As Claire’s boat pulled into the dock, Apollo suddenly felt colder. When she appeared, with a sly grin, his stomach muscles clenched. He just knew she was going to take them for everything they had.
"Claire, this is business," he reminded her, shouting out to her. "You have to be rational, okay?"
Claire kept her wicked grin on and replied, "I am always rational when it comes to business, Apollo. Your money is as good as anyone else’s money as long as it’s rightfully flowing into my pocket." She didn’t want to be handed charity or paid just because she was pregnant for him. But for honest work, she expected top dollar.
She stepped off the boat and hugged her grandfather, who was standing next to two men that were accompanying Apollo.
"Finish your business first," the old man said, patting her carefully on the back.
Apollo introduced the two men he had come with. The first was tall, wiry with salt and pepper hair. He wore a spotless light jacket despite the heat. "This is Chef Laurent, kitchen surgeon with the hands of a swordsman."
Claire smiled at the chef. She was familiar with his name and face. Chef Laurent was renowned for turning even humble ingredients into masterpieces. He had won many cooking contests around the world. At one time, he had a cooking show on TV, going around the world and cooking food from different cultures. The show had run for six years before he quit and joined the Ashford group’s line of top chefs.
Beside the chef stood Marcus Tan, broad shouldered and practical, his notebook tucked under one arm. "Marcus runs the seafood procurement division for the Ashford group. We don’t get a new supplier unless he gives a blue tick. Don’t look down on him, his sharp eyes can weigh a fish’s worth without touching it."
Claire gave the go ahead. Three men climbed onto the boat and moved three coolers first, setting them down for inspection. Chef Laurent, Marcus and Apollo leaned over the coolers. More coolers were brought down with crabs, abalones, shrimp--each specimen glistening as though plucked from a painting.
After examining a few with eyes and instruments, Marcus gave a single approving nod. "Premium," he said simply.
Claire patiently waited as the count and measurements were taken. Marcus’s team was very efficient. When they were finished, he whispered something to Apollo.
Without hesitation, Apollo announced the purchase price: "705,000 dollars."
Not a word of bargaining crossed his lips. Claire’s grin widened; she had expected a fight, but Apollo seemed almost proud to pay her full worth. Not one dollar more than necessary.
Claire nodded in agreement and the transaction was completed.
Chef Laurent’s excitement after the goods fell into their hands was palpable. He clapped his hands together, muttering under his breath. "Magnificent! These will be the crown jewels of the banquet--the CEO’s birthday will be unforgettable.." His eyes darted from crab to shrimp, already imagining broths and platters.
Then his gaze fell on the basket tucked near Claire’s feet. Duck eggs. He moved with surprising speed, snatching one up. He held it up to the light, sniffed, rolled it gently between his fingers, then cracked the faintest smile. "These...these look organic and extraordinary. We’ll take them too. The size is bigger than a standard duck egg so the quality should be good too."
Claire frowned. "These are not exactly for sale."
Paddy padded forward, placing his paw firmly on the basket of eggs. His eyes narrowed in canine suspicion.
Chef Laurent chuckled. "Now this is a dog with a nose for premium goods."
The men chuckled, but none dared challenge Paddy’s silent authority. Only after Claire removed ten eggs and set them aside did Paddy back off, tail wagging in smug satisfaction. The remaining twenty eggs were carried off after payment. Eight dollars for each egg.
"8 dollars!" her grandfather exclaimed. "Are you selling eggs or golden eggs?"
Claire whispered to him, "Grandpa, they are not making a loss. A fancy omelet in one of their private restaurants is sold at 18 dollars."
While her grandfather gaped at the horror of paying close to 20 dollars for an omelet, Claire returned to the boat to grab her bag and the seafood she was taking home. This included the bundle of spinach. Claire handed the spinach casually to her grandfather.
Chef Laurent’s reaction was instantaneous. He leapt--truly leapt--like a basketball player snatching a rebound, intercepting the spinach midair. He sniffed, plucked a single leaf, and bit down.
The chef’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy. "This...this is sweet, earthy and natural. We must have it. Name your price."
Claire raised an eyebrow. "It’s spinach."
The chef shook his head violently, clutching the bundle as though it were a relic. "My sense of smell is better than anyone’s when it comes to food. As soon as this spinach came out, I smelled something different about it. It’s wild spinach. This leaf alone sings of soil and sun. I must have it. I refuse to let go."
Marcus sighed, rubbing his temples. "Laurent, it’s just one bundle of spinach. We came for seafood."
But chef Laurent was already circling Claire, his gaze sharp and hungry. He looked at her boat with that same gaze. "What else are you hiding? This fishing boat of yours, it is a matryoshka doll, each layer concealing another secret. First premium seafood, then premium duck eggs, now wild spinach. What next? Truffles? Starfruit?"
Claire raised her eyebrows. "You have such high hopes for it. I am afraid you will be disappointed. I bought the spinach from a fisherman on another small boat. He was transporting home grown vegetables. The duck eggs were picked from the shore. Naturally, the seafood came from the sea."
While she explained, her grandfather tugged at the spinach. Laurent clung tighter, and Marcus muttered that he was not in charge of vegetable procurement for the Ashford group.
Claire had to intervene and take the spinach back.
This time, when Laurent looked at her, there was no sparkle in his eyes. He looked at her like she had killed his mother.
"Hmph!" the chef turned around and walked away in a fit.
Claire and her grandfather laughed softly. The dock echoed with shouts, and the clatter of crates. Grandfather and granddaughter walked to her car, with a proud Paddy excitedly sniffing the egg basket in Donovan’s hand.
"By the way, Lemon is here," her grandfather said when they settled into the car. "Your grandmother caught her trying to enter your bedroom."
Claire groaned. She couldn’t help it. Another lecture on that witchcraft degree was coming.