When Kat came in with the coffee, she closed the door behind her.
"What's wrong?" Grace asked.
"There's a man outside," the girl said as she gave a steaming mug to Smith. "He doesn't have an appointment and he's demanding to see you. Someone named Fredrique."
Grace winced. "It's about the Gala. He did the party planning and the catering last year for us but I didn't rehire him because he cost a small fortune. He probably just wants to pitch me for business I've already turned down."
"He seems like he's prepared to wait."
"Really?"
"He brought a cooler and a newspaper.”
"Send him in then," Grace said, annoyed. "There's no sense turning the waiting area into a cafeteria."
When Fredrique came into the room, he smiled widely. Dressed in chef's whites, the man had a small picnic basketlike container in one of his hands. He looked as if he'd gained some weight, she thought, although maybe it was just the way the stiff cotton fell over his short, stocky build.
When he came around for an air kiss, she accepted the greeting with reserve.
"Please, have a seat" she said, indicating a chair across from the desk.
As he sat down, he looked over his shoulder at Smith. "And who is this?"
"What may I do for you?" Her tone was direct.
Fredrique faced her reluctantly, as if he would have enjoyed the introduction.
"I've brought you something to sample. From the new line of hors d'oeuvres I'm developing with Lolly Ramparr of NightWorx. You know Lolly, don't you? She and I go way back."
Grace narrowed her eyes, doubting that he was actually working with Lolly. After interviewing several firms, Grace had decided to use NightWorx as a caterer for the Gala this year because they had a good reputation and were reasonably priced considering their popularity. Lolly had asked specifically whether Fredrique was going to be working on the event and Grace had explained her reasons for not using him. Lolly, an up-front person who was not unkind, had indicated that she was moving away from collaborating with him for similar reasons.
Fredrique put the cooler on her desk, splitting the handles and popping off the lid. "I understand that you are using Lolly this year for the Gala," he said casually. "She's such a talent, as you will recall when you try these."
He took out a white plate. On it, there were three small mounds of peach-colored mousse atop some kind of cracker.
"I call them shrimp towers." He extended the plate, as if he were offering jewels. "Try them and fall in love."
"I'm sorry, Fredrique. They look lovely but I'm allergic to shellfish."
He frowned and retracted the plate. Glancing over to Smith, he said, "Perhaps you will do the honors?"
Smith, who had turned his chair toward Fredrique and been staring at him, just shook his head.
The other man took a moment to collect himself. "No matter, I'll bring you something else. Perhaps tenderloin on sesame-encrusted pita chips. Ooh! I have a wonderful lamb-stuffed mushroom—"
"I appreciate the thought but I have to remind you. We're not in the market for your kind of services."
Fredrique stiffened and returned the plate to the cooler. With precise movements, he put the lid back on and reunited the two handles over the top. "It's a shame for the Gala to miss out on my contributions. Mimi Lauer is thrilled with my work on the ballet's event."
Grace wasn't so sure about that, as Mimi had called recently to express her frustration with the man.
"I don't know what to say, Fredrique. We aren't using a party planner this year."
Abruptly, he smiled.
"Perhaps not at the foundation, but privately?" He began gathering momentum again. "As you know, I do fabulous holiday parties in private homes. Although my book is filling fast, I could make sure I save you a date. I plan to meet with Isadora Cunis this week about the holidays but I could make sure you get first choice of the calendar. As long as you put down a deposit today."
"I don't think so." Grace didn't want to lead the guy on and knew she had to be clear. He was persistent and any polite prevarication would only be seen as a opening. "But I appreciate the offer."
She stood up, hoping he'd take the hint.
Fredrique stared at her and then slowly got to his feet, straightening his chef's uniform with a sharp movement. She forced a smile at him as he picked up his little cooler, and then led him across the room.
"Thank you for coming by," she said, wishing she could just push him out the door. Her day was jam-packed and the last thing she needed was to stroke the ego of someone whose food was second-rate and who'd overcharged them the year before to the tune of $20,000.