Part 4 (1/2)

The concierge rose from his chair at an elongated desk. Two striking arrangements of cherry blossom branches arched upward from each corner of his works.p.a.ce.

”Welcome,” he said, nodding slowly. His trim goatee, clean-shaven head, and meticulous bow tie suggested two screaming little people and another punching the elevator b.u.t.tons without pause might not be his typical social situation. ”Ms. Garrett?”

I thought I saw a flicker of relief in his eyes when I reached out to shake his hand instead of Manda, who was starting to fumble for the clasp on her nursing bra.

”We are pleased to welcome you to Silverside Lofts. My name is Omar, and I am the head concierge at your service. Please do not hesitate to contact me with any questions, concerns, or needs.”

”I'm Manda,” she said, introducing herself and jostling Polly at the same time. ”I'm Charlie's best friend. And I really, really, really appreciate all you do. Do you freelance?”

Manda was grinning, but Omar looked a little nervous. I took the key from his outstretched hand. ”Thank you for the warm welcome, Omar.” I looked toward the elevators, where Zara was now spinning cartwheels and singing a song from Frozen. ”Can you tell me which apartment number is mine?”

”Of course, Ms. Garrett. You have the penthouse apartment. Our top floor, the twenty-fifth. Your key will also access the fitness center, the executive lounge, and the rooftop terrace. But perhaps the executive tour should wait for another time when you are a bit more, ahem, settled in?” Omar's eyes bounced from Dane's five-alarm tantrum to Zara's Idina Menzel imitation to Manda's muttering at her tangled bra strap. Omar was not built for this moment.

”Sounds great,” I said, already striding toward the elevator. ”Thank you,” I called over my shoulder before pointing to the up b.u.t.ton for Zara. After a stomach-dropping, rapid ascent, the elevator chimed for the top floor, and we stepped directly into the apartment.

”Holy catfis.h.!.+” Zara squealed and took off at a run.

I let my bags drop with a thud onto the polished marble floor. Vaulted ceilings and walls of windows made me feel as if I was perched eye-level with Mount Rainier, which presided like a snowy watchman in the distance. A clear day in Seattle was money, and I felt like the girl with the Midas touch. I walked to a far window, past a gleaming kitchen with not one but two Dacor ovens, thank you very much, past a long, kitten-soft gray sectional, past a flat screen television that was sure to catch every nuance of Colin Firth's face when I curled up with him and Pride and Prejudice later that night. I kicked off the infernal high heels and stood before the window. A southern view of the city lay before me-water, sky, the s.p.a.ce Needle, Puget Sound-and I felt the exhaustion and worry seep out of my shoulders. I did it, I thought. It might be crazy and I have to unpack and make lists and stock my kitchen and find Avery's restaurant and make supply lists and develop a menu and get to know my staff ... I sighed. But I did it. And the view sure is lovely from up here.

”I'm moving in.” Manda's voice tugged me out of my reverie.

I turned and saw her curled in the corner of the sectional, Polly's little fist clutching the top of her s.h.i.+rt while she ate. Dane was sitting at one of the barstools by the kitchen counter, sucking applesauce out of some sort of vacuum pack and looking a bit less hostile.

”I'm moving in and leaving the kids with Jack.”

”Mommy!” Zara rounded the corner, looking offended. ”You can't leave us with Dad. He doesn't know how to braid!”

”You'll adjust,” Manda said. ”Braiding isn't that hard.”

Zara narrowed her eyes for a moment until her face relaxed into a toothy grin. ”You're joking, Mom. You won't leave us with Daddy. He's tried braiding, and he's super bad at it.” She skipped back down the hallway to what looked like the master bedroom, outfitted with a tall, narrow mirror perfect for aspiring vocalists.

I lowered myself onto the couch, smoothing the fabric slowly with my hand, lining up my heels on the dense area rug. Closing my eyes and letting my head fall back on the cus.h.i.+on, I heard Manda thump Polly's back to burp her.

”You made it,” Manda said. I could hear the smile in her voice without looking at her face. I knew she wasn't just talking about a cross-country move.

I felt a smile pulling at my lips. ”Let the adventure begin.”

6.

I was starting to sense a theme. Since the last time I had seen him, Avery had made the leap from ”cheapskate” to ”indulgence king,” and I wondered if he had had professional help to make the transition. Thrill's interior actually made me gasp when I entered the restaurant the next afternoon. I'd been up to my eyeb.a.l.l.s in boxes, packing tape, and shopping lists, so by the time I entered the front of the house at Thrill, I was a walking, breathing target market for one of their famous mojitos. Omar had already recommended them to me twice.

The walls of the restaurant were inlaid with hundreds of planks of polished knotted wood, running the length of the dining room and only interrupted once by an enormous rectangular window. The paint colors were variants of white, and the floor was some kind of charcoal, veined slate. A long fireplace filled the better part of one wall. A tidy gas flame danced behind gla.s.s and bounced firelight off a sleek wood mantle. The low-lit chandeliers dotting the room gave off prisms of sparkle and glam. Tables were set for the evening, but I was alone in the room.

I picked up a menu, feeling the weight of the heavy cardstock, russet with faint white polka dots of different sizes sprinkled behind the white text. The savory menu made my mouth water with its emphasis on local seafood and innovative preparations of Northwest produce. The options for dessert, however, were yawnworthy. My mouth straightened into a line, and I stood taller. I could do better. I would do better.

Avery burst through the kitchen door, his shoulder cradling his cell phone, hands gesticulating wildly.

”We have gone over this before, Margot,” he was saying. ”Either you trust me or you don't. I need two weeks, and I'm not budging on that.” He seemed surprised to see me, but he quickly recovered and came toward me with open arms. ”Listen, I must run. We'll talk soon.”

Phone still in his hand, he pulled me in for a hug. ”You're here! What do you think?” He brandished a tanned forearm, gesturing to the restaurant.

”It's stunning,” I said. ”I love it.” Members of the waitstaff were beginning to filter into the dining room in a wash of black s.h.i.+rts, black skinny ties, and black trousers. Some were tying on long black ap.r.o.ns with THRILL printed down one side in crisp white lettering.

”Come meet everyone. We've just finished eating and are about to start the preservice run-down.” He slung an arm around my shoulder, and we walked somewhat awkwardly toward the group. They'd gathered by the picture window that overlooked a secluded, brick-paved courtyard on the cusp of a raucous springtime bloom. A flowering cherry tree stood in the middle of the s.p.a.ce, knotty bark running down its trunk, its roots b.u.mping up the brick pathway. Tiny purple flowers lined the branches heralding the s.h.i.+ft toward warmth and longer days.

”What a tree,” I said.

Avery waved at a tall, slender man with rimless gla.s.ses on the far side of the room. ”Hmm?” He glanced where I was staring. ”What tree?”

I looked at him, wondering if he had become blind since we last saw each other.

”Oh, right. That tree. Nice.” Avery steered me toward the skinny dude with gla.s.ses and said, ”I have someone I'd like you to meet. Vic Arteaga, meet our new pastry chef, fresh from Manhattan's L'Ombre, Ms. Charlie Garrett.”

Vic's hand was baby-soft, but his handshake was firm. ”The famous Charlie Garrett. This man has sung your praises for a long time. Welcome.”

Avery just stood there, grinning and waiting for me to, what? Whip up a souffle or something?

”It's a pleasure to meet you,” I said. Vic was turned out in a starched purple-checked b.u.t.ton-down and a tailored dove-gray suit. His attire stood in stark contrast to a room full of people clad entirely in black. ”And what is it that you do here at Thrill?”

”I'm the-” he began but was cut short by Avery.

”Vic is new, too,” he said, his eyes widening a bit. ”He is working in our newest department. Marketing. Marketing and communications.”

”Absolutely.” Vic's voice was polished, relaxed. ”I'm helping Thrill move into its next phase.”

I c.o.c.ked my head to one side. ”A 'next phase' so soon? You've only been open a few months, and you're already changing pastry chefs. Surely that's enough change for the time being?”

”Well, no,” Avery said. Then, ”Yes. I mean, we are stretching and changing and growing all the time, Charlie. You know, all that dog-eat-dog stuff. It's a different world with social media and branding ...” Avery trailed off and nodded at a man who stood with hands on his ample hips in front of the group of seated servers and cooks. ”Looks like we'll have to continue this discussion another time. Chet is ready to begin.”

I turned my attention to Chet. He folded his hands across an impressive belly and rocked slightly in bright blue Crocs. The group quieted.

”All right, everybody. Hope you're fat and happy after that meal. Thanks, Doug and Aldo, for hooking us up. Great meatb.a.l.l.s, right?”

A smattering of applause and whoops rose from the group. Meatb.a.l.l.s sounded fantastic and a deliciously far cry from fussy Beef Wellington. I felt my shoulders begin to relax.

”Let's get to logistics. First, I'm exec tonight. Chef Michaels is needed elsewhere.”

I leaned closer to Avery while Chet went over menu changes. ”Who is Chef Michaels?” I whispered. ”I thought you were exec.”

Avery kept his eyes on Chet. ”I am. I go by Avery Michaels now. Didn't I tell you?” He flashed The Grin at me, but I wasn't distracted this time by the upper and lower arches.

”No, you did not,” I exclaimed in a whisper. ”What's wrong with 'Malachowski?'”

He looked at me like I was the only kid on the bus who didn't know what v.a.g.i.n.a really meant. ”Michaels makes far better sense for what I'm trying to do here. You get one shot for the public to remember you, and I don't want them tripping over some Polish tongue twister.” He turned his attention back to Chet but added in a more gentle tone, ”And don't worry about me sharing duties with Chet. I'll be on the line when you start next week. I'll make sure you have everything you need.”