I had an idea. A good idea, I thought. But it had the chance of coming back to bite me, too.
“Okay,” I said. “We have no major events next week after the Egg Roll, so we can probably bring out a few of the family’s favorites while tossing in a couple of new items. Any suggestions?”
We discussed the menu at length and I was encouraged to note Bucky getting into it-crabbing at me when I disagreed with him. Bucky’s complaints actually made me feel good. Almost like we were getting back to normal.
When we had the week’s worth of meals planned, I headed to the computer to put it into our standard format before submitting it to the First Lady. Behind me, I heard Bucky sigh.
“So, that’s it, huh? I guess I should get going.”
“Did you refill our tasting spoons?” Cyan asked him. “We sent the ones that had been sitting here over to the dishwashers, but they haven’t brought us any clean ones back. Would you mind checking on that before you leave?”
Bucky rolled his eyes, but complied.
As soon as he was out of the room, Cyan sidled up next to me. “He doesn’t want to leave.”
“If I have anything to do with it, he won’t.”
She peered over my shoulder, then whispered, aghast, “You aren’t.”
Not looking at her, I shrugged, returned to the e-mail I’d been writing. “We all do our part,” I said. A couple of keystrokes later, the message was sent. “Now, let’s keep our fingers crossed.”
At least I was doing something. My spirits buoyed, I took a deep breath and reveled in the joy of moving forward. But that feeling was short-lived.
“Olivia Paras.” Peter Everett Sargeant III’s pronouncement was not an inquiry. More like a command.
I turned, dismayed by the unexpected arrival of our sensitivity director. “Yes,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
He stared at me through hooded eyes. “We need to talk.”
“I am up to date on all the schedule changes, Peter,” I said. “And since we are no longer serving dinner on Monday, we no longer are dealing with ‘sensitivity’ issues with regard to meal planning. The Egg Roll menu was approved a long time ago. If whatever it is you need to discuss can wait until next week, I would prefer we do so.”
He tilted his head in his inquisitive yet condescending way, but I caught the underlying glee in his eyes. “I wish it were that simple,” he said with a smile. “But I’m afraid this matter is much more grave than that.”
I couldn’t imagine anything more serious than canceling a White House event, but I took the bait. “Fine. Let’s step-”
Wrinkling his nose, he turned to Cyan. “You will excuse us.”
She looked to me. I nodded. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll be downstairs.”
He watched her leave. “Why do you keep her on staff?” he asked. “For one thing-”
“I don’t believe you came here to discuss my staff,” I said, interrupting. “So if you don’t mind, let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we?”
As it always did when I dealt with Sargeant, my posture became more rigid, my speech pattern more formal. There was nothing casual about this man. Perhaps subconsciously, in an effort to facilitate more efficient communication, I parroted his terse, prim demeanor.
He began: “You are incorrect in your assumption.”
I startled, and it bugged me that he noticed.
His smile grew broader. “This is most certainly about one of your staff members. I am here to discuss the immediate dismissal of Buckminster Reed.”
Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this. Gathering my wits, I searched for a comeback. “Bucky doesn’t report to you. He isn’t even within your chain of command.”
“Which is why,” he said with exaggerated patience, “I am coming to you first. It is unfortunately true that I have no authority where Mr. Reed’s continued employment is concerned. But I heard what he did, and I find that wholly unacceptable.” The smile never wavered. “As should you.”
“Bucky did nothing wrong.”
Sargeant raised both eyebrows. “You can’t possibly sanction the willy-nilly distribution of confidential documents?”
I took a breath, but before I could respond, he continued.
“I hope this doesn’t mean that a closer look into your habits would turn up evidence of such irresponsible behavior.”
“Studying a dietary dossier at home does not constitute irresponsible behavior.”
“Perhaps not.” His mouth twitched. “But you are seen as a ‘golden girl’ by this administration, and hence, none of your transgressions are ever seriously investigated. I would very much like to see that changed.”
I was still processing that little mention of “golden girl” when he spun on his heel and turned away.
Stopping at the doorway, he examined the ceiling for a moment, before directing his attention to me. “Eventually President Campbell will finish out his term. And then the spell you have on him-and the First Lady-will come to a crushing end.” He wrinkled his nose, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “I look forward to that day.”
Cyan found me still staring at the empty doorway when she returned a few minutes later. “Is Mr. Cheerful gone?”
I bit the insides of my cheeks.
“What happened?” she asked.
I couldn’t find it in me to explain. “He’s a piece of work, that one,” I finally said, shaking my head. “We need to watch our backs.”
Bucky returned with several stainless steel bowls of tasting spoons, which he put in prime spots around the kitchen. He stood for a moment with his arms akimbo, surveying the scene. “You two are going to have a lot of work by yourselves.”
“I know,” I said. “I am not looking forward to that at all. What are we going to do without you here?”
Bucky gave me a look that told me he appreciated my words, even as he maintained the scowl. “Maybe I should make room in the refrigerators for all those eggs.”
“That’s great idea,” I said. “While you do that, I’ll-”
I was silenced by the unmistakable sound of a new message on the computer.
Cyan, standing closer to Bucky, obviously didn’t hear it. “You’ll what?”
“Give me a minute,” I said, turning my back.
They headed to the refrigerators while I opened my inbox. The note was brief and to the point.
Thank you for the information, Ollie. That is, indeed, sad news. It is my hope that Mr. Reed will be cleared soon to continue in our kitchen.
My heart sank. I don’t know why I hoped for more from Mrs. Campbell-or why I expected an immediate turn of events-but I had. I supposed I should be happy to know that the First Lady had received my message so quickly. The menu I’d sent included a quick summary of what was happening with Bucky, and a polite entreaty asking Mrs. Campbell to intercede on his behalf. I had clearly overstepped my boundaries, but when one of my employees was in trouble, what else was I to do?
“You two should be able to handle it from here,” Bucky said when he and Cyan returned. “I’m going to take off.”
This time there were no tasks left to assign-and no way to logically argue for him to stay. I no longer held out hope that Mrs. Campbell would stay his suspension. We were out of options. “Keep in touch,” I said.
“One of us will,” he said. “About the eggs.”
He untied his apron, and I could almost see the weight on his shoulders as he shrugged into his jacket and fixed a baseball cap on his head.
Impulsively, I said, “I’m going to do whatever I can to get this fixed.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “I know you will.”
And then he was gone.
“We’ll never get through a whole week without help,” Cyan said after a long minute. “They’re not letting us hire any SBA chefs and now without Bucky…”
I had been thinking the same thing. Best-laid plans. When I had arranged for my mom and nana to come visit, I’d done so with the belief that with a contingent of help and our full staff, we would be in fine position to get everything done on time. But there was no way to get through an entire week with just the two of us, unless we were both willing to spend every waking hour here.