Page 6 of Geordie

There’s a tightness along my jawline, a sign I’m grinding. “I admit my assessment of Catriona was pretty harsh in the beginning. I thought it was a scheme to get busloads of tourists in one place for drunken wine-tasting tours or vacations for a quick buck. I watched their progress and with each completed phase, it was clear they were creating a premium destination with five-star hotels, tasting rooms, meeting venues, and restaurants.” I push the paperwork toward him. “The Catriona brand is constantly in the news, in the US and globally. I think we should continue the downtown San Pacitas location but have a second presence in Catriona. Something smaller and a lot more exclusive.”

Harv glances toward the kitchen, thinking. “That would mean staff expansion and training. Standards can’t suffer because of a new location. Are you sure about this?”

We worked on Dalliance’s concept for a year before making the move to own a restaurant. “I’ve thought about it for a while now,” watching him pick up the information. “No one trains a crew better than you. I want you to be the head chef at this location, or Catriona; it’s your choice. I know we should elevate Tony to sous chef before someone steals him from us.”

The wheels in his brain are working. I’m not saying anything that he hasn’t already thought about. I know him that well. “It might work, but I’m not committing to the idea.”

I lean forward, elbows on the desk, to make my point. “I know you’re always scoping out new talent. We won’t have a problem finding staff. The reputation of Dalliance will bring the right people to us.”

“Now might be a good time to expand,” his fingers skeptically turning pages on the proposal. “When can we take a look at the new space?”

A vague hope stirs that this plan will move forward. “So you’re saying you agree?”

“I’m not saying I’m on board. I want to see the south bay’s wine Disneyland up close before I even entertain the suggestion.”

“I understand. We’re partners and we can’t move ahead unless we both agree. Catriona is particular about who’s allowed to be part of their family. Several restaurants are vying for the few spaces available, and we’re talking about world-renowned restaurateurs. The only thing in our favor is that we’re local. They want businesses that match their vibe. With the restaurants that are currently open there, I think we’d fit in.” I pull out a three-inch stack of papers, holding it out to him. “Here’s the application, but there will also be a food-tasting and panel review.”

Harv chuckles, shaking his head. “Why did you print the application?”

I drop the papers on the desk since my dramatic display went flat. “Didn’t mean to,” I mumble. “I thought the application was three pages. When I found I’d killed a small forest, I figured we could split up the paper application and work on sections, then transfer the information online.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Why are you so bad at tech? You’d better be careful; they’ll revoke your Millennial membership.”

“I’m a chef, not a tech guru. Okay, I guess you want to hear I fucked up. Here it is. I fucked up.”

The back door slams closed after Tina steps into the office. “Am I interrupting? I just got off the phone with MacTavish Cellars.”

Harv pushes to his feet, dropping the papers to stretch. “I’m done. I need to get back to the kitchen to check prep. Let me know if you want me to do the crew meeting alone.”

“I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes, but I have a question. Did you check the website?” I ask Harv because I live in hope and fear that the Michelin gods will smile on us, but I’m a coward to check, so I ask Harv because he doesn’t give a shit.

He shrugs, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

My face falls. I needed some good news today.

He blows out a breath, softening his tone. “What have I told you? Stop obsessing over stars. Michelin isn’t the only way to determine if you’re a talented chef.”

Says the man who helped get stars for the last two restaurants he worked for. I listen, and I know he’s right, but for me, it’s the only accolade I want.

He takes a step back, signaling he’s done with the discussion. “Look, Michelin publishes their awards every Wednesday; there’s always next week. I’ll see you in twenty.”

Tina slips into his place. “I talked to Layla in the MacTavish Cellars business office. She said Geordie, that’s the guy that did the delivery, is authorized to give discounts. She knew about what happened and apologized when I told her who I was and before I asked about the price change.”

The guy knew we would verify and told his office to get ahead of it to cover his ass. “That’s fine. You can pay the invoice.”

“I did once I got the confirmation. There’s more to the story.” She hands me the invoice. “Do you see this scribble there?”

I place the paper on the desk. She taps the invoice, indicating the place. “I see the driver’s initials—GM.”

“The initials stand for Geordie MacTavish. He’s part owner of MacTavish Cellars and the real winemaker. His grandfather, Ian MacTavish, is the head of the MacTavish whiskey empire. Geordie and his cousin Lochlan built MacTavish Cellars and Catriona.” She sighs dreamily. “They must have thought Dalliance was an important client to send one of the owners to do our first delivery personally. Well, that’s everything I have to tell.” Tina glances at the clock on the wall. “Gosh, look at the time; I should leave now and let you and Harv finish the dinner prep.” Tina sweeps from the chair, grabbing her bag, then waltzes to the door, giving me a tiny wave before her exit.

The door shuts with a quiet click. The tall, stacked cases of wine stamped with MacTavish Cellars are mocking me from the corner. If that was Geordie MacTavish who delivered the wine, he and his cousin will decide which restaurants they’ll accept at Catriona. I bury my face in my hands, a massive headache threatening to pound my brain out of existence. I take in a ragged breath, reliving my stupidity. “Shit, how the hell am I going to make this right?”

Chapter four

The Racer's Edge

Geordie

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