Page 17 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
“Are you all right, Dean?” Pierre asked in French.
The parrot didn’t simply mimic phrases the way Dean had supposed in the beginning. He actually sensed emotion and had a droll sense of humor. “Never better,” he replied in English, because he’d had the lightbulb go on last night that their English-speaking patrons would enjoy hearing Pierre speak English. So his instruction had begun with Sawyer jumping on board like the intellectual he was.
“Yes, I have the updated status for the opening right here on my phone,” Kyle answered, shooting Dean a glance. “In fact, we have so many reservation requests that this leads in to something else I wanted to talk about. I ask you to consider not killing me until I finish.”
Dean fed Pierre another almond and kicked back in his chair. “That sounds juicy. Madison, swear you won’t go for the cleaver.”
Their badass chef crossed her arms over her black T-shirt and stared him down. “Dean, after posing with your parrot for over an hour and now having my photo plastered across the food industry, you’re the only person I want to acquaint with my newly sharpened cleaver.”
He gulped. Yeah, he shouldn’t have laughed during the photo shoot yesterday, but how could he have helped it? The clueless photographer had told Madison to throw back her head and laugh with the parrot like they were best friends. Dean had seen the way Madison had allowed Pierre to come closer and comment on the food she was testing, never shooting him down. Dean sensed a quiet bond forming—not that he’d ever call it out. “Come on, Madison. Pierre is growing on you after going ten and oh with the spices.”
“J’adore Chef Madison,” Pierre said with a whistle and a nod in her direction.
“Merci,Pierre,” she said with a hapless smile. “You’re not bad yourself. Kyle, you were saying…”
“I’ve been doing some research on the number of tables Nanine’s has had to turn away in the last ten years. Anecdotally, of course.”
Dean watched Nanine sit up a little taller. His other roommates were giving Kyle their rapt attention. Except for Madison. She was studying the wood grains in the table—as if she knew what was coming.
“What I’m about to suggest might seem radical, but I believe it has merit. Not that there won’t be strong feelings—”
“Kyle, please get to the point,” Brooke ordered with her usual New Yorker briskness, tearing off a piece of croissant. “And try not to raise Nanine’s blood pressure.”
Kyle’s mouth twisted before he plastered his Power-Point-presentation smile back on. “Nanine has actually thought of what I’m about to suggest before, so I think she’ll be fine, Brooke.”
“What might that be?” Brooke asked, shooting a worried glance toward Nanine.
“Expanding the restaurant to the Girls’ and Boys’ Floors,” Kyle said, inciting a couple gasps from Thea and Brooke, “which from a reservation point, we most certainly would fill up with clients.”
“Yeah, we so totally would,” Dean added, “especially with Pierre on board.”
“But we live there, Kyle.” Brooke’s fist landed softly on the table, her cheeks flushing with the first wave of anger. “That’s our home.”
“We all know it’s too small for us now.” Kyle held out his hands like a field-tested soldier trying to reason with the enemy as Dean muttered,Word, because seriously, he couldn’t take his small bed much longer.“I know it’s tough to consider, but we’re adults now. Not students. We’re staying in Paris for the foreseeable future. Living somewhere else is inevitable. Thea will move out once she’s married, but that’s beside the point.”
“I do hate to think about moving,” Thea blurted out, “even though I can’t wait to marry Jean Luc.”
“It’s part of life,” Kyle said practically, “and Thea won’t be the only one who needs to split from the group because of something like this.”
Marriage? For the rest of them? Dean was just focused on meeting his dream girl and dating, but he could fantasize about having a place to bring her back to. Right now, they weren’t allowed to have overnight guests. Then he looked at Nanine. What was she thinking behind that carefully composed visage?
“Oh my God, did you really go there?” Madison whacked Kyle in the arm. “Get back to the point.”
Pierre took that moment to say, “Yes, Kyle. The point.”
Dean handed the parrot another almond and shushed him, and the bird’s beady little eyes sparkled as if amused.
Kyle cleared his throat. “Right. On point. We could seat more guests at Nanine’s, which would increase profits. We could also offer guests the option of reserving one of the floors for a private party.”
“That’s a really hot idea right now,” Sawyer broke in. “I’ve read about it in at least five culinary trade magazines.”
Kyle gestured to Sawyer. “See, the research supports it. The added benefit is that Nanine’s could bring in enough profit—and then some—for us to discontinue lunch service—”
“What?” Nanine uttered sharply, tensing in her chair.
“So that the chefs and the staff could have a better life and work balance.” Kyle punched up his smile, and Dean had to give him credit for the effort because Nanine was staring at him as if he’d just poured ice cold water over her. “The change would allow the staff to concentrate more energy on creating Michelin-starred plates every night. That is what we agreed we wanted, right?”
Brooke tugged on her Dior jacket as if it fit wrong while Thea bit her lip. Sawyer shoved his gold-rimmed glasses higher up his nose.
