Page 46 of Go Cook Yourself

Kath forces a fake smile as Clive arrives. “So this is the great restaurant owner, Clive Macdonald.”

“You know it.” He winks at one of the waitresses who must be ten years younger than him.Gross.“And I presume you’re Garett’s date for the evening. He always sought a woman who would love him like his mother wouldn’t.”

I grit my teeth, running through all the insults I want to heave back. The guy stole my fucking restaurant and my dog, and he’s throwing the things I shared with him in my face. Kath glances at me.

“This is Kath. She works with me at—”

“The only place that will take you—a crappy cookery school,” he finishes smugly, not bothering to look at Kath.

I take a breath. As much as I want to rip his head off and pour scolding custard down his neck, I need to keep him talking, so I lean back in my chair and gaze around the stark restaurant. “The place is… different.”

“It’s better. When you worked here,” he says as if I wasn’t the co-owner, “we barely made any money, and yet now I’m raking it in.”

“Because everyone wants to taste my pasta that you can’t serve.”

He throws his head back and laughs, but his hands fist, his knuckles turning white. I know his tells, unlike the people he schmoozes these days.

“This is my award-winning restaurant. You were a minion. I don’t even care about the pasta. Besides, one of your old team told me about your special ingredients.”

I stare him dead in the eyes and smirk. “Of course they did. They were always so loyal to you.”

He glares back. “I’m surprised you’re showing your face here. Look at the great Chef Garett Kelsey, everyone,” he announces to the diners, who are watching our conversation. “You could get his autograph, but it’s worth less than his tasteless focaccia loaves.”

I hate that he gets under my skin. People stare, and my face heats. This is for Cookie.

“I presume Kath is paying for you. Or were you hoping to wash up because you can’t afford my prices?”

Kath stares at him and says, “No, it’s my birthday treat, or it would be if one of your servers could tell me if you cook with peanut oil. You need to train them better.”

Clive’s mouth waggles in shock.

Kath adds, “I’d like to see the oil you use. Take me to your kitchen.”

Although this is part of the plan, I expect she’s rushing through it because of the way he’s treating me. I hope Flora’s done what she needs to do.

Before Clive can disagree, Kath stands and walks towards the kitchen. “Come on, then. Maybe I can have a word with your waitresses, too, about their lacklustre skills.”

Clive follows. His bum cheeks are restricted as he moves, giving him a stumbling walk. As they push through the kitchen doors, I message Flora with a progress update.

Kath’s role is to pretend to feel faint in the kitchen and insist Clive opens the back door. It must be him so no one else can be blamed for opening it. Jem has hidden outside with Cookie’s favourite meaty treats.

Within minutes, Kath walks back in and winks. I nod at Flora, who has returned to the front. While we were talking to Clive, she planned to walk around the back, chat with the kitchen staff, and instruct them to leave the back door open so that when Cookie runs into the kitchen, Jem can grab him and take him to his car. Kath and I are sitting in this bastard’s restaurant because we can’t be accused, nor can Flora. It will look like Cookie escaped.

The mission must work. I need my boy back.

“So tell me, Clive,” I start. I have to know something before we go. The plan demands I anger him, but Ruby and the competition sit in the back of my head. “This competition you’re doing, is it so you can steal someone else’s skills and recipes?”

He glares at me and fists his hands again. The bastard. That’s precisely what he’s planning, but I can’t prove it.

“Don’t be a pathetic fool,” he hisses. “And it’s none of your business. This is my restaurant, and everyone loves it, including me.”

His reaction is perfect. I guess it’s time to rejoin the mission and make him angry.

“Really? Well, you can do whatever you want in this restaurant and town, but remember, you will never be a good chef,” I goad him. “You will be a tight-trousered loser who will remain in my shadow, wanting women who don’t want you, and in your heart, you know you’re a failure because the thing everyone thinks you’re the best at is actually my thing. And I’ve got so much more I can and will do, and you have nothing.”

His face goes from tanned to bright red instantly, and he opens his mouth to rage as Flora walks through the door with an excitable Cookie. Right on cue. “Clive, look who I’ve brought to see you,” she sings, drawing the attention of all staff and diners. “Shall I let you off the leash, Cookie?”

Clive’s head turns, but Flora follows the plan and unhooks Cookie’s lead before he can tell her not to. The briefest smile appears on Flora’s face as Cookie runs around the restaurant. The smell of meat and cheese is too much for my pup, who jumps on all the patrons. Chairs fly, food falls off tables as Clive chases him around the restaurant, and Flora squeals as if it’s all a big mistake. A lady screeches as her husband’s wig flies off. Meanwhile, a family who’s spent more time on their phones than speaking to each other crow as their electronics clatter to the ground.

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