The Radcliffes

by T. J. Kline

  “Seventy-five…million?” Nico nearly choked on the words.

  Just the thought of anyone having that much money, let alone tossing around the number so casually, boggled his mind. It had taken him years to save up the fifty thousand dollars to get his restaurant off the ground.

  “Mr. Kincaid, I really don’t have a lot of time thanks to the horrible traffic, but if we could just sit down for a moment, I’m happy to explain our position. You’ll find that this offer is very generous and that seventy percent would be…”

  She narrowed her eyes at him as he stared at her mouth, unable to stop watching the way her lips curved as she spoke, the way the pillowy pink flesh moved around each syllable and the way her voice washed over him, breathy with just a slight huskiness.

  “Mr. Kincaid?” She reached for his arm. “Are you okay? You look like—”

  “Alexandra!”

  They both spun toward the doorway. Nico saw Doug leaning against the frame with a smug look on his face. Several of his staff watched behind him, waiting to enter the room. He nodded at Nico as he pushed thickly framed glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “Thanks, Nico. I’ll take it from here.”

  The last thing Nico needed was to get into trouble while delivering for Martinelli’s. He wasn’t ready to strike out on his own and he really didn’t want to get fired. “I didn’t—”

  Doug shook his head and, wordlessly, gave him a slight wave of his hand.

  “Wait a second.” The woman turned back to Nico before her gaze returned to Doug as he pulled out a chair, directing the rest of his staff to sit. “You’re Mr. Kincaid?”

  “I am.” Doug chuckled, obviously enjoying her discomfort and the elevated position it now put him in. “And this is Nico Donacelli, our caterer, and here is the rest of my staff. Now that Nico understands the inner workings of this business proposal, we should probably sit down and nail down that forty-five percent I originally offered you.”

  Her cheeks colored a bright pink and she slid into one of the chairs, glancing at several of Doug’s staff who were barely trying to contain their mirth. Alexandra pressed her lips together, glancing at Nico as he made his hasty retreat. The tempestuous look she gave him with her gray eyes made two things clear: first, he’d just ruined her deal, and second, she never wanted to set eyes on him again.

  Chapter 3

  “Have you even called Grandmother back yet?”

  Alex pressed her lips together, willing herself to have patience as she tried to ignore the laughter in her younger sister’s voice. “Would you? I mean, seriously, Fallon, do you realize how much money I’ve already sunk into the shipping company? My investors aren’t going to be coerced into giving any more.”

  “Well, if Radcliffe Shipping goes under, Grandmother will be forced to face the fact that she might not be the businesswoman she thinks she is. Time and technology have changed operational procedures but she hasn’t. Do you know how long it took Gabe to even convince her to give her employees cell phones on the docks?”

  “If she doesn’t have a company to run, she’s going to have free time on her hands and you know what that will mean, right? ‘Gabe’s vineyard and your ranch are far too primitive,’” Alex said, mimicking her grandmother’s arrogant tone. “We’d become the recipients of all her time and attention.”

  “And you’d become her new favorite hobby,” Fallon commiserated.

  Alex groaned. “I’d suffocate.”

  Her sister giggled. “I don’t think suffocation is likely in that huge house.”

  “She’d smother me,” Alex insisted.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” She slid into her limousine and directed the driver back to her office. “I guess I have some investments I could liquidate if I have to. It might buy her a little time. I’ll go back to the office and look into it.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Fallon warned. “You have to go home and change. Anna and I have been waiting for tonight for weeks. Don’t you dare bail on us.”

  Alex pinched the bridge of her nose. After the fiasco at Eco-Tech that morning, she’d forgotten about their girls’ night out. “Can’t we reschedule? It’s been a hell of a day and I’ve got a splitting headache.”

  “Come on, Anna and I came all this way. We’re stuck staying with Grandmother to plan Gabe’s wedding,” she reminded Alex, as if that should be enough reason for her to give in. “We need to escape for a while.”

  Alex sighed. “Fine. I guess after my morning fiasco I could use a drink.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you about it tonight. Suffice to say, I made a fool out of myself and it’s going to cost me.”

  “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “Later. I don’t even want to think about it right now.”

  “Oh, no! That bad? Well, there’s your excuse not to drop any more money into Radcliffe Shipping then.”

  “That won’t work. Wilhelmina Radcliffe doesn’t take no for an answer. She won’t give up until I give her something. You know that.”

  “True.” Fallon laughed quietly, but Alex heard the respect in her voice. They might not agree with their grandmother’s morals or her methods, but they did respect what she’d accomplished over the years, in spite of her late husband’s gambling addiction. “But you can’t exactly fault her for it.”

  “The hell I can’t. Our grandmother is so focused on her business pursuit that she forgets we each have our own enterprises to run. It’s all she talks about.”

  “Really? You don’t say. I can’t imagine anyone else in this family who might act that way,” Fallon teased. “Hey, pot, meet kettle.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. You’re exactly like her.”

  “I am not.” Alex didn’t like the implication. Her grandmother was stuffy, stubborn, demanding, and, well, overbearing. She wasn’t like that.

  “Alex, I love you, so I’m going to be honest with you. You’re so busy being a businesswoman that you’ve forgotten all about the woman part. You don’t even remember how to be a friend or have anything but business relationships.”

  “I have friends,” Alex interrupted.

  “Like who?”

  “Caitlyn, for one.”

  “She’s your assistant,” Fallon pointed out.

  “That doesn’t mean she’s not a friend,” Alex argued.

  “It’s not the same when you’re signing her checks.”

  “Says the woman marrying the man she once employed,” Alex retorted, quickly regretting it. She knew what Fallon was getting at. It had been a long time since Alex had gone out to a dinner that didn’t include a negotiation of some sort. She was always either wooing investors or making a deal. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d done something because it sounded fun or relaxing.

  “Lexie,” Fallon scolded gently. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

  Fallon using her nickname for Alex was her undoing. “Okay, I promise to leave work behind tonight.”

  “Prove it. Show me that you can let your hair down. That means no talking about work, money, investments, or dividends. For one night, forget that you’re a Radcliffe. Tonight you’re not going to be a socialite, you’re going to just be social.”

  “Who sounds like our bossy grandmother now?” Alex rolled her eyes, wondering what she’d just agreed to.

  Chapter 4

  Nico grabbed his uniform from the backseat of the car and headed for the back door of the kitchen, opposite from the main entrance to the mansion. The staff manager glared at him as he burst through.

  “You’re late.”

  “I have five minutes before my shift begins,” Nico pointed out. “I’m good.”

  “You’d better be dressed and ready to start promptly at four. Dinner service cannot be delayed.” The old man pressed his thin lips together so tightly they practically disappeared
. His eyes slid over Nico as his nose wrinkled slightly. “This is the only warning you’re going to get.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go,” the manager ordered with a sniff, “and make it fast.”

  Nico hurried into the staff bathroom to change clothes. Leaving his jeans and T-shirt in his locker, he shoved his arms into his chef coat, slipping the buttons into place. Then he headed back to the kitchen and, ignoring the curious looks from Dylan, his sous chef, he tugged a bunch of basil from the rack and began chopping it roughly, dropping it into the food processor before reaching for the pine nuts.

  Dylan paused in his vegetable garnish prep. “I thought we were doing lobster tonight? Want me to go double check?” Setting his knife aside, Dylan started to move away from the counter.

  “No, we’re doing a fresh fettuccini with pesto and scallops instead.” The meal had been such a success at Martinelli’s today that he decided to repeat it for the family for whom he worked as a private chef.

  “But—”

  “Trust me. Prep the scallops.”

  “Me?”

  Nico rolled his eyes and inhaled slowly before pausing his hands. “Yes, you. I’m going to make the pasta, the sauce, and the gelato, but I’m trusting you to prep and sear the scallops. Please don’t screw this up. My ass is in your hands.”

  Dylan gave him a sly grin as he turned away with a quick wink. “No thanks. You’re not my type.”

  Nico chuckled as Dylan headed for the freezer and then came up beside him. “You sure about this, Chef? You know how the lady doesn’t like changes made to her menu.”

  “Then we’ll have to make it so amazing she forgets what she originally wanted. You’re going to help with the gelato. Grab the ingredients for me while I work on the pesto.”

  “We don’t have time for gelato.”

  “We do if we use liquid nitro.”

  Dylan’s brows shot up and he smiled. “Yes, Chef.”

  This was where Nico was happiest, his most confident. Standing in the kitchen, making decisions and running his crew. He loved cooking and the artistry of putting it all together to make something beautiful and delicious. He had since he was a boy, standing beside his grandfather in his family’s little Italian restaurant in Oakland. He’d thrived as they created zuppe and swelled with pride when Papa Don proclaimed his mushroom risotto the best he’d ever tasted.

  For years, he worked in the restaurant with his grandfather, taking notes as he passed down the detailed recipes he’d brought with him from northern Italy. If Papa Don told him he had a gift, he believed him. It was where Nico learned the basics, but, a stickler for tradition, his grandfather had never let Nico put his own twist on the recipes.

  Culinary school had struck a fire in Nico. It was there that he learned to play with flavors, to become creative. He’d had access to state-of-the-art equipment and the freedom to cook what he wanted, and to make mistakes. And now, he’d had a taste of both worlds and wanted to combine them.

  It was a decent gig, working as a private chef in the kitchen of a wealthy family. He only had to make dinner for them five nights a week when their regular chef left for the day, and though he had to follow their rules most of the time, soon he’d be able to pick up where his grandfather had left off, opening his own restaurant. Someday soon, the Don would open to rave reviews. Until then, he would satisfy himself by taking pride in the meals he made for the family he served.

  They were as rich as King Solomon himself and Nico still wasn’t certain how he’d landed the job. There’d been at least twenty applicants in the kitchen the day he interviewed. But somehow, his grandfather’s chicken cacciatore and tiramisu had won over the staff manager, who’d hired him on the spot. And, at least for now, the family seemed pleased with his dinner menus.

  Nico tasted the finished pesto sauce and set it aside as he went to work on the lemon gelato, mixing the cream, sugar, eggs, and lemon juice. Sliding on his protective gloves, he called Dylan over to help him with the final steps. As he whipped the mixture, Nico poured the liquid nitrogen in slowly, using a technique he had mastered in school. It wasn’t something he was able to do often and he was still surprised he’d convinced the staff manager to stock it, but he was going to make sure he proved its value in the kitchen with an unforgettable dining experience for the family.

  Dylan finished up the scallops while Nico prepared the pasta. As the pieces were brought to him, Nico plated them with the pesto fettuccini and decorated the dish with a basil leaf, pine nut, and freshly grated Parmesan garnish. Wiping the edge of the dish as the server waited, Nico eyed the food. The color was perfect, the presentation was aesthetically pleasing, and the aroma was divine.

  Dylan, standing beside him, eyed the pesto fettuccini and seared scallops. He slapped a hand against his stomach as it let out a loud rumble. “We get to eat the leftovers, right?”

  “This is good to go. Take them,” Nico instructed the server.

  Turning back to Dylan, he smiled broadly. “Absolutely not. Now I’m going to dish up the gelato. And you,” he said, pointing at Dylan, “are going to freeze lemon chips.”

  Satisfaction rushed through him. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else right now; this was exactly where he belonged. Today, private chef. Tomorrow, restaurateur.

  Chapter 5

  “So? What’s it really like working for people who are that rich? I mean, are they snobs or what?” Aaron tipped back his beer and signaled the bartender for another as he reached for another hot wing and shoved it into his mouth. “You sure you don’t want some?”

  Nico shook his head and slid a tortilla chip from his plate of nachos. “No thanks, these are more than enough.”

  He barely registered the spice of the food as he began mentally checking off the last-minute to-dos before he could set up another meeting with the bank. The most pressing was to write up a business plan and he had no clue how to start. The bartender slid two more pints in front of them and Nico thanked him, turning his attention back to Aaron, who was staring up at the football game on the television over the bar.

  Nico’s best friend of twenty years shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this beating.”

  “Aw, come on.” Nico slapped a hand on the bar. “Don’t jinx them. The Raiders are doing well this season.”

  “So far.” Aaron dropped the wing bones into a paper-lined basket. “But that just means the other shoe is going to drop, or the refs are going to kill them with penalties. Something.”

  “Sadly, you’re probably right,” Nico said with a chuckle.

  Aaron spun around to glare at him and his eyes suddenly widened. Nico turned to see what had garnered that sort of reaction when Aaron shoved Nico’s shoulder and started to rise from his stool. “Oh, no, you don’t. I saw them first.”

  “Fine. You can have whoever it is,” Nico agreed, turning around anyway. “I’m here to watch the—”

  Standing in the doorway of the bar was the woman he’d met at Eco-Tech this morning. She looked different now. Her power suit was replaced with a flowing skirt and blouse combo and the top of her hair was pulled back while long waves cascaded over her shoulders. But there was no mistaking her.

  He watched as she entered the High Five, looking around at the various television screens, all blasting the same football game, before her stormy gray gaze fell on him. Immediately her smile slipped from her lips and her brows lifted skyward in surprise. Just as quickly, a frown appeared. She nodded slightly as she passed him on her way to their table. For a moment, he thought she might stop and say something, but she continued past him wordlessly.

  “Dude, stop already,” Aaron hissed.

  “What?” Nico tracked her every move, unable to tear his gaze from her. What in the world was a woman like her doing in a sports bar?

  “Do you know her? Because if not, you look like a stalker.”

  They’d barely taken their seats when one of the women with her leaned forward. He heard her ask, “Do you kn
ow him?”

  “Remember my morning meeting?” she asked, averting her gaze from his.

  Her friend’s brows shot skyward and Nico was curious what about had been said about him. Before he could get up to ask, she slid from her chair and approached him.

  Aaron leaned sideways, trying to look inconspicuous. “Please tell me you don’t know her and she’s coming to talk to me.”

  “You wish.” Nico smiled as Alexandra approached him, looking more confident than he felt. His pulse was pounding so hard he couldn’t hear anything but the roar of it through his veins. Not that it mattered, because his mouth had dried up and he doubted he could speak anyway.

  “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to apologize for the way I acted this morning.”

  “No apology necessary. I should have—”

  “Spoken up sooner?” she finished for him.

  He wasn’t sure if she was deliberately being abrasive or was simply direct, accustomed to being the one to take charge of every conversation. Nico was beginning to wonder if she wasn’t just like the diamonds she wore: beautiful to look at, but cold and hard as stone.

  He’d known plenty of people just like her. Old Money, like the high society crowd of San Francisco, who looked down on everyone else, especially the type of people who worked in a kitchen. The distinction between dishwasher and chef never seemed to matter to them, but he was going to try to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  The bartender approached and she leaned toward him. “Two cosmos and a Sierra Nevada IPA.”

  “You know, I might have spoken up this morning if you’d paused long enough to let me say anything.”

  Her chin lifted slightly but she didn’t argue.

  “Let’s start over,” he said. “How about if I buy you and your friends your drinks?”