Page 84 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
“I know you’re talking about me,” Madison gritted out, walking into the entryway with attitude written all over her.
Kyle only fixed his cuffs, and Dean knew he was holding on to his control by a thread. “What’s got you hollering, man?”
He pointed to the stairs. “Brooke is getting Sawyer, and then I’ll share the good news. Please tell me you have champagne in one of those gorgeous fridges in the kitchen? Better yet, tell me we have a wine chiller.”
“We have a few scattered through the house and they’re top of the line.” He fixed the angle of his fancy Swiss wristwatch. “I thought maybe some people would be thrilled enough to want to pop champagne and toast our new home, but clearly I was wrong.”
Madison started tapping her foot aggressively. “Again, talking about me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, cocking his ear. “Did you say something?”
Dean didn’t like the way her lip curled. “Hey, Madison! How did you learn about wine?”
Her brows slammed together. “Huh?”
He repeated the question slowly, while contemplating the wisdom of finding a red cape and twirling it like a bullfighter to distract her from going at Kyle. No, he’d have to dress up as the clown who distracted the bull from the bullfighter. He wouldn’t look good in a bullfighter costume.
“I learned through culinary training and wine tastings and then wine pairings with our menus,” she said at last, some of her tension loosening as she stalked over. “Why?”
“Have you ever loved a bottle at a restaurant only to discover you can’t buy it in a liquor store or online?” he asked, facing her directly to keep her from seeing the stone-cold set of Kyle’s face behind her.
“When I’ve gone out on a date, sure.” She jerked her shoulder. “Not that I’ve been on one in a long time. By the way, good for you for scoring. We need to up the percentage of people having sex in our group. Otherwise, we might all explode.”
Her angst was related to sexual energy, and she’d just confirmed it out loud. Bold of her.
He saw Kyle flinch. Whoa! For once, Golden Boy didn’t have on his perfect poker face, and Dean felt bad for him. Madison must really be getting to him.
Dean motioned Madison closer, leaning forward as if about to reveal a secret. Anything to keep her from seeing Golden Boy’s face right now.
“I’m happy to do my part, Madison, but seriously, how much money does a restaurant make on a bottle of wine? What’s the markup?”
Her golden eyes turned calculating. “Usually two to three hundred percent. That’s where a lot of restaurants make bank. Same with cocktails, by the way. Especially if you make the mixers in-house. Not only do they taste better, but they’re cheaper by volume.”
“Good to know.” He turned as he heard footsteps on the stairs and looked over to see Sawyer already wearing a smock slashed with black, clearly pissed at the interruption. “You’re dirty already, Doc?”
Madison snickered as Brooke rolled her eyes. “Your mind is a gutter,” she answered, “and yes, he’s covered in black gesso because he’s just done three canvases.”
“I couldn’t keep my hands off them,” Sawyer said, his eyes dreamy.
Brooke had him by the arm, a move that had probably been necessary to get him downstairs since he was obviously in happy painting land. She set him against the end of the staircase and then folded her arms across her chest. “So, we’re all here. Spill.”
He grinned at his friends. “My ‘It’ idea is taking shape, and you’re going to love it.”
“We’ll see,” Kyle said disagreeably, making Madison’s head swing around.
“Let him talk,” she shot out. “Can’t you see how excited he is?”
Kyle’s blue eyes turned frostier. Dean rushed on. “Since you came up with one of the ideas, Kyle, how could you not? That’s what I call teamwork. I hope it’s okay if I incorporate it into my initial plans.”
“Knock yourself out,” Kyle said with the flick of his wrist.
“Okay, let me lay out what I have so far. I’d say the theme is making wine more accessible to the consumer. We would have a store that sells the wines we serve at Nanine’s, with a special emphasis on the ones we pair with our signature dishes. Because you just said people hate loving a wine at a restaurant only to discover they can’t find it easily elsewhere.”
Madison nodded. “Keep going.”
“Most of the people who come here as tourists don’t know wine, and maybe they won’t have the chance to hit one of France’s wine regions.” He started walking, the thoughts tumbling together. “But they probably want to bring home a bottle or so as a token from their trip.”
“Or maybe even buy a few cases,” Brooke broke in. “Like my dad does when he comes here. Usually from a liquor store he knows.”
