Made for Me (Danielle Grant Book 1)

by Sarah Gerdes

  I will move on and do my best to create a life he’d be proud of.

  With that in mind, Danielle devoted herself to perfecting the pitch she intended to make tonight to Lani and Stephen. She had the plan, the presentation and the financials, all of which she printed out, double checked and slid within the plastic sheets that she inserted into three-ring binders. Her short speech was fine-tuned, the excitement fueled passion and adrenaline running through her like a strong underwater current. She phoned Stephen at seven and was told it was so slow Ivan had left early. The disappointment in his voice was so evident she could have collected it and sold it as a depressant.

  At eight thirty she arrived in jeans, knee-high olive-colored boots and a bomber jacket. The dining room was once again empty. The three sat down to dinner and spoke of sailboarding and the fierce winds she’d encountered earlier in the day. She waited until they were mid-way through the main meal before she brought up Monroe’s.

  “Did last night help at all financially?”

  “Nope,” Lani said crisply, as though she were already reconciled to the inevitable closing of her restaurant.

  “I guess it’s like any business,” Danielle began. “If what you are offering to the customer doesn’t work, you either find a way to get new customers or change what you are offering.”

  Stephen’s eyes went to his plate. “That comment is only helpful if we were starting over.”

  Danielle put her hand on his wrist, forcing him to look up at her. “I wasn’t saying that to be rude or critical Stephen. I was saying it as a very real observation. If you had to do it all over again, nine-months after the fact, what would you do?” she asked earnestly. “Would you make any big changes?”

  Lani wasn’t interested in playing along. “Yeah, forget it and put the money into gold.”

  “You?” Danielle asked Stephen, hoping for an actual answer.

  Stephen’s blue eyes flicked around the room and his forefinger lifted. “I’d pick some theme and go the opposite direction of what we have here. Maybe Italian food. This town loves Italian.”

  “No Thai. I can’t cook Thai,” Lani said.

  “What else?” Danielle prompted Stephen.

  “I’d add some liveliness if I could. We can’t do a patio because we don’t have the outdoor space but maybe a band. I don’t know. Not sure this place could accommodate a band either.”

  “What about you Lani? Anything you’d do differently?”

  She grimaced. “Sure. I wouldn’t do it at all.”

  Danielle raised her eyebrows skeptically. “At all? Really? It couldn’t have been all that bad.”

  “No,” she admitted. “It’s just not as much fun as I thought it would be.”

  “Maybe it would be fun if you were making money.”

  “It’s a moot point since we’ll never find out.”

  That was her opening. “Guys, I have some thoughts for a restaurant. Not this restaurant, but a new one.” Danielle reached inside her purse, pulling out three, thin binders. “I created these for you,” she said. “Lani, listen while you eat before you reject the idea. Please.”

  Danielle began with compliments about Monroe’s, transitioning into an explanation of why Monroe’s in its present state wasn’t working. First she brought up the food. “It’s excellent Lani, but not a differentiator,” she said as delicately as possible. “The place is beautiful, but so austere that you don’t get a specific vibe. People want to be transported and have an experience. So give it to them.”

  “What is the point of the conversation?” asked Lani, frustrated. “It’s too late. We can’t do it.”

  “No you can’t, but I can.” Lani’s bottom lip jutted out in shock while Stephen’s fingers fiddled with the stem of the wine glass. “I’ve done all the research on costs. The demographics. What it takes to become profitable. I think a few things will do it. For instance, rename it, remodel the inside, change the menu, lower the prices, and make it a destination, not just a restaurant.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Lani asked, only half kidding.

  “No. All you need to do is make me an investor, a long term partner, for as long as you want and need. I’ll even pay for the upfront legal work. Remember, I’m single, no kids. I don’t have a mortgage and should be putting my money to work. You two are the best investment I can think of. Plus,” she said happily, “I love you. This is what friends do.”

  Stephen cleared his throat, a sign Danielle took as a signal to proceed. “Those binders in front of you have all the financials and ideas. Let’s go through it together.” Stephen turned the first page, glancing from top the bottom. “You too,” Danielle said to Lani.

  The three scanned the pages. Danielle had made it easy with a summary of the financials, the up-front costs, with low-to-high estimates, along with the monthly costs for two years and the approximate time it takes for a restaurant to turn a profit.

  “The salaries are unrealistic,” Stephen remarked.

  “Not from what I’ve learned about chefs and hosts in Zurich,” she responded.

  “Your wait staff salaries are also higher than what we are paying,” added Lani, a frown on her face.

  “Also what I found to be typical wages at profitable restaurants. Look, to be successful, you have to attract top people, like Ivan.”

  “But why so many employees?” Lani asked.

  “Scale,” answered Stephen, having already flipped to the next page.

  Danielle nodded in agreement. “To hit the profitability mark, you simply have to do a much higher volume than you are doing today.”

  Lani shook her head, closing the book. “We can’t do it with the type of food we have today.”

  Danielle took a breath and forged ahead. “That’s a part of it Lani. You can’t get scale or profits with the complex dishes you are now offering…but you can if you change it up.”

  “How much do you want to change it?” Lani asked hesitantly.

  “Open it back up and look on page 7. I’m talking real, homemade American food: lasagna, pot roast and turkey dinners with stuffing, and baked goods like brownies and pies and cobblers unique to our culture.” Lani’s brows raised like she was still at the starting gate of the race and the gun was about to go off. Dutifully, she flipped the pages and went quiet.

  “Stars and Stripes?” Lani asked. “Am I reading this right?”

  “Absolutely,” Danielle said with conviction. “Monroe’s is great—a sexy American movie star, but the younger generation doesn’t necessarily equate Monroe with Marilyn or America. You need to be big and bold, just like the Italians. To that end, what’s more American than an old school diner, since that’s the fun decade that everyone loves to recall?”

  Lani continued to verbalize what she read. “Booths? And country music?” she asked, choking out the last word.

  “All or nothing Lani,” Danielle said. “I also have in there dance, R & B, hard rock—each on a different night, and why not? America is a melting pot of people and mini-cultures. You could get some people who come in Friday for country or Saturday for dance music and Tuesday for rhythm and blues.”

  “That’s sort-of downscale for Zurich,” Lani said uncomfortably.

  “Only if you think we are downscale,” Danielle retorted, her enthusiasm undimmed by the comment. “Just think. You will draw all the expats from a hundred-mile radius who are tired of demure and elegant. You keep it going by hiring people like me and Ivan who show attitude, not deferential boredom. Give these Swiss people a little bit of home—our home.”

  Stephen rubbed Lani’s shoulder. “You know, it would be so different, it might just work.”

  Lani hesitated and Danielle held her breath. “But country music?”

  “Even country,” Danielle said with a smile.

  “Well, we have one person we should run this by,” Lani began, snapping her book shut.

  “Who?” Danielle wanted to know. They were the only three that mattered.

  Lani
gave her a smirk and glanced at Stephen. “Andre. He is our most regular client. What? I’d hate to spring this on him.”

  Danielle blanched. “Are you telling me you need his approval to move forward?”

  “Oh no!” Lani exclaimed. “I just value his thoughts. Stephen?”

  “I agree, but for a totally different reason. Publicity. When we first opened, Andre was an early customer and told a ton of people about us. I’d love him to do the same thing again.”

  Danielle got it. She flipped her wrist, then asked Stephen to get out his phone.

  “Why?”

  “No time like the present. Call him and see if he’s free to come by.”

  She and Lani listened as Stephen greeted Andre and asked if he had time to come over. “Great, so you’re at the marina?” He paused, waiting. “Not long, twenty minutes or so. See you in fifteen.” Clicking the phone off and turning to Danielle and Lani, Stephen had a pleased look of anticipation.

  “He’s on his way.”

  Lani jumped up, the first sign of hope she’d displayed. “I’m going to make some food. The least we can do is feed the man. And by the way, Danielle, you’re going to do the pitch, not me. That is not my expertise.”

  “No problem,” responded Danielle, with an attitude of ease and confidence. The two emotions were in direct contrast with a tinge of another kind that crept from her belly through her stomach and chest, and she didn’t think it had anything to do with business.

  CHAPTER 10

  Twenty minutes later, the door shot open and there was Andre, this time in black jeans and a long sleeve black shirt. Stephen invited him to take the free seat adjacent to Danielle as he left to check with Lani about the food. Andre surveyed the folders on the table but didn’t look at the details.

  “Were you really at the marina this late?” she asked him, noting the time.

  “Working,” he said, without elaboration. Discretion, thought Danielle. So unconducive to a normal, free-wheeling, getting-to-know-you American conversation.

  “Some work,” she began good-naturedly. “I know you have motorcycles at your disposal, wear a uniform of jeans and leather, and that you have smelly clients. Is it a seriously rude American thing to ask what you do for a living?”

  Andre gave her a smile, one that told her he didn’t mind. “Yes, this is my…uniform. And no, we don’t generally ask such brusque questions.”

  Danielle smiled at the evasion. “Well, I know you’re into boating, but I actually think you’re a hair model.”

  An unexpected laugh came out at that comment. “No, nothing like that.”

  “Well, you certainly have the whole wind-swept hair thing down,” she said, framing his face with her hands.

  “He should,” Lani said from the other side of the room, a plate of food in each hand. “When he’s not on the bike he’s on the water.”

  “Okay, I’m getting the picture now. You work at a bike shop during the day, hang out on the boat at night, and pick up American food before retiring to a hotel. Escort?”

  Lani let out a laugh as Andre’s modest smile spread across his face.

  “The hair comes from earlier today,” he explained. “I didn’t have time to go home and change. We had a client from London who wanted a boat tour and didn’t care at all about the weather.” He divulged the information like it was a state secret. “They’re used to much worse.”

  “It was a bit wild today,” Danielle confirmed.

  Andre examined her. “You were on the water?” She acknowledged that she had been out on her sailboard. “Is your sail clear with yellow, horizontal stripes?” He leaned back, looking at her as though it were for the first time. Well, he’d certainly seen a whole lot more of her earlier today as she was wearing a skin tight wetsuit. “We were talking about who would be crazy enough to be on the water in those gusts. Even the English were impressed.”

  “She is a beast—on the water,” Lani said to him in such a way Danielle wanted to kick her shins in a very fourteen-year old fashion.

  “What do you think of Giles?” Andre asked Danielle.

  “Nice, but he’s not like the Swiss I’ve met so far.”

  “Interesting you say that. He moved to LA to study accounting after secondary school, got distracted with surfing and went on the circuit for a number of years. His time in Australia then decided he missed home and came back but didn’t re-integrate all that well.”

  “It shows,” Danielle said, the understatement drawing another laugh from Andre. Giles’ shoulder-length blond hair and laidback manner was more beach bum than financier.

  “So,” Andre began. “You have something you wanted to tell me? Or get my opinion.”

  “Well, you are a trusted customer after all,” Danielle said. “A free focus group of one.”

  Andre looked between her and her friends.

  “Go for it,” said Lani, indicating Danielle should take the lead.

  “You love American food, Lani and Stephen love being here, but here’s the challenge…” Andre eyes never left hers as she went through the vision of the Stars and Stripes, the proposed ambiance, menu and personality.

  “It sounds promising,” he said evenly, “but I like it the way it is—or the food anyway.” The comment, both a compliment and a criticism, caused Lani to wince. “And you think this new idea will do better?”

  Danielle lifted one of the binders and slid closer to him, showing him the pages as she summarized the content. This night he didn’t smell of smoke, but a cologne she’d didn’t recognize. It was spicy and musky, a good combination.

  When she finished, he sat back, but not away from Danielle. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll test the food, spread the word, and be a good patron, but I do have one question.” Danielle waited, trying to assess the look on his face. “Can I be an investor?”

  It caught her by surprise. Lani and Stephen looked at each other and then at her, waiting. The thought of having another person share the financial risk was appealing. “That’s…unexpected—and very gracious of you. We could certainly discuss your contribution of additional capital if you’re serious.” Either her use of the word capital or her being the spokesperson threw him, for he regarded her a few seconds before he spoke.

  “You’re funding this?” he asked her. Danielle nodded. She was pleased that his countenance didn’t turn sour. He simply digested the fact. Another good sign. Gorgeous and secure. “Well, I am serious, and given the numbers, I’d be in for two-fifty. Would that be too much or not enough?”

  “It would be approximately half,” Danielle replied. “Making you and me equal investing partners with Lani and Stephen owning the rest. How about I get back to you after we talk about it?”

  “Sounds good. And I really like the name. Very American, and fun.”

  “Speaking of fun,” Lani said with an exaggerated sense of relief, “I want to dance. I know you said next week, but can we do this tonight?”

  “Seriously?” Danielle asked, shaking her head. “You go have fun. I’m still recovering from jet lag.”

  “You have to come up with something better than that,” Stephen remarked.

  Danielle paused, finding the situation laughable. “How about I’m not wearing my dancing clothes?”

  “What you have on works,” Andre said, his assessment causing a flash of heat to move up the back of her thighs.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said, resting her hand on his forearm. “I’m really looking forward to going out next Saturday, I’m just totally not prepared at this moment.”

  “What’s to prepare for?” he asked rhetorically, making no attempt to remove her hand. “We’re just going out for a few hours, not getting married.”

  The heat moved up her back and she lifted her hand. “I’m so happy to hear that because in the States, one date and you’re in.” The other three laughed with her, but she could see the determination on Lani’s face.

  “Why don’t we make this easy?” Andre said. “We promise n
ot to keep you out late. I’ll drop you off at your apartment now, go home and change myself, pick you up in fifty, and then we’ll be at the club, say, by ten-thirty latest? And seriously, you don’t need to change a thing.”

  Seeing she was three to one, the odds against her, she added her voice to the chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘sounds great,’ and in five minutes found herself standing beside Andre’s motorcycle.

  CHAPTER 11

  As Danielle removed the rubber band from her hair, she caught Andre watching as the mass of dark auburn cascaded over her shoulders. Moments later, the vibrations of the engine were running up and down her inner thighs and her hands were around his hard waist. He sped through town, taking a left up the cobblestone road that led to her flat. When he stopped the bike, she handed him his helmet.

  “See you in fifty.”

  Inside, she quickly showered, combed through her hair, applied her ‘going-out’ makeup and found clothes that hadn’t seen the light of day since just before Lani and Stephen left for Zurich. She exhaled a huge sigh of relief the leather shorts fit. She chose her low-cut ankle-high black boots because they showed off her cut calves and had a heel stable enough to take the pounding and twisting of dancing. She slipped on a black undershirt that rose to her collarbone and extended to her shoulders. With a silver knit over it, the effect sexy but also relatively modest. She firmly believed men were more intrigued when you showed less, not more.

  A week and I’m already going out on a date? It was crazy, but Andre doesn’t want serious and it’s not what I want either, she reminded herself.

  Danielle was in the kitchen when the buzz of the security system rang. She leaned over and pressed the call button. “I’ll be right down,” she said.

  He greeted her with a kiss to both cheeks. He smelled delicious. She saw where his eyes were focused and she touched her hair a bit self-consciously. Several deep brown curls fell across her chest, with the rest of her hair pulled back and placed in a high pony tail.

  “I’ve never been inside these apartments,” Andre said, walking beside her on the path leading to his car. “Do you like your view?”