In theory it had been a smart move, but since Jeffery was, well Jeffery—and not superstar chef Bo Brock, with his thirteen Michelin stars, cable network, and Emmy-winning primetime show—the supplier required a six-month advance purchase. What Jeffery didn’t know was that Brock was boycotting the supplier because they were under investigation for maintaining unsanitary and inhumane conditions of their stock.
When the story broke, Lexi was stuck with more than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of grade-A meat, and a grade-A ass of a spouse who didn’t understand why serving factory flesh in a city where PETA reigned supreme was a bad business decision.
“It gets worse.” Lexi took a breath. “When Pricilla offered her help, I only agreed because I thought she was just going to cosign a loan for us. Turns out the bank just approved us for a partial.”
“Shut up!” Abby jerked to the end of her seat. “That rat bastard son of a bitch borrowed the rest from Pricilla?”
“Out of her retirement account.” Even saying it made Lexi’s stomach churn. “We managed to pay off a huge chunk of it when I sold the house, but we still owe Pricilla around twenty-five thousand dollars, and the bank at least sixty.”
“Oh, Lex,” Abby said, patting her hand.
“Yeah, so now you see that I just need to come up with a new menu. A better one,” she said, as though it was that easy. It had taken her years to compile enough five-star recipes for Pairing, and although she knew it was possible to do it again, she didn’t know if she had the fight left in her.
She’d attempted to alter them, put a different spin on her favorites, but nothing had tasted right. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, superior ingredients would go into her kitchen and chain-style entrées would come out. It had been that way since the separation. Jeffery hadn’t just stolen her menu; he’d turned her palate bitter.
“So, what’s your backup plan?”
“You don’t want to know,” Lexi said, dropping her head to the table with a grimace.
“Oh, I’m sure I already do. It probably includes you”—Abby jabbed a pointy finger into Lexi’s forehead—“slaving away in that kitchen and baking macaroons for the rest of your life.”
“Just until I get Pricilla paid back and Jeffery pays off the loan, which he assures me will happen over the next twenty-four months. I figure it’s smarter to take the cash I set aside for the bistro and put it toward what I still owe Pricilla, then start saving again once the bakery is turning out a higher profit.”
“I have a better plan. One that isn’t dumber than you marrying him in the first place.”
Abby had never liked Jeffery. In fact, she had declared war on him in the fourth grade when he used her Barbie collection to stage a lifelike reenactment of Hiroshima—Barbie being on the losing end of a blowtorch. But when Lexi fell in love with the rat, Abby set aside her severe dislike and tried to make nice for her friend’s sake.
“Want to hear it?”
“No.” Lexi realized that her friend had been building toward this moment the entire evening. She’d come here with an agenda in mind and, if history served, Lexi was about to get pressured into doing something she’d regret, that would land her in jail, or that would leave her with Q-tip–length hair and orange skin. Or quite possibly all of the above.
“The Daughters of the Prohibition are in charge of the food for the Summer Wine Showdown’s wine-tasting event, and I may have told them that I have a friend who is an excellent cater—”
Lexi crammed an entire petit four in her friend’s mouth, silencing her. “Don’t say the C word. You know it gives me gas.”
Catering was something Lexi had promised herself she’d never do again. She had done it early on in her career to help pay the bills while Jeffery was still in grad school.
“Cater—” Abby slapped her hands over her lips, blocking Lexi from shoving another minicake in her already full mouth. “It would generate income, and you would have an audience to try out your new ideas on.”
It would also be a huge step in the wrong direction. Call it pride or ego, but going from having her own kitchen and staff and creating one-of-a-kind plates for customers back to carting around chafing dishes and serving poached salmon on a bed of asparagus was not going to happen.