Page 61 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

Grant answers on the second ring. “Jameson.”

I clear my throat and try to keep the tiny bit of anger I have at him for checking up on me out of my voice. “I hear you had a bright and early inspection today.”

He chuckles. “We just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Bullshit. Nobody just happens to be in Bushwick.”

“Okay, fine. I wanted to check in on the progress and make sure there weren’t going to be any delays. I want an opening date, Jameson. I hate paying for a building and everything else without any idea when we’ll start having some money coming in.”

“Danny is scheduling the inspections.”

“That’s good to hear, but I hope there won’t be any more surprises from next door.”

He means any more pranks like the menu thing, but the way he says it—like an accusation that she did something criminal and is some sort of shitty person—tightens my skin.

“Nope. We've come to a truce of sorts.”

“Good. Any idea of her opening date? We need to make sure that girl doesn't try to steal any of our thunder or ride our coattails.”

As if Izzy would intentionally do that.

I may have thought so at the beginning. I might have harshly judged her because she was the competition and maybe done a few underhanded things in the name of business that were morally questionable.

But despite what she did with the menu and the whole swapping the salt for the sugar thing, I don’t really think she has a malicious bone in her body. I can’t believe she would ever even consider doing anything to sabotage our opening or try to “ride our coattails” the way Grant is suggesting. It wouldn't work, anyway. Her style and food are so different from ours that I can't imagine much of an overlap in our clients, even if she tried to steal them.

“I don't know when she's opening.”

I have to bite back the desire to defend her. If I do that, Grant will latch right onto it and know something happened. And there's no reason to let him know. Not when whatever that was is over anyway.

“Find out and let me know. So how long will you need after the inspection? Two weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“That gives you enough time for food orders and for me to get everyone who is important invited.”

I lean forward, rest my elbow on the table, and pinch the bridge of my nose. “We’ll do a press release. I assume your people can handle that.”

He chuckles, his humor apparently returned now that we’ve figured out an opening date. “Of course. Press release, print, radio, and television ad campaign.”

“And I'll get some sort of formal invitations designed and sent out to anyone who is anyone in town.”

“Don't worry about that. I'll have Sylvie take care of it.”

“No offense, Grant, but I don't exactly trust your wife.”

“Why the hell would you say that?”

“Because I’m pretty sure I saw her car parked outside, and she isn't in here, which means she's probably next door with Isabella again.”

“Goddammit.” He releases a heavy sigh. “We brought separate cars this morning. She said she had an appointment she had to go to when we left. I didn’t know she stayed. Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it.”

I just hope he doesn't do anything rash. He doesn't understand Isabella, and while I'm not sure I do, either, at the very least, I know she isn't malicious. She's not going to do anything to try to tank our opening. If we fail, it's going to be totally on us. Or more accurately…me.

It's my name on that sign. My recipes. My hands cooking everything that comes out of the kitchen.

I'm the one going on the news and touting how incredible it's going to be. Any failure, any slight misstep, is one hundred percent on me.

It’s the kind of pressure I imagine Dad and Bash were under every time they skated onto the ice. Prime Chef was hard. Knowing the cameras were on me twenty-four-seven and some of the world’s best chefs were judging everything I created was almost unbearable. But there was an end in sight. Either I was going to win, or I was going to lose.

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