“I don’t know if you do, Dad. You’re recognized in the industry.” Gus Ford had been a success right out of the gate. He’d been a young man with a little money and a big work ethic, who’d studied the Vancouver market and decided that an upscale lounge where people could have excellent drinks and high-quality appetizers was missing. He’d been right. Elephants had been a hit from the moment they’d opened the doors, and nothing had changed in the following years.
His mother sat forward. “So are you, Donovan.”
“Not really.” Yes, he was successful as part of the brand his father had developed. But when he’d tried to follow in his footsteps, fresh out of university with a degree in business management and a trust fund to support his dream, his restaurant had failed.
Donovan knew it was nothing he’d done wrong. He’d had a good location, a great kitchen, a solid business plan that he’d executed cleanly. Sometimes, businesses failed. Even when he looked back on it years later, with an eye for something he might have overlooked, he’d found nothing. It had just been one of those unfortunate things. And yet, that didn’t make it any easier to accept.
“Donovan,” his mother began.
“No.” Gus quelled her words with a hand on her arm. “I want to hear.”
“I just want something that’s my initiative. That I can look at and know I created it and made it a success. Like you did with Elephants.” And since Donovan had invested the majority of his trust fund in his failed restaurant, he needed to look to the family company to back the dream. This time it would thrive. He had more experience, more success and he knew now that the money was in liquor sales. Lower cost, higher profit. And he was ready to put all his learning to use.
“Are you thinking of leaving the company?”
“No.” Donovan’s response was swift. He had no intention of removing himself from the day-to-day running of the family company. “I’d just like to be able to have my own section under it.” A way to prove to himself and everyone else that he was more than his one failed attempt.
His mother was silent, but his father made a humming sound in the back of his throat. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about this.”
“I do.” They’d never really discussed his restaurant going under. Though it had been a difficult time for Donovan, he’d tried to grow from it. He’d applied and been accepted to Cornell, where he’d received a master’s of management in hospitality. He’d learned from his years working under his father’s guidance. He still had no guarantees, but if anyone was ready to succeed with a new opening, Donovan felt it was him.
“I love knowing that I’m part of the tradition you started,” he tried to explain, “but I want to start something new, too. My own tradition.” He looked from one parent to the other. To his relief, they both nodded. As if what he said wasn’t completely far-fetched.
“And you think we need to sell La Petite Bouchée to do that,” his father said.
The relief expanded. “Yes.” Since he no longer had the necessary funds to expand on his own, this plan would have to go through the company accounts. “We need the capital if we want to pursue my preferred investments.” And he had an eye on a location a few blocks away from Elephants that was ideally suited to the project. “But aside from the cash flow, I need the ability to focus my energy on the project, and I can’t do that as well as oversee the restaurant and our other holdings.”
“Okay.”
Okay? Okay they understood? Okay they’d heard enough? Or okay they were willing to sell the restaurant as soon as they received an acceptable offer?
“Let’s hear the details of this plan.”
And while Donovan talked, his father listened, asking a few questions, but mainly just absorbing the information. When Donovan was finished, Gus nodded.
“I don’t see why not.” He leveled a gaze at Donovan. “But I don’t want to sell the restaurant.”
Donovan frowned. Wasn’t that the whole point of his spiel? That he needed the time and the funding if they were serious about expanding into the gastropub market?
“I’ll take over La Petite Bouchée when I come back to work.”
That would solve half the problem. “What about the funding to buy another locale?”
Gus opened his arms. “Money isn’t a problem, Donovan. Send me the business plan for a look and we’ll start taking next steps.”
CHAPTER SIX
DONOVAN SAT IN his office looking at the finalized marketing materials his sister had pulled together. It was a nice clean campaign. Effective in its simplicity and reliant on his chef, who was now—he checked his watch—fifteen minutes late.
But he wasn’t too annoyed. He knew how hard Julia had been working, seeing as he was at the restaurant most nights for dinner. Partly to see what they were doing, looking for ways they might make improvements with the renovations, but mostly just to see her. To watch her chat with their few regulars, to see the way she handled her staff and to watch the way she smiled at him when she saw him sitting at the bar.
She often came out after closing to sit with him, ask about the renovation plans and state her own opinions on the matter. He loved watching her face in those moments. The way her eyes focused on him, her lips pouting in his direction.
Donovan hadn’t kissed her again. Not yet. But he sensed it was only a matter of time. The more he saw her, the more he wanted her, and since she wasn’t ignoring him, asking him to leave or otherwise expressing disinterest, he figured she felt the same. Whether or not she would act on it was another matter. But that hadn’t stopped Donovan from ending his casual relationship with Tatiana or from avoiding entanglements with any other women. The only woman he was interested in was Julia Laurent.
He tried calling her cell phone again, but it kicked him through to her voice mail without ringing. Unfortunately, he was unable to leave a message because, as the computerized voice had informed him, her inbox was full.
Instead, he cooled his heels with a glass of cold water and by familiarizing himself with all of Mal’s initiatives. They were meeting to discuss the marketing plan, which would be moving forward in the next couple of weeks.
Normally, Mal would have led the meeting, but she’d been invited to join a coalition of other eating establishments in the city to discuss a charitable project that would both raise awareness of the hungry in the region and encourage residents to eat out in one of the participating locations.
They thought the opportunity would dovetail perfectly with their hopes of elevating La Petite Bouchée back to the position it had once held. Gus had wanted to attend the meeting, too, but Donovan and Mal had convinced him to let them handle it. Still, it was becoming clear that it wouldn’t be much longer before Gus was back in the office working his twelve-hour days and taking the restaurant off Donovan’s hands.
He hadn’t yet told Julia about the change in plans regarding ownership of the restaurant. Not because he was trying to hide anything, but because he wanted a new contract in place to offer her. She’d made certain concessions in her current contract based on the assumption that they’d be putting the property up for sale and she’d have rights of first purchase. But if that wasn’t happening, Donovan felt it was only fair they offer her other perks and bonuses.
He dealt with other business while he waited for Julia. An email from his real-estate agent to set up a showing for the space near Elephants that they thought might be viable for the gastropub. Another from his father with questions and suggestions on the business plan Donovan had sent him last week. A third from Mal, who was hoping to wrap up her meeting in time to catch the tail end of this one. Plus, the myriad questions and details that were part of running a successful business.
Donovan answered some, forwarded others and placed a few in his to-be-handled-later file, as they required information that he didn’t know off the top of his head. Then he turned his attention to the amendments his father had made to the business plan.
Some of them were things he had al
ready considered and decided against. Like the choice to pursue quick growth versus slow. While normally cautious, Donovan worried that any delay in getting the idea to market could be the difference between success and failure. It was only a matter of time before the Vancouver market was flooded with these kinds of upscale establishments that combined a casual atmosphere with high-quality food and drink. A place where you could pop in after a yoga class and not look out of place.
He envisioned a place that his current clientele would flock to on those nights and afternoons when they didn’t want to dress up. Somewhere they could be a bit more relaxed and still enjoy the high-end service that the Ford Group was already known for.
“Mr. Ford?” Bailey, his pretty, young receptionist, knocked at the door, interrupting his thoughts. “Ms. Laurent is here to see you. I’ve placed her in the meeting room.”
About time. He thanked Bailey and gathered up his materials before heading to the boardroom. He wasn’t pleased that Julia was late, but he was still glad to see her. The small pricklings of irritation ebbed away completely when he saw her smiling at him. “You’re late,” he said anyway.
She frowned. Was it wrong that he looked at it a moment longer than might be deemed professional? “We said eleven thirty,” she told him. “I’m actually ten minutes early.”
“We said eleven.” He spread the papers out on the desk—Mal’s media plan and other events that his sister felt would raise the profiles of both Julia and the restaurant. “But you’re here now. Let’s not waste any more time.”
“Donovan.” Julia ignored the paper he slid in front of her, her eyes pinning him. “I don’t want you to think I’m not professional. If we had agreed on eleven, I would have been here at eleven.” She reached out and put a hand on his arm. Her fingers were warm through his sleeve. And suddenly Donovan was thinking about the bedroom instead of the boardroom.
He could feel the tips of her fingers pressing into his skin. No prick of lengthy nails, though. He glanced down. No sign of polish, either, which made sense as she worked in a kitchen. And yet her hands were intensely feminine.
“I think we can chalk it up to miscommunication.” He didn’t move his arm when it would have been logical to step away. Though he knew she wouldn’t have been to the restaurant yet, she still smelled like lemon and white wine. The aroma of his new favorite dish. Her coq au vin blanc. Delicious.
Their eyes met, locked. Ignoring this would make it go away, his ass. It wasn’t going away. Not now, not before and definitely not in the future. He pushed the folder containing an outline of Mal’s ideas toward Julia without looking at it. No, he was still looking at her.
At the light color that rose to her cheeks, the way she licked the corner of her mouth and the way she didn’t look away from him, either. “I wasn’t late.”
If she looked at him this way, she could be late anytime she wanted. “Fine. I was early.” She smiled and he wondered if he should just forget propriety and kiss her now.
Instead, he nudged the folder until it bumped her hand. “Take a look at Mal’s plan and then we’ll discuss.” Because the next time he kissed Julia, it wouldn’t be with an office full of employees just outside the door. It would be somewhere private, where they could explore this attraction without fear of being interrupted.
But she didn’t look at the folder. “Donovan. We...I need to keep this professional.”
“We’re professional.” Wasn’t he in a suit? Hadn’t he just decided that kissing her in the boardroom was inappropriate?
Julia shook her head. Her hair was down. He usually saw it pulled back in a low knot as required by food-safety standards. He liked it this way, wanted to slip his fingers through those soft strands. “We’re not.” She lowered her gaze. “We both know that.”
Donovan started to reach out to take her hand but stopped himself. Trying to convince her things were perfectly professional between them meant not holding her hand, even if she let him. “Then let’s talk about it.” He took a seat two away from her, creating a barrier of air between them. “What do you want?”
She lifted her eyes from her lap. “This isn’t about what I want, Donovan.”
“I think it is.” He maintained his casual pose in the seat. “Clearly, you have some concerns. Tell me what they are so we can figure out how to solve them.”
“You think it’ll be that easy?” Her eyes dropped again.
“Not if you’re going to play the mysterious woman, no.” She shot him a look full of fire and conflict. He shrugged it off. “So tell me.”
“I just...” She paused. “We can’t act on whatever this is.” She waved a hand between the two of them. He waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t disappoint. “I have to think about my future, my career.”
“And dating isn’t part of that future?”
She scowled. “It is. It will be,” she amended. “But not with you.”
That stung. “Is there something wrong with me?” Donovan tried to keep his tone light, but even he heard the whip of hurt behind his words.
“No.” She exhaled. “But I need to focus on my career right now. I’m still new in this market. I need to make a name for myself.”
“And that’s what we’re here to talk about.” But he didn’t nudge her back to the plan in front of her. He stared at her, watching her tongue dart out to lick her lips, noting the lock of hair that curled across the curve of her cheek. “Julia.”
“I have to focus on my career, and part of that is my reputation. How things look to other people.” She lowered her hands to the chair arms, squeezed. “If we get involved, people will talk.”
What? “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter who.” Her eyes rested on his. “It’s what they’ll say.” He saw her deep intake of breath. “If we get involved, they’ll think I’m sleeping with you to keep my job.”
Her words caught him off guard. “Do you really think that will happen? You were the executive chef long before we bought the restaurant. It’s not unheard of to keep the staff after a purchase.”
“No.” She leveled a gaze at him. “But it won’t matter. It’s juicier to make up salacious details about our sex life.”
“We have a sex life?”
But she didn’t smile at his joke. “I’m serious, Donovan.”
“I know. Sorry,” he apologized. “But do you honestly think people will still say that after they’ve tasted your food? Personally, I think it speaks for itself.”
“Thank you for saying that.” The tension around her eyes eased, but for only a moment. “Unfortunately, it won’t be enough. People will say the food is good but not that good. They won’t be able to untangle my professional skills from the ones they’ll think I’m showing you behind closed doors.”
He considered it, then shook his head. “No, you’re wrong. Maybe in the past that might have been true, but times have changed and your food is good enough.”
“Donovan.” Her voice was soft. He wanted to reach out and tuck the loose hair behind her ear. “We should get to work.”
“We should.” But he didn’t move. Her words were eating at him. “Are you really willing to let everything go because you’re afraid?”
“I’m not afraid.” But her eyes skittered away from his.
“It’s okay to feel that way.” He rolled his chair next to hers so the arms bumped. She blinked but didn’t say anything, not when he swiveled her seat so she faced him. Not when he leaned forward. And not when his lips were less than an inch from hers. “But don’t let that define you.”
“Donovan.”
He leaned forward and then they were interrupted by a knock at the boardroom door.
“Oh, good.” Mal pushed her way inside, nodding at both of them. “You’re still here. What did I miss?”
Seriously? Again? He was going to get his entire family bells that they had to wear around their necks like cats so he could hear them coming and make necessary plans to prevent them from barging in when he was
just about to connect with Julia.
Julia rolled away from him and lifted a hand to move that lock of hair away from her cheek. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he saw a shudder run through her.
Donovan looked at his sister. “Nothing,” he said. Absolutely nothing thanks to his sister’s heinous timing.
“Great.” Mal sat down in a chair across the table. “Then let’s get started.” She motioned to the closed folder still in front of Julia. “Take a look through that, Julia, and then we’ll talk details.” Mal shrugged out of her coat, draping it across a chair beside her and pulling a laptop out of her leather briefcase.
“Of course.” Julia flipped open the folder and started to read the contents.
Donovan studied her. Until he realized he was gawking and that would surely be noticed by his sister. He turned to Mal, who was thankfully still tapping away on her laptop. “How did your meeting go?”
“Good.” She didn’t raise her eyes. “I think it’ll be great for business.”
Donovan suddenly realized she might spill the beans about the restaurant and decision to keep it in the family. Hell. He darted a glance at Julia, but she didn’t look up, apparently not sensing his sudden panic. “Good. We’ll discuss details later.”
Julia did look up then, but to Donovan’s relief her question wasn’t about the meeting he’d just mentioned. She pointed at the paper in front of her. “You want me to do Wake Up, Vancouver?”
Wake Up, Vancouver was the most popular morning news program in the city. An appearance there would be sure to boost both their profile and their reservations.
“We both think you’ll be perfect,” Donovan said. He and Mal had discussed how they should take advantage of Julia’s sultry French looks. “We thought maybe the first week we’re open.” So the people who saw the show could call and make reservations right away.
Julia blinked and looked back at the paper. “And we’re participating in Bounty of Whistler next month?” Bounty of Whistler was a spring food festival created as a counterpoint to that town’s wildly successful winter event, Cornucopia. This was its first year. “The restaurant won’t even be open yet.”
Tempting Donovan Ford Page 9
