Chase Me (Paris Nights Book 2)(19)
Chase’s jaw tightened grimly. Yeah. He knew. “Fuck, she’s going to be pissed. She was really excited about the President’s possible visit.”
Elias was watching him. That sardonic look had faded beneath a certain tough sympathy. “Don’t worry. She’s a Michelin two-star chef at the age of twenty-eight. Trust me. She can handle anything.”
Chapter 8
“Salmonella?” Vi stared at the health inspectors blocking her access to her own kitchens with no regard for life or limb. Health inspectors were getting more and more suicidal these days. “In my restaurant? No, there damn well was not!”
“We’re sorry, Mademoiselle Lenoir,” the lead inspector said woodenly. “We have reports from a dozen people whose one point in common seems to be having eaten here last night.”
“That’s not even possible!” Vi said, outraged. “My team’s hygiene is impeccable. I know the source of everything we serve.” Even as she said it, she was running things through her mind: eggs from her brother’s farm, honey from the rooftop rosemary gardens and beehives of their own quarter in Paris, no oysters last night it wasn’t the season… “Let me see this—” She started to push by him.
He stepped to the side to block her, and something flickered through her. That was a very adamant block. A police officer kind of block. Or a military man’s block.
“Pardon, mademoiselle. It’s a public health emergency. Until we track down the source, we need to close the restaurant and run tests.”
She narrowed her eyes up at the health inspector, who certainly seemed to work out a lot in his down time. The set of his shoulders reminded her quite a lot of… “Is this something to do with Chase Smith?”
“Who?” the inspector said blankly.
She folded her arms to keep herself from stabbing someone. A health inspector, for example. “That’s not his real name, is it?”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about, mademoiselle,” the military-mannered inspector said formally.
“Bordel de—” Vi stabbed her finger at him. “These are my kitchens. You tell me what is going on.”
“We’re investigating a salmonella outbreak,” he repeated woodenly. “That seems to have started here.”
“So it’s true then?” a voice said from behind Vi to her right. “You’ve been forcibly shut down for salmonella?”
Vi pivoted to see—with a shock of horror—a television camera pointed her way. Oh, f*ck.
“Mademoiselle Lenoir, would you care to comment?” a perfectly coiffed brown-haired man asked, posing beside her before the camera and extending his microphone.
“How could I care to comment? I just found out about it! How do you know about it already?” She tried to see which news station they were from.
“Twitter,” the journalist said.
Bordel de merde. “It’s on Twitter already?” Vi said, her stomach sinking as if she’d swallowed a bucket of rock.
The journalist nodded with an appearance of sympathy. “As I’m sure you’re aware, taking you on as chef here created some controversy, and your changes to the menu have been…splashy. Do you think a salmonella outbreak at Audessus supports those who have always claimed you were too young and too…flamboyant…to handle the job?”
Fuck, f*ck, f*ck. Oh, shit, any minute they were going to bring out the “woman chef” thing. And she might have to hit somebody. “I think you’ll find there’s some other source to this salmonella outbreak.” She looked at the health inspector grimly. “Let’s see those tests.”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you and your staff to remain off the premises while we conduct the investigation,” the military-like inspector said stiffly.
“Oh, no, you damn well will not.” Vi forgot all about the television camera. “Mess around in my kitchens without me there? Over my dead body.”
***
“Salmonella?” Chase demanded between his teeth. “Out of all the possible excuses for shutting that restaurant down, they went with the only one that would do someone actual harm?”
Mark propped his butt against the table behind him and folded his arms. “They said it was the perfect cover. It stirs up doubt. Al-Mofti might have to make calls to find out what was going on, and maybe we can get a location. Was there a ricin attack attempt? Did one of his men carry it out? Did they get caught and this is our cover up? He’ll want to know. And the more of his men he tries to communicate with, the more chance we have of tracking him down.”
“I said a kitchen fire! Plumbing!”
“You’ve got to admit it’s better,” Mark said.
Maybe. If Chase turned off all thought of individual consequences and went into his cold place. Kind of a lousy, crappy place to go when it came to a gorgeous, vivid, life-filled blonde in leather.
“Better only if you consider destroying a chef’s career a minor side effect,” Elias said, his voice very even and cold. “Putain, but you people have no idea of culture. Maybe later you can build a McDonald’s where her restaurant stood.”
Ice entered Chase’s soul. “I thought you said she can handle anything.”