disappointed— despite the fact that up until this very moment I’d been looking forward to seeing my former mentor—I knew I couldn’t cancel. Henry had made it clear he’d arranged his evening to fit my schedule, and it wouldn’t be fair to change things on him now. Reluctantly I texted back that I had plans. Before hitting “send,” I added, “with Henry.” Gav knew our former executive chef. For some reason, I didn’t want Gav to think I might be out on a date.
Back in the kitchen, Cyan and Bucky wanted the scoop from my visit with Paul. Maybe I was just too tired to go over it again—maybe I just felt as though I needed to stop allowing Virgil to be such a driving force in this kitchen—but I waved them away and told them things were being handled. We had far too much to worry about to allow Virgil’s negativity to slow us down.
An hour later, Bucky looked at the clock. “He’s
still
with the photographers?” Pointing to the vegetables Virgil had left unchopped when he’d stormed out in a huff, Bucky added, “Dinner is not finished. According to his schedule”—he pointed to notes Virgil set out on the counter—“he’s serving in forty-five minutes and he has an item here that requires almost that long to bake. He’s got a lot of work ahead of him and he’s not here. You and I both know he’s not going to make it.”
I blew out a breath. Save his hide by finishing up dinner and serving it for him, or let his preparations sit and make the First Family wait for their meal?
I muttered an expletive, and asked again—rhetorically—what we’d done to deserve him. Finally I said, “I can’t do it.”
Bucky and Cyan were both fully aware that Virgil had blamed us for the unpleasant breakfast. Bucky’s face brightened. “You mean you refuse to save his—”
“I can’t let the First Family go hungry,” I said with finality. “Not from my kitchen. We’ll finish what he started and get it served on time.”
Deflated, Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Be careful, Ollie. If you don’t start protecting yourself, Virgil’s going to get his way and this
will
be his kitchen.”
“We have to do what’s right,” I said. And although my heart wasn’t in it, I consulted Virgil’s list and reminded myself that it was important to always take the high road.
I’d just picked up a knife when our temperamental chef came around the doorway. “Out of my way,” he said. “I have a masterpiece to create and no time for foolishness.” Stopping when he saw me, he gave me and the vegetables a once-over. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t miss your deadline.”
He made a shooing motion with his hands. “What do you take me for?” he asked. “I’m a professional. Everything is under control.”