“Perhaps.” But she still didn’t pull the papers toward her or bother to even grace them with a glance. “Are shares included in the terms?”
“No.” Of the many things he’d learned about business, keeping control of the company was the one he considered most necessary. Maybe if he’d been sole proprietor of the last restaurant he’d bought, he’d have been able to save it. Maybe not, but allowing little bits of the business to be sold off here and there, permitting other voices to share the leadership, inevitably led to disaster and eventually dissolution. He’d seen it happen not only to himself, but to thousands of once-strong companies. All fooled into believing that trading a few shares and board votes for money and expansion would be the boost needed to turn a floundering enterprise into a successful one. They were rarely correct.
Julia folded her arms over her chest. “Then I won’t sign.”
Donovan brushed some nonexistent lint from his knee and gathered the cool facade he was known for closely around him. “I don’t think you understand how this business works.”
“Terms are negotiable.”
“Terms are. Ownership and shares are not.”
Julia chewed her lip, the first sign that maybe she wasn’t quite as confident as she appeared. “I’m not working for nothing.”
“I’m not expecting you to work for nothing, but the Ford Group is family-owned and will remain that way.” Feeling that they were back on solid ground, or at least ground he was comfortable on, Donovan slid the papers back toward her. “As I said, the compensation is more than adequate.” He took a pen from his briefcase, a silver Montblanc that his parents had bought him for his graduation from an Ivy League school with a master’s of management in hospitality, and clicked it open. “As you can see here and here.” He pointed with the nib of his pen.
Julia didn’t even bother to read the salary and bonus structure, which he knew were better than fair. “I’m sure your terms are perfectly adequate in your eyes. I’m still not signing. I want shares.”
Donovan clicked the pen closed with a forceful snap of his thumb. Great. Just great. He could already feel a tension headache starting behind his left eye. “Shares are not on the table.”
“Then neither is my signature.”
He pondered that. And her. She stared back, chin lifted, a crackle of heat in her eyes. “And if we can’t agree?” His voice was soft. “Then what?”
“I guess that depends what you offer.” She leaned forward. “What else do you have?”
Donovan knew he needed to keep the upper hand during negotiations. He studied her, looking for a crack. Instead, he found his gaze running over those lush curves again.
He was used to beautiful women and had dated plenty of them. And yet, there was a spark here, a flame that could easily be fanned into fire with the lightest breath. He put the pen down on the table. “Since you’re the one making all the demands, I think you should fire the first salvo. Aside from ownership.”
Julia tapped a finger to her lips, drawing his attention to how soft they looked. Soft and warm, as though they could eat a man up. He dragged his eyes away. He was supposed to be negotiating, not picturing those lips pressed against him.
“Can I be honest?”
He looked back at her. At least she was no longer tapping. “I hope you will.”
“And you won’t fire me?”
“Ms. Laurent, let me assure you that firing you is the last thing I plan for this restaurant.”
She stared at him for another few seconds. Assessing. Donovan could see the moment she decided to trust him, the loosening of her jawline, the relaxing of her shoulders. “It’s Julia.”
Donovan ignored the warm surge of pleasure. It was only her name, not an invitation to her bed.
“I’m going to be completely honest with you. I want to own this restaurant.”
Her candor surprised him, as did the information. “I’ll be honest with you.” He decided to lay it out on the table. Sharing confidences with her should go a long way toward moving forward as a team. “I don’t want to own this restaurant.”
He’d surprised her. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t say anything.
“My father is the one who wanted to purchase it. I hope that I can convince him to sell.” Once they’d brought La Petite Bouchée back up to its former glory and could demand a higher price than they’d paid. Maybe even to her. He tilted his head. “If you want the restaurant, why didn’t you buy it from Jean-Paul?”
A small wrinkling of her nose. “I tried, but we couldn’t come to an agreement.”
Probably because her investors had recognized that the price was too high. A fact that his father had stubbornly ignored no matter how many times Donovan had brought it to his attention. He shoved the disloyal thought aside. His father was a good man, perhaps a little sentimental, but he wasn’t an idiot. And if he believed La Petite Bouchée could be a success, then it was up to Donovan and his sister, Mal, to prove him right.
He nudged the contract back toward her, which earned him a sharp look. “We’re going to have to have some sort of contract.”
“Not this one.”
“Maybe not. You don’t have to sign now. Take it home. Have your lawyer look it over.”
She laughed, a light, bright sound. “You think I have a lawyer?”
He eyed her steadily. “You should. I recommend one to anyone signing a contract.”
She glanced down at the pages, then carefully closed the folder. “Well, you’re either shockingly honest or this is your attempt at reverse psychology.”
He didn’t see the need to argue. He simply wanted to get the job done and was looking for the shortest and easiest path. “I’d like to get this settled as soon as possible.”
“I would, too.” She clutched the folder to her chest.
“A week?”
“A week.” She smiled and Donovan felt something warm bloom in his chest.
No, that was a lie. It was a bullet of heat that shot straight to his groin. And despite his best attempts to shake it loose, including a ten-minute drive back to the office, it remained with him.
Or she did.
Donovan parked on the street in front of the three-level building in the heart of Yaletown, which not only housed the Ford Group’s offices but also their first and most popular bar, Elephants, which served wine from around the world and paired food to suit it. The bar took up the first two floors and even now was filled with people. Primarily office workers who’d popped in for a tasty lunch.
They’d debated opening for lunch since it wasn’t a particularly profitable time, but they’d discovered that customers often came back after work and stayed through the evening. And it looked good to anyone wandering by. Here was a place that was busy and vibrant, a place they should consider patronizing. And often, they did.
Donovan chose the stairs over the elevator to reach the third-floor offices. He greeted Bailey, their young receptionist, briefly as he headed down the hall to his office.
He had the second-largest space on the floor. His father’s currently dark office was larger, but Donovan thought his own was actually nicer. His father had a stunning view of the mountains, but Donovan had that and a peek of the ocean. More important, he could keep an eye on the sidewalk in front of the bar. See who was entering and exiting.
He hung his coat on the rack in the corner of his distinguished office. The space was decorated in high-gloss whites and ivories. Glass-topped desks and Lucite chairs. Everything open and transparent with elegant accents of silver and gold. It was a wealthy look and one that fit the jet-set lifestyle their company tried to sell.
La Petite Bouchée looked like a poor country cousin. But that would be simple to change. He made a note to call his designer this week and start discussing the renovation. Something simple and quick. Donovan saw no reason to dump a whack of money into a project when it wasn’t necessary.
The restaurant needed updating, but there was noth
ing wrong with the space that some freshening up wouldn’t fix. The room was open, there was a bar that could be easily extended to add visual interest and more seating, and a wall of windows that looked out onto False Creek, the inlet that separated downtown from the rest of the city.
He moved to his heavy glass desk and checked his email. He really did have plenty to keep him busy today and tonight and tomorrow. But his mind kept wandering back to Julia. Her sleepy eyes and slow smile. A man could lose his head to a smile like that.
“How did it go?” Mal, his younger sister—his only sister—stuck her head in, interrupting his thoughts. She was wearing the wireless earpiece that kept her in constant contact with her cell phone and meant she was liable to spin away midsentence to start a new conversation. But right now she simply watched him with knowing brown eyes. “Oh, my God.” She plopped down in one of the low-slung visitor’s chairs, kicking up her needle-thin heels. “Are you smiling? After that fit you threw when Dad insisted on going through with the purchase?”
He brought out his best older-brother I’m-in-charge-here expression. “It wasn’t a fit.” It had been a well-reasoned, logical attempt to change Gus’s mind. Donovan hadn’t even stomped his foot. “We had a discussion.”
“Right.” He never had managed much success in pulling anything over on his younger sister, but that didn’t stop him from trying. “So what happened?”
Donovan shook off thoughts of rosebud lips and sexy curves. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Not what I asked.” Mal raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t have to do everything yourself. I’m here now. I can help.”
“I’m not doing everything myself.” He wasn’t. Hell, he didn’t even have a signed contract. “I’m just letting you know that I have everything under control.” Including his libido. Good thing he was seeing Tatiana tonight. The tall platinum blonde would be the perfect antidote to the discomforting feelings coursing through him.
Mal rolled her eyes in the same way she’d been doing since she was ten. “Whatever, Donovan.”
“I’m not trying to keep you out of the loop.” Or he was learning not to. Over the past couple of years, he’d gotten used to being the only Ford child heavily involved in the family business and the one their father relied on. Owen had never shown any interest beyond doing enough to collect a paycheck and, until their father’s heart attack, Mal had been living in Aruba with her fiancé, Travis, running a beach bistro. But Mal had flown home immediately after getting the call and had stayed, taking on the role of marketing and media-relations director for the company. And there had been plenty of times since then that Donovan had been grateful for her support. Not only was she a whiz at the job, but she was also someone he could count on to make good business decisions. “I’ll ask if I need help.”
“No, you won’t. You always think you need to do everything yourself.” Mal pulled out her smartphone, tapping something on the screen. An email pinged on Donovan’s computer in response. “The projections for Dad’s little restaurant and my media plan when we’re ready to relaunch.”
He and Mal had discussed the plan in depth last night. Her plan was three step. First, the announcement of the sale. Followed by a short article highlighting the new look and extolling the exciting new path La Petite Bouchée was on. Finished with a personalized interview showcasing their chef. Donovan felt another flicker of attraction as Julia’s face flashed through his mind.
“When will we be ready to go?”
Donovan shoved Julia’s dark eyes out of his mind. They wouldn’t be ready to go until they had said chef’s signature on a contract. “I’ll let you know.”
But rather than nodding and accepting his information as gospel, Mal frowned. “No, I’m going to need more than that. Dates, decisions.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “We can’t hold off indefinitely. No one is going to write about the purchase two months after the fact.”
He knew she was right. He also knew that they couldn’t move forward without Julia’s consent. “Then we come up with a new strategy.”
She stared at him with that skewering glare she was so good at. “You thought this was a great plan this morning. What happened?”
“Nothing.” Which was the truth. No signed contract. No verbal one. Just a promise that they’d meet in a week and that sizzle of attraction.
Mal scowled, her earlier good humor disappearing. But she’d been like that lately. Quick to grow irritated over small details. About the same time she’d returned from a visit to Aruba no longer wearing the sapphire ring Travis had given her. “Then what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you to dole out information? When, Donovan? I need to know when to start contacting my people, dropping hints about an exclusive and setting up other events.”
He rubbed his temple. “I know. Let’s discuss later.”
“When?”
He knew Mal wouldn’t leave until she’d pinned him down. It was just one of the many reasons she was so good at her job. He made a decision. “First thing tomorrow morning. You and me.” They could pick some hard dates and make decisions based on the assumption that Julia would have signed the contract by next week. He didn’t want to consider the fact that Julia might turn him down.
“You and me and coffee,” Mal agreed. She tapped on her phone again. “Should we invite Owen?”
“Why?” Donovan loved his brother even though he was regularly annoyed by him, but Owen was not a businessman. “What’s he going to do? Offer to sleep with the reporter?”
Mal smirked, some of her earlier good mood returning. “Oh, I don’t think you should be throwing any stones, brother.”
“Me?” Donovan enjoyed the company of women. A lot. But he was hardly the Romeo his brother was. Donovan doubted Owen had ever gone out with the same woman twice in a row and he regularly juggled multiple lady friends. Donovan was a one-woman-at-a-time guy. It was just that he hadn’t met a woman who made him want to give up all others forever. Nothing wrong with that.
“Yes, you.” Mal shrugged. “Hey, maybe you’d find the reporter so appealing that you wouldn’t be able to help yourself, and the great story with excellent placement on the front page would just be a bonus.”
“You would pimp me out for the family business?”
Mal considered that and then shook her head. “You’re right. It would be wrong of me.”
“Exactly.” Now, if she wanted to pimp him out to convince the new chef to sign...
“I’d pimp out Owen. He’s much prettier.”
Donovan snorted.
CHAPTER TWO
“I STILL CAN’T believe you refused to sign.” Sasha stared at her with wide green eyes, looking impossibly innocent though Julia knew that to be far from true. Still, Sasha’s innocence or lack thereof wasn’t the point here.
They were holed up in a corner booth at Elephants, a destination Julia hadn’t chosen and wasn’t comfortable with. But when she’d mentioned to Sasha that perhaps they should find another place to have a bite to eat and a drink to unwind, Sasha had overruled her since they were now part of the Ford family group of establishments.
Julia didn’t know about that, but she was keeping an eye out for the family in question. Or for one particular member. “Of course I refused to sign.” It was probably ridiculous to think that Donovan would be down here in the wine bar. He worked in the offices. He didn’t get down and dirty in the trenches. “No doubt it was full of legal ropes that would bind me to a lifetime of servitude.”
The interior of the bar was gorgeous. Not Julia’s style, but stunning. Although the lighting was low, everything sparkled and gleamed, like the inside of a snowflake. A long white glass bar and crystal lights that gave off just enough illumination to see without ruining the cool ambience.
“Exaggerate much? I hardly think he’s trying to trick you into indentured servitude. Although I have to say, if I was going to be tied up, he would definitely make the list.” Sasha tapped a finger against the stem of her win
eglass. “And I thought he seemed nice.”
Julia rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the food on the table. It was a little boring but tasty. Not something she’d serve, but then, this wasn’t her restaurant. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Ignoring the fact that she didn’t have a restaurant to call her own. Not really.
“He had a nice body. Or are you going to tell me you didn’t notice that, either?” Sasha wasn’t giving up.
Oh, she’d noticed, and filed it away as a wasted observance. Because the only thing Donovan Ford had that she wanted was La Petite Bouchée.
Julia noted the lascivious glint in Sasha’s eye, obvious even in the dim interior of the wine bar. She didn’t like it. “Not that it matters, but he’s off-limits.” She wasn’t going to get into a session about the rest of Donovan Ford’s obvious attributes. Danger and distraction lay that way. And really, she didn’t care who or what he did in his spare time, so long as her staff weren’t involved.
“Oh, is he?”
Julia ignored the teasing tone and questioning look. “I told him I wanted him to pay me in shares.”
The diversion appeared to work, since Sasha frowned and asked, “For the restaurant?”
“Yes. Like the deal I had with Alain.” The original owner, the one who’d loved the restaurant as much as she did. The deal she’d never bothered to get in writing because she’d trusted Alain. Julia sighed. It was her own fault.
When she’d returned to Vancouver, she’d been thinking only about caring for her ailing mother, not her career. But Suzanne had wanted Julia to take the role of executive chef at La Petite Bouchée, a role Suzanne had held for a decade. Julia had agreed, noting that it was only temporary, just until her mother recovered and could return to the kitchen. Except Suzanne had never recovered, the cancer metastasizing through her body, leaving Julia with no family and a temporary job.
Tempting Donovan Ford Page 2
