"That isn't necessary. I don't expect you to help with this. It isn't under the job description of either a chef or a business manager. Besides, you aren't exactly dressed for it," she pointed out.
Cale glanced down at his designer suit, and then shrugged and began to remove the jacket. "I have several of these and this one is old anyway. Besides, in my experience, a good business manager does whatever needs doing. As you have done."
Alex grimaced. "I didn't really have much choice when the painters took off."
"There are always choices," he said solemnly. "Not always good ones, but there are choices, and here you made the responsible one."
"That's me, responsible Alex," she said with a little self-derision, and turned to start back up her ladder with the tray. She set it on the holder at the top of the ladder and then glanced down to him. "Can you hand me the roller, please?"
"Certainly." He picked it up and passed it to her, watched briefly as she began to run it through the paintin the tray, and then glanced around. "Is there another tray and roller?"
Alex paused and glanced down to him. "You really don't have to-"
"I want to," he interrupted firmly.
She stared at him for a moment but then shrugged and pointed to a corner near the front of the room. "There's another tray and roller there. I don't have another ladder though, so you'll have to do the lower half while I do the top."
"You're the boss," Cale said lightly, and moved to find the extra tray and rollers. He had set himself up with paint and was starting on the lower half of the wall beside her when she asked her first question.
"So, I gather you run the business end of the family restaurant in Paris as well as cook there on occasion? Or have you managed to get away from cooking altogether? " Cale frowned at the wall he was painting, knowing he would have to be careful here. He suspected Marguerite was right, and a relationship based on lies was not a good thing, so he really didn't want to lie any more than necessary. Finally, he said, "Until tonight I have not cooked for a very long time."
That was true enough, he had cooked before. He had roasted meat over an open fire several times in his youth. It wasn't exactly Cordon Bleu cooking, but was cooking nonetheless.
"So you just run the restaurant now?" Alex asked curiously over the quiet shush of her roller running up and down the wall.
Cale grimaced, his hand automatically moving his own roller over the wall as he thought. He didn't run a restaurant at all, but didn't think saying that would be too smart, so instead said, "I run several businesses in Europe, most of them having to do with the travel industry and transport of goods."
"Travel and transport? How did you go from a restaurant to travel and transport? " she asked with surprise.
"They are not that dissimilar," he said, and thought that was true. Argentis Inc. and Argeneau Enterprises held sway in Canada and the US, as well as the UK, but Cale had his own version of the company in France, Italy, and Spain called Valens Industries.
He ran blood banks and saw to the blood's distribution, feeding the masses ... at least the immortal masses. He also catered to immortals' needs in other ways. One company was purely for travel, with flights that started and ended in the evenings so immortals needn't travel with mortals if they did not wish. It also assisted with recommending and booking places for them to stay at their destination, transportation while there, the supply of blood during their stay, and provided them with booklets of the local haunts catering to their kind.
Cale also had another operation that aided with ID and other things immortals needed when they changed names and moved house.
He couldn't tell Alex that, though, so said, "I deal with a special-needs clientele who doesn't wish to utilize the usual transport available and travel with the masses."
"Ah, rich folk who want special attention," Alex said dryly. "We get a lot of those at my restaurant too."
"Yes, I'm sure you do," Cale murmured, and thought she would be surprised to know that a good many of them were immortals. According to Leigh and Marguerite, several of the family who had found their life mates and were eating again frequented La Bonne Vie and adored the food there. Leigh had been ecstatic about gaining access to the recipes for the sauces she'd been creating in his stead last night. Although she'd been quick to assure him that it wouldn't prevent her and Lucian from frequenting the restaurant, claiming that food always tasted better when someone else cooked it.
"What goods do you transport?" she asked, drawing him from his thoughts.
Cale sighed to himself. This not-lying business could be quite tiresome. After taking a moment to debate, he continued vaguely, "These special clientele often have needs they wish filled that are not the usual items that can be bought at a grocery store."
"Please don't tell me you're talking prostitutes here," Alex said, tipping her head to look down at him with worry.
"No. Merely exotic beverages or unusual items," he assured her with a laugh. You didn't get more exotic than blood as a beverage, or the occasional coffin to sleep in for old-timers who disliked giving up the old ways. At least, they would certainly be exotic and unusual to mortals.
"Exotic beverages," she murmured, shaking herhead. Alex then wrinkled her nose, and asked, "And you really enjoy the business end of things?"
Cale chuckled at her expression. "It is not all as tedious as you seem to find it. There is the challenge of resolving problems, the excitement of new projects, the-"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll take your word for it," she interrupted with disgust. "Frankly, problem solving is not one of my strong suits ... unless it's a problem like reducing the acid content of a tomato-based sauce, or how to get a souffle perfect. I'm better with food than people. People tend to piss me off."
He glanced up at her with surprise. "But you own a restaurant. You must deal with people day in and day out."
Alex waved that suggestion away. "I deal with my kitchen staff, who are intelligent and good at what they do. I don't have to deal with whiny customers who order something they've never heard of like gazpacho, and then complain that it's cold, not knowing that's how it's to be served." She clucked with irritation. "And I certainly am not used to dealing with the ineptitude of salespeople who write down the wrong numbers and get completely inappropriate and unwanted goods sent to me like lime green carpet and paint, and screaming orange bathroom tiles."