Angels at the Table (Angels Everywhere #7)(18)

Lucie couldn’t help but notice the way her mother’s eyes brightened.

“Of course I’ll tell her. This is just wonderful. Thanks so much, Juliana. You’ve made my day.” Wearing a huge smile, her mother docked the phone.

“What did Juliana say?” Lucie couldn’t help being curious at the change in her mother’s posture.

“Juliana went on the newspaper’s website. She always was one to keep up with technology. All that social media techie stuff is beyond me.”

“And?” Lucie pressed.

“Well, apparently several people have taken exception to the review and have left comments.”

“Really. Several people? Did she mention a number?”

Wendy nodded. “She said you should check it out yourself and you’d be impressed. I believe she said there were already three hundred comments, all disagreeing with the review.”

“Three hundred.” Lucie felt like dancing around the room.

“And not a single one of them is related to this family,” Wendy boasted.

Lucie immediately sat down at her desk, which she’d set up in the corner of their cozy living room. Sammy, who sensed something was wrong, waddled over and sat down at her feet, resting his chin on her foot as though to comfort her.

Lucie booted up her computer, logged onto the Internet, and went to the home page for the newspaper. Sure enough, the Heavenly Delights review dominated the comments directed at the newspaper. Lucie could barely believe her eyes. Her hand covered her mouth as she read comment after comment praising the restaurant. Several people mentioned Lucie’s signature dishes and nearly everyone raved about the desserts. Wendy was right. Their loyal customers hadn’t remained silent. They’d come to the restaurant’s defense in droves. It was barely noon and the comments already numbered over three hundred.

“Take that, Eaton Well,” Lucie murmured, grinning uncontrollably.

“What did I tell you,” Wendy said, coming to stand behind her. “We don’t have a thing to worry about.”

Lucie desperately wanted to believe that.

A summons from the managing editor wasn’t unusual, but it was the way the message came to Aren. He’d been asked to stop by the editor’s desk at his earliest convenience.

Sandy Markus had been with the paper nearly thirty years. She was a pro and didn’t stand on ceremony, nor was she shy about sharing her opinion. The woman had grit and guts—both necessary to rise this high in what was once considered a man’s world. Sandy had not only broken the mold; she’d helped shape a new one. Aren respected and liked his boss even though she had the power to intimidate him.

When Aren appeared at her office door, Sandy glanced up and motioned him inside.

“Close the door,” she instructed.

Aren reluctantly complied with her request. If Sandy wanted the door closed, it usually meant bad news.

Aren’s stomach sank.

The managing editor continued to focus on her computer screen. “Have a seat,” she instructed. She wasn’t the stereotypical newswoman. Sandy was tall and thin, with short, wiry hair that she groomed into submission with mousse until it stood straight up on end. In her mid-sixties, her face had weathered well through the years.

“Is there a problem?” Aren asked. As far as he knew his work had been more than satisfactory.

Aren didn’t expect Sandy to praise his writing. She’d let it be known she expected his articles to be of top quality. If they weren’t he could seek employment elsewhere.

Aren took a seat. “What’s this about?” He hated being called to task when he didn’t have any idea what he’d done wrong.

“Heavenly Delights,” she muttered, reluctantly tearing her gaze away from the monitor. She removed her eyeglasses and a deep frown marred her brow as she studied him. “You wrote the review of the restaurant, right?”

“I did.” Aren stood by his piece. The food had been some of the worst in his experience. As far as he was concerned, whoever was doing the cooking had a lot to learn. The chicken dish was satisfactory, but that showed no real expertise. The true test had been the sole and sauce, and in that the chef had failed miserably.

“You were scathing in your remarks.”

Scathing wasn’t the word he’d use. “I was honest.”

Sandy glared back at him from the other side of her desk. “Apparently your review has caused quite a stir.”

He laughed. “It has?” He couldn’t imagine why, other than the obvious fact that the restaurant needed a new chef.

“I don’t suppose you’ve taken a look at the website or the Facebook page? There are hundreds of rebuttals to your review between the two sites. Readers are leaping to defend the restaurant, the food, and the chef. They even applaud the color of the dining area walls.”

Aren grimaced. That comment came as a result of a line he’d written about the calming effect of the interior. The owners had chosen a warm shade of gray with black highlights. Aren might have gone a bit overboard when he’d insinuated that the interior, while soothing and inviting, wasn’t enough to distract from the poor quality of the food. The remark had been cutting; he wished now he’d been more judicious.

“Not everyone is going to agree with me,” he felt obliged to remind his editor.