LITMIR.BIZ

      CAL WOKE UP in a great mood. The party the previous night had gone well and he was expecting a lot of positive press from the event. Even more important, people would talk about Penny’s food and that would bring in customers as much as any article. If the opening went as smoothly as the party, then he would have achieved the success he wanted in four months and he could bow out and return to The Daily Grind.

      He showered, shaved and was about to pick out his clothes for the day when his phone rang. He glanced at the clock. Who the hell would be calling at ten past seven in the morning?

      He instantly thought of Walker. Had something happened to his brother? He reached for the phone.

      “Dammit, Cal, this is your fault,” Penny yelled before he had a chance to say hello. “Get down here right now. To the restaurant,” she added. “I mean it. You have twenty minutes.” Then she hung up.

      A push, but he made it with forty-five seconds to spare. Whatever the crisis was, he planned to have a little talk with her about manager-chef relationships. She might be in charge of the kitchen but that didn’t make her boss of the world.

      He pulled into the parking lot and circled around back. As he’d suspected, the morning deliveries were stacked outside the rear of the building. Penny stood there with a very tousled Naomi at her side.

      He didn’t want to think about what Naomi had done with her night. Not when his brother was involved. So he parked and climbed out of his car. Penny saw him and raced toward him.

      “Smell this,” she said, thrusting a large piece of fish in his face. “Smell it.”

      He inhaled, then wished he hadn’t. Good fish shouldn’t have a smell at all. Old fish smelled fishy. This fish smelled as if it had died three weeks ago.

      “It’s all crap,” she said, her eyes bright with temper, her cheeks blazing as red as her hair. “You could tie the celery in knots and it wouldn’t break. The shallots are practically a liquid. Crap. Did I tell you? Did I say there was a reason this restaurant had closed? Did you listen?”

      She sucked in a breath. “Do you know how many reservations we have for tonight? The house is full. Full. Starting at six and going through until ten, we have every seat taken. We’re talking about dinner for just over three hundred. You want to know how much food I have? None. None! I have a damn box of cornstarch and three leeks and I have to provide dinner for three hundred.”

      “Penny—”

      She ignored him. “I said they could screw up one time. Well, they have. I’ll get my own people in here, which is great, but I still have dinner for three hundred tonight. I want someone’s head on a platter. I want it now and I want it raw. I’ll cook it myself.”

      With that she turned on her heel and stalked into the restaurant.

      He was equally torn between admiring her spirit and dealing with the disaster at hand.

      Naomi stared at him. “Don’t go there, big guy. You already screwed that one up once.”

      Cal ignored that. “Tell the guy to pack up and send it all back.” He would call later and cancel the contract, but right now there was a bigger problem. Dinner for three hundred.

      He went into the restaurant and found Penny in the cold storage, taking inventory.

      “I have shrimp,” she said, a note of hysteria in her voice. “Great. If we cut them in half, then everyone gets a serving. Fabulous. Come to The Waterfront and enjoy half a shrimp.” She turned and saw him. “Get out of my way.”

      “I want to help.”

      “You will. Tell me you drive something bigger than that expensive toy.”

      “I have a full-sized truck.”

      “Good. Go get it. Dress dirty. We’re going to Pike Place Market. But first I’m calling my fish people and finding out what they can do for me.” She winced. “They’re going to charge a lot for a last minute order.”

      “We’ll pay.” He moved close and grabbed her shoulders. “I’m sorry the delivery was crap, but we’ll handle this. We can do an opening night chef’s menu and pretend it was our plan all along.”

      “I know, but you have the easy part. You just have to print it out on the computer and slip it into the menus. I have to figure it all out and then make sure we have enough food, then cook it.”

      “You can do it.”

      “There’s an assumption.”

      He saw the doubt in her eyes.

      He felt her pain and annoyance and couldn’t think of a damn thing to make her feel better. She deserved more. Worse, he was partially to blame. He’d insisted on keeping the old vendors.

      “I…”

      “Yes? Any solution would be welcome.”

      When he was silent, she sighed. “Yeah, I don’t have a miracle up my sleeve, either. Okay, meet us at the market in forty-five minutes,” she said. “We’ll check out what’s available and I’ll come up with a menu. Then we’ll put it all together and pray that it works.”