Chapter Two
Gabriel Abbott stared at his blank computer screen as IT specialists hovered over his broad shoulders. Gabe refreshed the screen, hoping his new website would appear. The techs had been working for months on the website for his charitable foundation, Abbott Industries. Just as they’d uploaded the links to his winery, the system crashed.
Gabe suppressed a quick flash of irritation. The project had taken longer than he’d expected, but the result, at least what he’d been able to see of it, was good. In fact, it was better than good. It should be. He’d paid top dollar for his web designers. Gabe wanted to make certain he attracted the attention of the right browsers, high school teachers, guidance counselors, junior college registrars, the very people who could send him promising students. Needy students who couldn’t afford a college education or trade school. Young men and women who were in the same position Gabe, himself, had once been in. There were a lot of hard-working, dedicated, optimistic, ambitious, deserving kids out there. He hoped Abbott Industries could reach as many of them as the foundation could afford.
Gabe rose from his chair and stretched. He turned to his employees.
“You think you can get this running by four? I’ve invited Father Green by to check it out. I want him to see what we’re working on. It could mean a great deal to his students.”
“Yes, Mr. Abbott, no problem. We should have this bug figured out within the hour.” Both men were in agreement. They excused themselves and left his office.
Gabe felt, rather than heard, his iPhone beep. He opened a text message. It read, “Looking forward to dinner. Steph.”
Stephanie Lindstrom. The woman he planned to seduce on Saturday night. He’d met her several weeks before at a fundraiser for the San Francisco Opera. They’d spent most of the evening together. She was a corporate lawyer, the daughter of an investment banker. Gabe had noticed her immediately. It was impossible not to, with as much skin as she’d been showing that night. Stephanie was gorgeous. Tall, blonde, leggy. He’d been struck with the notion that she might look good on his arm, for a while. Make an attractive accoutrement. He’d met her for coffee the very next day and taken her to lunch a couple of times. She’d accompanied him to a reception at the new California Academy of Sciences. Three days ago, he’d taken her to a highly rated, ultra trendy restaurant for dinner. He’d decided to invite her to spend the weekend with him at his cottage in the Napa Valley. She’d said, yes.
Gabe sent her a reply. “Pick you up at six. G.A.” Don’t get too familiar too soon, Gabe reminded himself. Familiarity breeds contempt. That was Gabriel Abbott’s motto when it came to women. It had been years since he’d met a woman, aside from his mother and younger sister, who didn’t bore him to tears within a few months. Hair, clothes, makeup. Gabe shrugged, unconcerned. Perhaps the problem lay with the crowd he associated with now.
In some ways, he missed the tough, working class neighborhood in Chicago where he’d grown up. It hadn’t been all bad. When people had very little in the way of possessions, their concerns tended to revolve around more than their appearance. At least he, his sister and his mother were fortunate enough to have had each other. If there was food on the table, they said thank you and they ate it. It didn’t matter what it was or what it tasted like. When some charity or another offered them second hand winter coats and boots, mittens and hats, they accepted them, pride be damned. His mother worked hard to protect her children and she did her best to raise them right.
When Father Green had taken Gabe and his sister under his wing, he opened doors for them that they’d thought would remain forever shut. Neither of them looked back or felt the least bit guilty for taking the opportunities he offered. The priest had encouraged them to keep their grades up no matter what was going on in their lives and he helped them both to apply for loans and grants to pay for college. Gabe attended the University of Chicago. He’d majored in Business Administration and he’d gone on to get a Master’s Degree at the University of California at Berkeley. His sister attended Northwestern for her undergraduate studies and she’d been accepted into Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia, for medical school.
Their own father had walked out on them when Gabe had been twelve and his sister, Elise, just ten years old. They didn’t hear a word from him until his mother was served with divorce papers a year later. When Gabe was old enough to legally change his name, he took his mother’s maiden name, Abbott, declaring to the world in his eighteen-year-old fashion that he was no longer the cheating, dead-beat Patrick McIntyre’s son. His sister followed in his footsteps. She was now Dr. Elise Abbott, a pediatrician practicing in Skokie, Illinois.
The first thing Gabe did when he made some money was to move his mother into a co-op on
Lakeshore Drive
. He’d tried to convince her to follow him to California, but she refused to leave his sister and the Midwest. Midwesterners were like that. There was something about the notion of living in The Golden State that made them cringe. When he tried to discuss this issue with his mother, she simply dismissed the idea with the words, “Too blond.”
California’s blond reputation didn’t bother Gabe in the slightest. The weather was pretty damn close to perfect. He could surf a little, ski a little, sail a little, catch a ball game. His apartment in San Francisco was within earshot of AT and T Park. Besides, he had to admit, the women were beautiful. When he’d first moved west, he’d taken a look around and it was as if someone flipped a switch and his brain began broadcasting that old Beach Boys song, California Girls. So many women, so little time. Speaking of women…
Gabe stepped out of his office to check with his assistant, Marsha.
“Marsh, you work something out for dinner this Saturday night?”
“Yes, I’ve hired an agency, ATAP, to provide a personal chef.”
“ATAP?”
“All Things to All People. Kind of cute, don’t you think?”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “Maybe a little too cute. They any good?”
Marsha clicked her pen thoughtfully. “Well, I hope so. I thought you might like to give them a try. They’re a new agency based in Napa and I know how you like to support start-ups. They seem legit, at least Tom, the partner I spoke with, seems to have a good handle on marketing. He impressed me and I’m not easily impressed.”
“True,” replied Gabe. “That’s why we get along so well. Who’s the chef? Someone from one of local restaurants?”
“Um, I don’t exactly know yet. Whoever it is, is supposed to get back to me today to go over the menu.”
“Shit, I’d probably be better off with Chinese take-out. Get this ATAP on the phone and I’ll talk to him myself. I’ll decide if I want to use him.”
“You’re the boss.” Marsha pulled a card out of a small file in her desk drawer and dialed the phone number printed on it. Gabe lounged against the open door.
“Good morning, Tom, this is Marsha Frank, Gabriel Abbott’s assistant.”
“Put it on speaker,” instructed Gabe.
Marsha hit the button and set the receiver in its cradle.
“So nice to hear from you, Miss Frank. How may I help you?”
“Mr. Abbott was hoping to speak with the chef. Is he available?”
“She’s out at the moment, but I’d be happy to have her call you back as soon as she checks in with me. Shall I have her call you at this number?”
“Just a moment.” Marsha took the phone off speaker and placed her hand over the receiver. She glanced at her boss.
“Ask her to call me,” instructed Gabe. “Leave my cell phone number. I’d just as soon talk to her myself, see if she’s up for what I have in mind.”
Marsha raised her eyebrows at him. She removed her hand from the receiver. “Mr. Abbott would like to speak to the chef himself. Here’s his cell phone number.” Marsha provided Tom with number. “Please keep the number private.”
Marsha listened for a moment. “Thank you,” she said.
She hung up. “FYI,” she said to her boss. “Her name’s Eva.”
* * * *
Eva had just finished putting away the Reardon’s groceries when her cell phone rang. She had a lot of cleaning to do. It looked as if a tornado had passed through the Reardon’s house over the weekend. She was tempted to just let the thing ring but she thought better of it. She and Tom had been playing phone tag since the previous night. She managed to pull her phone out of her purse and answer it just before it went to voicemail.
“Yeah, Tom,” she answered, “What’s up?”
“Where have you been?” Tom asked, his voice an octave higher than normal.
“Where I always am, on the job,” Eva replied calmly as she cleared the breakfast dishes. “I called you last night and this morning but you didn’t pick up.”
“I have a job for you. A very, very important job.”
Eva gave an exaggerated sighed. Every job was a very, very important job to Tom.
“Really? What?”
Eva heard the words fall out of Tom’s mouth in a big jumble. “Gabriel Abbott has hired us to cater a private dinner party this Saturday night. Here. At his place Up Valley.”
Eva stopped stacking dishes in the sink. “Gabriel Abbott, as in Gabriel Vineyards? The man whose award winning Pinot is, as Jason White would say, sick?”
“One and the same.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Would I kid about something like this? His assistant just called and he wants to speak to the chef. He, himself. Not his assistant. He wants to speak to the chef. I have his personal cell phone number for you.”
Eva thought quickly. Saturday. Not much time. “Tom, do you have any idea what the occasion is?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Do you know if he wants the works, you know, chef, servers, clean-up?”
“I have no idea. You’ll find out when you talk to him.”
Eva fished her date book and a pen out of her bag. “Okay, give me the number.”
“Eva, this is a burn after reading. The number is to be kept private.”
“Got it. Go ahead.”
Tom gave her the phone number and a parting word of advice, “Don’t make the man wait. We want his business.”
Eva switched off. She would call Gabriel Abbott as soon as she found some scratch paper. She needed details. She hoped whatever he planned was small because she had a lot of work to do this week, and Saturday wasn’t very far off. She found a stack of copy paper in Mr. Reardon’s study. Eva grabbed the top sheet and returned to the kitchen. She sat at the kitchen table and took a deep breath. Gabriel Abbott.
Eva didn’t pay much attention to what went on in the Wine Country despite the fact that she lived smack in the middle of it. But Gabriel Abbott? Gabriel Vineyards? Eva had heard a little about the man, a lot more about his wines. She remembered when one of the restaurants she worked for in San Francisco began serving his first Cab. God, that stuff had bite. And the wine had been young when she’d tasted it. She’d bet good money the wine was utterly amazing now. She adored his Pinot Noir. Unfortunately, both his reds were out of her price range. Occasionally she’d splurge and buy a bottle of his Chardonnay. The wine was a nice bright yellow-gold in color and it tasted like lightly toasted, buttered brioche. Eva wasn’t much for Chardonnays, usually they were too oaky, but a Gabriel Vineyards Chardonnay was decidedly yummy. It went perfectly with her garlic roast chicken.
“Okay,” muttered Eva. “Enough procrastinating. Dial the number.”
Eva held her date book open to the page where she’d written the phone number. She’d written it in the Address section under ‘G’ for Gabriel. She flipped open her phone and pressed the 415 area code and then the number.
One ring. Two rings.
“Gabriel Abbott.”
Sexy voice, crap, thought Eva, her stomach twisting. Can’t he just say ‘hello’ like a normal person?
“Mr. Abbott, this is Eva Raines. I’m returning your call. I’m the personal chef with All Things to All People.”
Sweet voice, noted Gabe, his mind rousing a little. Wonder what she looks like?
“Yes, Miss Raines.”
“Eva…”
“Eva,” Gabe cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable discussing his plans for Stephanie with the woman on the other end of the line. Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself. He cleared his throat again. “I’m holding a small dinner party at my home in St. Helena on Saturday night. I need it catered.”
“How many people?” Gabe could hear that she was all business now.
“Two.”
A sharp but quiet intake of breath on her part. Gabe almost missed it.
“What time?”
“We should be there around seven.”
“Do you have an idea of what you’d like? For example, would you prefer a formal dinner or something more casual?”
Gabe thought for a moment. “Something in between. Nothing too heavy, but I want the food to be elegant.”
“To the eye and the palate,” Gabe heard her say, more to herself than to him, in that same sweet, soft voice. God, listening to that voice say the words eye and palate made him think of things having to do with the eye and the palate that did not involve food.
Gabe cleared his throat again. “Yes.”
“Will you want us there to serve and clean up? Or would you prefer to serve your guest yourself? We can arrange to clean up the next day.”
Gabe chuckled. Eva, with the sweet voice, knew exactly what he had in mind for his guest. “I’d prefer to serve myself.”
“Do you cook, Mr. Abbott?” She paused. “What I mean is, do you want me to start the meal and leave it for you to finish? Otherwise I can have everything ready to go and all you’ll have to do is enjoy.”
“The latter,” he replied. Suddenly Gabe couldn’t remember why he’d worried about using an unknown chef. “I think I’ll leave the details up to you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But I do have a few more questions.”
“Yes?”
“I need your address and I’ll need access to your home on Friday, if you don’t mind, and then of course on Saturday morning. I assume you have a wine cellar. Are there any particular wines you wish me to use?”
“As far as the wines are concerned, use your own judgment. You’ve had some experience with my wines?”
“Yes, Mr. Abbott, I have.” Of course, he thought. In his mind’s eye, he could see a young woman, her features vague and misted, sipping one of his wines. His Pinot.
“The house is small, more like a cottage. The wine cellar is in a separate temperature controlled building out back beside the pool. You can’t miss it. As far as getting in on Friday, my gardener should be there. His name is Luis Gonzales. I’ll let him know you’re coming. If he’s not around, you can find an extra key stashed in the drawer beneath the bird feeder by the front entryway. Make sure to return it there when you leave. I’ll have my assistant email my address and the house phone number to your office.”
“I just have a couple more questions Mr. Abbott. Are there any food allergies I need to be concerned about? Any intense food dislikes I should take into consideration?”
Gabe grinned. No one had ever bothered to ask him about food dislikes. “Green peppers,” he told her, “I hate green peppers.”
He heard Eva laugh softly and he felt surprisingly warm. “No green peppers,” she agreed. “Thank you, Mr. Abbott. I’ll do my best to make your dinner a success.”
“Gabe,” he said. “My name is Gabe.”
“Thank you…Gabe,” she breathed. She clicked off.
Gabe stood still for an instant then he turned and walked to the window that overlooked San Francisco Bay. Eva Raines. He said the name quietly. It rolled nicely off the tongue. He spun around and stopped in the doorway.
“Marsha,” he said. “Please email that company, All Things to All People. Send them my address in St. Helena and my phone number there. Would you mind making the financial arrangements?”
“No, not at all.”
“Find out about this chef, this Eva Raines’ future availability. Just an inquiry. Nothing definite.”
“So, I take it you think she can handle this?”
“She seems to think she can,” he replied. After a moment he asked, “Marsha, what do female chefs look like?”
Marsha snorted. “You’re asking me? How would I know? My kitchen might as well be across the Pacific for as much time as I spend there. I suppose they look like male chefs, big.”
“She didn’t sound big,” Gabe replied.
“And you could tell this through your cell phone?” Marsha raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Gabe turned the phone over in his hand. “Yes, I could tell through my cell phone.”
“I hate to disappoint you boss, but cell phones can be deceiving.”
“You are the consummate cynic, aren’t you?”
“Only because of men like you.” His assistant winked at him. “If I were you, I wouldn’t waste my time wondering what the chef looks like. I’d worry about whether or not Miss Lindstrom will like her food.”
Gabe laughed. He returned to his office and flipped open his phone. He pulled up Miss Raines’, Eva’s, number and saved it to his contact list. E. Raines. Cell.