by Sophie Moss
“Hiring me.”
Annie gaped at her. “What?”
“I’m not a chef,” Della said in a small voice.
“Yes, you are.”
Della shook her head. “I’m not.”
“You are a chef,” Annie said firmly. “You are my chef.”
Della looked down at her feet. “I should have found another job answering phones.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve done this before!”
“But that was for fun,” Della protested. “It was never a job. You and Taylor—you’re counting on me. What if I let you down? What if the tourists don’t like my cooking?”
“They will like your cooking, Della. They’ll love it. You’re an amazing chef.”
“What if—?”
“I did not make a mistake in hiring you!”
“You didn’t?” Della asked tentatively.
“No.” Annie stared at the woman who’d hardly left her side over the past two weeks. She’d lost track of the number of times Della had waved her off when she’d told her to go home because she couldn’t possibly pay her for all her extra work. Della had already put in more hours than Annie could ever repay her for.
Della had taken on the task of opening this café as it if were her own, as if it meant as much to her as it did to Annie.
Maybe it did.
Annie squeezed her hands. “I have faith in you, Della.”
“You do?”
“Yes, but you need to get a grip.”
“I know,” Della said, letting out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”
“Mom!” Taylor called from the front porch. “They’re coming!”
Annie looked back at Della. “Nothing is going to go wrong.”
Della sent her a small smile and Annie stepped back, pressing a hand to her suddenly queasy stomach. Their first customers were about to arrive. There was no turning back now.
She checked her reflection in the stove. She’d changed into gray slacks and a white scoop neck sweater, and added a pair of dangly silver earrings.
She was as ready as she’d ever be.
Taking a deep breath, she walked out to join her daughter on the porch as two middle-aged couples strolled up the sidewalk to the café.
A man in a blue windbreaker held up a plastic bag filled with fillets. “Our captain said you were offering to fry up the fish we caught this morning.”
“That’s right,” Annie said, smiling. “We can prepare it any way you like, and we have a full menu of soups and salads if you want something else to go with it.”
“Look, Stacey!” a blond woman gushed, nudging her friend and pointing up to the top of the porch. “Look at all the wind chimes!”
Taylor took the bag of fillets from the man and carried them toward the kitchen to deliver to Della as Annie led the two couples inside.
“Oh!” the blond woman exclaimed, pausing in the doorway. “Look at this place! It’s adorable!”
Adorable? Annie felt a swell of pride as she led them to a corner table by the window.
The woman laid her arm over her husband’s. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a room like this at home for the girls?”
The man muttered an incoherent response as he sat down beside his buddy and started trading fishing stories.
The woman looked up at Annie. “Who’s your decorator?”
Annie paused, her hand on the menus stacked up beside the door. “Um…I am.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “You did all this yourself?”
Annie nodded.
“I’m impressed,” she said, lifting her cloth napkin. Her eyes lit up when she saw that everyone’s napkin was a different material and every glass and dish on the table was mismatched. “It’s all just so cute!”
Annie poured their waters, explained the three rockfish preparations, and left them each with a menu. The word “cute” rang in her ears as she walked back to the kitchen. “Classy,” “reserved,” “elegant”—those were the words she’d been hoping for when she finally opened her own place.
But she could work with “cute.” It was better than “cheap” and “tacky”—the two most common words her mother had used to describe her wind chimes. She’d been worried about how the tourists would react to her homemade decorations, but maybe they could see the same charm in them that Will had seen earlier that morning.
Maybe she was actually going to be able to pull this off.
More footsteps hit the front porch, and Annie turned. Three men and two women were walking up the steps. Another group of men wasn’t far behind. She spotted Spencer Townsend with the second group and waved, wondering if he had any news on the resort, but she didn’t have a chance to say more than a brief hello because, before long, every table in the café was full.
She spent the next few hours rushing back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room carrying plates of baked rockfish and boiled butter beans. A steady stream of voices and laughter spilled out the front door to the porch, and the wind chimes sang in the cool autumn breezes blowing through the street.
It was close to one o’clock by the time she got her first breather. She was behind the counter, brewing a round of espressos for a table of customers preparing to drive back to the Western Shore when Spencer walked up to the counter.
“Looks like you could use a waitress,” he said.
“Tell me about it.” Annie smiled, snagging four espresso cups off the rack behind her. She’d posted a few ads about the opening online and bought a small ad in the local newspaper, but Della had assured her that most businesses on the island operated out of word of mouth. In addition to posting signs at the marina, Della had called every charter boat captain personally last night and told them to send the tourists to the café for lunch. Apparently, when Della called in a favor, people did what they were told. “I had no idea we’d be this busy on opening day.”
“Speaking of businesses opening on the island,” Spencer said, leaning his elbows on the counter, “I have some news that might interest you.”
Annie scanned the dining room to make sure no one needed anything, and then pressed the button on the espresso maker for a single shot. “What’s up?”
“Morningstar just upped their offer.”
Annie’s brows shot up. “They upped their offer?”
Spencer nodded, smiling.
“What did Will say?”
“I haven’t been able to reach him. I think he’s out on one of his friends’ boats.”
“He says he won’t sell to a resort company.”
“He will when he hears what they’re offering.”
“I don’t know.” Annie shook her head, pouring the espresso shot into a paper cup. “I’m not sure Will’s motivated by money.”
“Trust me,” Spencer said, chuckling. “No one could turn down this offer. I got a call from the CEO of Hadley Hotels this morning. He wants to close the deal within the next two weeks.”
Annie bobbled the cup. “What did you just say?”
“Hadley Hotels,” Spencer repeated. “They bought Morningstar last month. I guess they’re taking on a pretty heavy hand in the management. Maybe the resort company wasn’t doing as well as we thought they were.”
Annie stared at Spencer. How could she not have known that the Hadleys owned Morningstar? The day Spencer had told her about Morningstar’s interest in building a resort on the island, she’d looked up the company online. She hadn’t seen anything about them being a subsidiary of Hadley Hotels.
Spencer straightened, nodding toward the table of men in the corner. “I’m entertaining clients so I better run, but call my cell phone later if you want to talk.”
Annie nodded, numb. The Blake Hadley she’d known hadn’t wanted anything to do with his family’s hotel company. But that was over eight years ago. Things could have changed. He could have changed.
She looked back at the kitchen where Taylor sat on a wooden stool inside the doorway
, stirring sauces for Della.
She would never have bought this house, or opened this restaurant, if she’d known there was even a chance they would run into Blake.
Blake Hadley strolled into his father’s study. “You wanted to see me?”
Lance Hadley didn’t bother to look up. He sat behind an imposing hand carved walnut desk, studying a company report, his fingers resting casually around a glass of bourbon. “Have a seat, Blake.”
Blake sighed. He knew that tone of voice. His father was disappointed in him.
What else was new?
Crossing the study, he took in the sweeping view of the Mississippi River. It was a beautiful day outside, but instead of enjoying it, his father would most likely spend it inside at his desk, reviewing the company’s finances.
The man worked constantly. Blake couldn’t remember ever seeing him take a day off.
What was the point in having all that money if you couldn’t ever have fun with it?
Sinking into the comfortable leather chair, he hoped this wouldn’t last long. He was meeting a few of his former fraternity brothers for drinks in the French Quarter in less than an hour.
“I understand,” his father began, turning a page in the report, “that the expansion in Vegas is going well.”
“It is,” Blake said. “Charles Daley’s doing a good job managing the project.”
“He is,” Lance agreed, lifting his gaze to Blake’s. “But I didn’t call you in here to talk about Charles Daley.”
Here it comes. “What would you like to talk about?”
His father’s eyes were sharp, simmering with anger. “I understand you spent more time in the casino than at your desk.”
“Everybody does a little gambling when they’re in Vegas.”
“A little gambling?” Lance echoed. “I wouldn’t call losing a hundred thousand dollars at the blackjack table a little gambling.”
Blake’s eyes narrowed. “You have people spying on me now?”
“This is my company, Blake. One I built from the ground up.” His deep commanding voice boomed through the room. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, even on my own son.”
Blake shifted in his chair. He couldn’t believe his own father had been spying on him. “I’ll win it back.”
“You are not going to win it back!” Lance slammed his drink down on the table. “I’ve had it. Your mother and I have both had it. We have given you second chances, third chances, fourth chances. We have bailed you out, over and over, waiting for you to grow up, waiting for you to get your act together.”
Blake sat back. So it was this talk again. Tuning his father out, he gazed at the mahogany shelves filled with books on management and leadership, biographies of presidents and statesmen, historical accounts of Louisiana’s role in the Civil War.
His father had made him read all of them.
They were all about as dry as he was.
“We put you through college at Tulane,” Lance continued. “We pulled strings to get you into Vanderbilt for your MBA. We offered you a job at the company, assuming you wanted to learn the ropes so you could fill my shoes as CEO one day. But you have never taken this company, or your role in it, seriously.”
“You didn’t build this company from the ground up,” Blake countered, looking back at his father. “You started it with your father’s money, my grandfather’s fortune. Don’t act like you were some pauper who started something from nothing.”
His father’s eyes flashed. “I was fortunate enough to be born into a wealthy family, but I never took my father’s fortune for granted. He invested in my idea, but it was my idea, my company. I doubled my inheritance, Blake. I doubled it so my wife could have everything she wanted, so my children could have everything they wanted, so my grandchildren could have everything they wanted. I’m starting to regret that now.”
“What are you talking about?”
His father took a deep breath. “It pains me to do this, Blake. But I am giving you one last chance. If you screw up, your mother and I are cutting you off.”
Blake shot up, out of his chair. “You can’t cut me off! I’m your only son!”
There was pain in his father’s eyes now—raw, searing pain—because Blake hadn’t always been his only son. Blake’s older brother had been just like his father—driven, hardworking, focused. Mark had wanted to take over the company one day. He’d been everything his father had ever wanted in a son, until Blake had killed him in a drunk driving accident.
His father had never forgiven him for it.
“From now on,” his father continued quietly, “you’ll be working under my supervision.” He sat back, studying his youngest son across the desk. “As you know, we recently acquired Morningstar at a steal. Bad management was running that company into the ground, but it has a solid reputation and I intend to rebuild it as the premier luxury resort company in the South. Part of that plan involves expanding into the Mid-Atlantic. Our team has identified a property on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. It’s an easy drive from D.C. and a prime piece of waterfront real estate that would be perfect for one of our resorts. But the current owner is dragging his feet. I want you go to up there and talk him into it.”
“Why me?”
“Because despite the fact that you’d rather throw away money than earn it, you can be very persuasive. You have enough charm to convince anyone to do anything you want when you put your mind to it. It’s time you put that charm to use for the company, for something other than your own pleasure.” He looked away. “Perhaps if we’d had this talk sooner you wouldn’t have screwed up your marriage to Emily.”
“Emily was a—”
His father held up a hand. “You cheated on Emily, Blake. You cheated on her over and over. She knew it. We knew it. We hoped you would grow out of it one day, that maybe you would settle down once she got pregnant.”
“It’s not my fault Emily couldn’t get pregnant.”
Lance Hadley’s voice grew weary. “It’s been two years since your divorce. Your mother and I cut you some slack because you got married early. Maybe it wasn’t the right match. Maybe you needed to blow off some steam for a while. But it’s time to settle down now, Blake. Find a new woman who can make you happy, a good woman who wants to start a family. Maybe having children will give you a purpose in life, make you realize there are other people that matter in this world besides yourself.” He lifted his bourbon. The ice clicked against the glass as he took a sip. “Your mother wants a grandchild.”
“And if I can’t give her one…what?” Blake asked. “You’ll cut me off because of that, too?”
“I’m not bailing you out this time,” Lance said. “You will earn back every penny of the money you lost gambling. You will earn it back through honest work. My assistant has booked you on a flight to Maryland this week. If you can’t close the deal with the owner of this property, consider yourself cut off.”
Annie carried the last of the dishes into the kitchen, setting them in the sink. She’d sent Della home a little while ago, and Taylor was upstairs watching a movie. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she walked out to the porch, hoping the fresh air would calm her.
There was no way around it. The Hadleys owned Morningstar.
After Spencer had left, she’d snuck upstairs and pulled up the company’s website on her computer. Sure enough, the Hadleys had purchased Morningstar three weeks ago. They’d announced their official ownership a few days after she’d initially researched the company and decided to move here.
Which is why she hadn’t seen anything about it on the website before.
Sinking to the top step of the porch, she wrapped her hands around the mug. She hadn’t been able to do anything more than shut off the computer and rush back downstairs to continue serving the steady stream of tourists, but she knew now that Blake worked at his father’s company.
She hated the fact that seeing his picture on the Internet after all this time could still make her feel small.
Gazing up at the wind chimes strung along the beams of her porch, she watched the shiny silver flutes catch the late afternoon sunlight.
She was only seventeen when Blake came into her life, too young to recognize the hollow promises and practiced manipulations of a charmer. It was the summer after she’d graduated from high school and she’d been working as many shifts as she could to support both herself and her mother, praying things would get better at home.
But her mother’s drinking had taken a turn for the worse.
She’d considered leaving. Her mother had made it clear that she didn’t care one way or another, but Annie had been afraid of what would happen if she left. How long would it have been before her mother accidentally hurt herself or drank herself to death?
Blake had given her a taste of a different life, one where children didn’t have to worry about their parents, where they didn’t have to work so hard, where they didn’t have to wonder if life would always be a struggle.
She had wanted to believe in the fairy tale.
It wasn’t until she’d told him she was pregnant that she’d found out it had all been a lie.
He’d accused her of trying to ruin his life, of trying to force him into marriage, of trying to steal his family’s money. He’d blamed her for getting pregnant, as if he hadn’t played a part in it, as if none of it had been his fault.
When he’d told her to get rid of it, they’d fought. She’d said she wanted to keep the child, and he’d laughed in her face. ‘How are you going to raise a child on a waitress’s salary? What are you going to do with it when you have to go to work? Are you going to leave it at home with your mother, who can’t even take care of herself?’
When she’d told him she loved him, he’d taken her hand. She’d thought, for a second, that he’d changed his mind, but he’d only led her through the crowded downtown streets to the nearest ATM and withdrawn a wad of cash. She would never forget his last words as he’d handed her the money. ‘Your mother’s a drunk and you’ll never be anything more than a waitress. Put the child out of its misery now and get rid of it.’
