Better Than Chocolate Part 10

"I was honest," he said. "You're not going to make much money this first time around with so little time to plan."

"Well, I'd love to have a year to pull this together, but, as you know, the bomb is ticking and I don't have that luxury."

"Samantha, it may not look like it, but I'm in your corner."

Watching her get pummeled to death. "Oh, please," she said, and rolled her eyes.

He let out an angry hiss. "You can't believe I want to call in that note."

Okay, she'd had about all the hypocrisy she could stomach for one day. "It's a free country. I can believe whatever I want," she informed him. "And once I pull my company out of this mess, I will be taking our business to a bank that puts its money where its mouth is and really helps its customers." He started to speak and she held up a hand. "Don't. Say. Anything. If you do, I just might trip again and spill the rest of my latte all over you."

"Go ahead, if it'll make you feel better." He threw out his arms and puffed out his chest, turning himself into a target.

But all she could see was how big his chest was.

She raised her chin. "No, I think not. There's no point wasting a perfectly good latte." Having delivered her parting shot, she turned her back on him and crossed the street to return to her one true love-her business.

Chapter Nine.

There is a difference between selling your ideas and selling yourself.

-Muriel Sterling, Knowing Who You Are: One Woman's Journey With its art deco decor and a menu that featured Northwest-style specialties, Zelda's restaurant was a hopping place when winter sports enthusiasts were in town, and locals couldn't get in without a reservation. No reservations needed for tonight, though. It was a weekday and the tourists had been few and far between, thanks to the spa.r.s.e snowfall. That, combined with a cold sleet falling outside, left the restaurant less than half-full with a couple of families and some couples taking advantage of the twofer coupon Charley had run in the Mountain Sun on Sunday.

The aroma of spices and seared beef greeted Samantha as she and her mother walked in the door. The sizzle of cooking meat from the open kitchen, where Charley's new chef was hard at work creating culinary masterpieces, provided background music for the spurts of laughter coming from a table of three women, who had obviously gotten a head start on their drinking. Later they'd drift into the bar to meet up with local guys, but for now they were indulging in Zelda's huckleberry martinis and shrimp tarts. Over by the window Samantha caught sight of Luke, their production manager, out on a date with his four-year-old daughter, Serena, who was finis.h.i.+ng up a hot fudge sundae. He gave Samantha a smile and a wave.

Luke was a single dad, not by choice. His wife had been tragically killed two years earlier, hit by a car when she was out jogging. He was a nice man and a hard worker, one of many employees who depended on her company for his livelihood. She waved back, trying to ignore the weight of responsibility that was suddenly crus.h.i.+ng her appet.i.te.

A group whoop from the party girls made Mom frown. "I shouldn't have let you talk me into this."

"They'll be gone soon," Samantha said.

"It's not them, it's me. I'm not ready for socializing, sweetie. You entertain the men. I can walk home."

She turned to leave, but Samantha laid a pleading hand on her arm. "Mom, please. It's only for an hour. I really need your support."

And she needed Mom to bat her eyes at Del so he'd want to get behind the festival. Pimping out her own mother. She was pathetic.

Ed was waving at her from a corner table. Next to him sat Del, looking downright eager. "Anyway, they've seen us," she added. "It would be rude to leave." Playing the courtesy card always worked with her mother.

Sure enough, Mom resigned herself to her fate with a sigh. "All right. But I don't want to be here all night."

Charley, taking the place of the hostess who'd been overly hospitable to Charley's now-ex-husband, greeted them with menus in hand. "Ed and Del are already here. I've got you at a nice corner table where you can talk." To Mom she said, "Good to see you, Mrs. Wittman."

Mom managed a smile and murmured her thanks, and Charley led them to their table.

Both men stood politely as they approached. Next to Ed, who was tall and lean and still had his hair, Del, with his paunch and bald head, didn't exactly show well in spite of his black suit and crisp white s.h.i.+rt and impress-the-ladies lavender tie he'd exchanged for his earlier fish number.

Ed took both of Mom's hands in his and said, "I'm glad you came."

Del did him one better, raising a hand to his lips and kissing it. "You look lovely tonight, Muriel."

No lie there. Mom wore a simple black dress and hadn't bothered with any makeup other than mascara and eyeliner (which she wouldn't be without, even on her deathbed), but her pale face made her appear vulnerable. Which was exactly what she was.

Mom's polite smile slid south. "Thank you," she murmured, and extricated her hand.

They all sat and Del gave Mom a genial smile. "How about something to ward off the cold?" he asked. Judging from the near-empty gla.s.s in front of him, Del had already driven away the cold.

"A cup of tea would be nice," she said.

"I was thinking something a little stronger," Del said. "Some white wine, perhaps?"

Mom shook her head, and Del looked disappointed.

Maria came to the table, ready to take their orders. "May as well get a bottle, don't you think?" he said to Ed.

"Sure," Ed agreed.

Samantha hoped he was going to pick up the tab for it.

Once the wine had arrived and they'd chosen their dinners-steak for the men, chicken with raspberry sauce and baby potatoes for Samantha and a small salad for Mom-Samantha introduced the subject of the festival.

Del took a sip of his wine and shook his head. "Plenty of time to talk about that," he said. "But first let me just say, Muriel, that if there's anything you need, I hope you know you only have to ask."

"Thank you, Del. I appreciate that," Mom said.

And here would have been the perfect opportunity for her mother to say, "I need you to support this festival we're planning." Instead, she took the little pot Maria had brought and poured tea into her cup.

Samantha forced herself not to drum her fingers on the table. She glanced at Ed. He was busy enjoying his wine and seemed in no hurry to get down to business. And that is how you do business, she had to remind herself. Don't rush right into talking about what you want. Get the other person relaxed and receptive first. Actually, Del was already relaxed. So was Ed. She was the one who was tense.

Del was pouring a third gla.s.s of wine when dinner arrived. Now would be the time to bring up the subject of the festival. Samantha took a sip from her water gla.s.s, then plunged in. "I'm glad you could join us tonight," she began.

"I'm happy to spend an evening with my old pal Ed, here, and two of my favorite women in town," Del said, and beamed at Mom.

"We're really excited to share what the Chamber's come up with to bring more visitors to town," Samantha plunged on.

Del took another swallow of wine. "Let's enjoy our dinner, shall we? We can talk business a little later."

After how many more gla.s.ses of wine? Samantha looked to Ed, who just shrugged and cut into his steak.

Samantha sighed inwardly and told herself that b.u.t.tering people up required a lot of time. And there was a lot of Del to b.u.t.ter.

As the evening wore on and the wine flowed, Del's fish stories got harder to swallow and his laugh got as big as the one that got away. "Ah, but there's nothing like being in the great outdoors," he concluded. "When you're out on the river, you can let the whole world go by. And if a man's out there with a beautiful woman, it's like being in Eden."

Del's hand disappeared under the table and Mom suddenly s.h.i.+fted in her seat. Uh-oh.

"Well, it is a little piece of paradise up here," Samantha said in an effort to distract him, "which makes it the perfect place to hold a festival."

Del was obviously more interested in holding other things, like her mother's leg. Now he was pouting.

And Mom had become the ice queen. She turned to Samantha. "I'm not feeling well. If you don't mind, I'll take the car and head home."

"I'll be glad to drive you," Del offered, probably hoping for more grope time.

"I don't think you should drive anywhere," Mom told him. "Ed, would you mind giving Samantha a lift? Del, too."

"Not at all."

"Mom, I'll take you," Samantha said. That was the least she could do. Oh, man, what a dumb idea this had been.

Mom's Miss Manners mask was firmly in place, but Samantha could feel the waves of irritation radiating off her. "No, dear, you stay and enjoy yourself."

Like that was going to happen. There had been nothing enjoyable about this little dinner party, and Samantha suspected it was going to be downhill from here on.

Sure enough. Mom left and Del lost interest in everything but the second bottle of wine Ed had ordered. And when Samantha tried to redeem the situation by bringing up the subject of the festival, his only response was, "I wish you'd talked to me about this. I don't see how you can pull it off."

Maria came to the table, to ask if they wanted dessert.

They'd blown enough money on Del. "We'll take the check now," Samantha said.

Fortunately, Ed insisted on picking up the tab.

"I'm afraid we wasted your money," Samantha said after they'd loaded a tipsy Del into Ed's car.

"Nothing is ever wasted, Samantha," he said. "Sure I can't give you a lift?"

She shook her head. "I'd rather walk. Anyway, I think I've spent enough time with our good mayor."

Ed grinned. "Del's a decent sort. Just can't hold his liquor. Never could. Don't worry. I'll have another go at him when he's sober. He'll come around."

She hoped so. It was important to have Del's support. She might not have her mother's anymore. She hunched inside her coat and made her way back to Mom's house, bracing herself for a well-deserved lecture.

Mom was in her yellow leather chair, nursing a mug of tea and frowning at the TV when Samantha let herself in. Her mother looked up as she entered but didn't smile. Not a good sign.

"How are you feeling?" Samantha ventured.

Mom c.o.c.ked an eyebrow.

Samantha knew that gesture. She'd learned it at her mother's knee. It didn't bode well for their conversation. She bit her lip and perched on the edge of the couch. "I'm sorry about tonight. I had no idea Del was going to behave like that."

"He always behaves like that when he's had too much to drink, and he always drinks too much."

"Mom, I'm really sorry. I thought-"

Her mother cut her off. "I know perfectly well what you thought. Samantha, I understand we need to save our company."

"Not only the company. This benefits the whole town," Samantha insisted.

Her mother held up a hand. "I don't care if it benefits the whole world. I will not have my own daughter pimping me out."

"Mom!" Samantha protested. Bad enough she'd thought it, but to hear it voiced by her mother... Her cheeks flamed.

Mom set down her mug and gave Samantha a look that made her feel eight years old. "Samantha Rose, I will do all I can to help you behind the scenes, but I am not putting up with this sort of nonsense. Is that clear?"

Samantha bit her lip again and nodded.

Mom nodded, too. "Good. Now, give me a kiss and go home."

Thoroughly chastised Samantha kissed her mother's cheek, took her car keys and fled. She cried all the way back to her condo, then burned off her misery by playing games on her laptop until two in the morning. But no matter how many zombies she killed, it didn't really help.

She was still killing zombies in her sleep (they all looked like Del) when her alarm went off at seven the next morning. She shut it off with a groan and forced herself to get out of bed. Winners never quit and quitters never win. She was no quitter.

She fed Nibs, who was, as usual, starving. Then she put on her favorite dance workout DVD and got busy. Exercise always made her feel better and she was really getting into it when an angry thump on her living room floor from Lila Ward, her cranky neighbor downstairs, told her she needed to curb her enthusiasm. She stomped on the floor a couple of times to show Lila she'd gotten the message, then switched from dancing to doing crunches. After that it was a quick shower, some scrambled eggs and out the door.

She had a full day ahead of her. In addition to dropping off that form at city hall, she had to email the members of her newly minted festival committee, check out the website Jonathan was designing and meet with Lizzy, her bookkeeper.

"So how much can we spend on advertising?" she asked later that day after Lizzy had a.s.sured her that she and her employees could survive another month.

Lizzy looked at Samantha over her pink bifocals. "Seriously?"

Samantha leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Yeah. Dumb question."

Blake Preston had had a hard time getting Samantha Sterling out of his mind. Here was a woman who'd inherited a business that had been left in chaos, who could have taken one look at the odds and thrown in the towel. But she was still swinging, fighting for all she was worth. How could anyone not admire that? In addition to being a fighter, she was a walking idea factory. She could turn her company around, given half a chance.

He knew all the reasons he couldn't make an exception and give her that chance, but it would go a long way toward good community relations if he did. And what was Cascade Mutual going to do with a chocolate factory, anyway?

He pressed his point to his regional manager, Darren Short, as they ate schnitzel at Schw.a.n.gau, Blake's favorite restaurant.

Darren cut off a gigantic chunk of meat and stuffed it in his mouth. "Don't worry. We won't end up stuck with anything."

Blake frowned at Darren. Fifteen years Blake's senior, Darren had been both his mentor and his champion. Right now Blake took in Darren's scrawny build and weak chin and thought him a wimp. "And why is that?"

Darren washed his schnitzel down with a hearty swig of beer. "Because we have someone who's interested in taking over their a.s.sets."

"Who? Who the heck would want those a.s.sets?"

"Madame C in Seattle."

Blake pushed away his plate, his appet.i.te gone. "Their compet.i.tor."