La Petite Bouchée was closing next week and would remain closed for three weeks while the renovations they’d agreed upon were made. The food festival, happening the first week of March, fell right in the middle of that.
“Yes, it’s perfect timing.” Mal stopped typing. “It’ll be a test run of sorts. You can serve some of your new menu items and I’ll get us some good media coverage, so when we do open, there’s already interest built. I was thinking of just a booth, but we have the opportunity to take over a restaurant for the night. One of the other participants backed out.”
“Take over a restaurant.” Donovan saw the spark of interest in Julia’s eyes. “A tasting menu paired with wines.”
“Exactly.” The same spark lit Mal’s eyes. Donovan was glad to see it. For too long, his sister had seemed quiet, too inwardly focused for his liking. He knew it was her personal life, whatever was happening between her and Travis, but he didn’t like seeing her so unhappy. Mal had always been fiery, the kind who gave as good as she got, but most days, that Mal seemed to be in hiding. “Donovan will be with you at the festival, so all you’ll have to worry about is cooking and introducing each course. Everything else will be handled by him.”
Donovan blinked. This was news to him. When Mal had mentioned the idea earlier this week, she had been clear that she was the one who knew media and public relations, so she was the one who should be there. And Donovan could hardly say that his crush overrode her business sense. So why was she handing him the reins now? But when he looked at her, she merely gave a quick head shake. A sibling gesture that meant they would talk about it later.
Julia flicked a glance at him and then back to Mal. “It sounds great.”
“Good.” Mal made a few notes on her laptop and then pushed it to the side. “I realize this is probably a lot to take in all at once. Why don’t you take the folder home and look it over this week. We can meet to discuss any questions or concerns you have after that.”
When Julia looked at him, Donovan inclined his head in agreement. “Or you can call. You have my number, and I’m always around to answer.”
She nodded. Donovan considered adding that she could just call him if she felt like it, but bit back the words. That was a conversation for another time, one where his sister wasn’t listening in on every word.
“Unless there’s anything you can think of now?”
“No.” Julia looked at the folder. “No, you’ve given me plenty to think about, though.”
When he returned to his office after walking Julia to the elevator, Mal was waiting for him. With Owen.
He swallowed the sigh that threatened to push through his closed lips. He loved his siblings; he really did. But sometimes a man just wanted to be alone with his thoughts and his raging libido. Sometimes a man didn’t get that choice, though.
“What’s up?” He sat behind his desk, jiggling his mouse to wake up the computer and subtly—okay, maybe not so subtly—letting the pair know that this needed to be short and sweet. Where had Owen come from, anyway? He hadn’t been in the office earlier and he certainly hadn’t arrived while Donovan had been escorting Julia out because he would have spotted him in the hallway. “Why are you here?”
Owen blinked, his head pulling back fractionally. “I wanted to hear about the meeting.”
“Oh.” Donovan frowned. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Over the past month, rather than showing signs of disinterest in the family business as he always had, Owen was taking on a larger role and asking for more responsibility. Donovan still wasn’t sure if he appreciated that his younger brother was showing some initiative or was annoyed that he was sticking his nose into things that had been running perfectly well without him. Probably a bit of both. “Why’s that?” Owen’s responsibilities lay with Elephants—that was it. He had no current role in La Petite Bouchée and, given the fact that Gus would be the one to take over from Donovan, no role in its future, either.
“Because I want to help.”
Donovan didn’t doubt his brother’s sincerity, just his ability to follow through. “I appreciate the offer, but Mal and I have got this covered.” Now, run along, little brother, and let the grown-ups talk.
Owen must have sensed his thoughts because his face tightened. “You know I want to be more involved.”
“And you are,” Donovan pointed out. “You’ve been handling Elephants for a while now.”
“And?”
Donovan frowned. Did Owen want a parade? A gold trophy for doing the same things that he and Mal, before she’d left to start her own bistro in Aruba, had been doing for years? “And what?”
“Never mind.” Owen shook his head. His usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something sharp and a little sour. “You know, Donovan, you’ve been on my ass for years about how I don’t take enough responsibility with the company. But now, when I’m trying, you shut me out.” He pushed himself out of the chair. “I’ll talk to you later, Mal.” Then left without a backward glance.
Donovan watched him go, feeling a twist of uncertainty in his belly, and then turned to his sister. Mal scowled. At him. “What?”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on him?”
Donovan ran a hand through his hair and shoved the uncertainty aside. He was hard on Owen. He knew that, but he had to be. The business needed him to be. It was all well and good for Owen to claim an interest in the family holdings now, to offer his help and quite probably to act on it. But his history indicated it would be a passing fancy and Donovan wasn’t interested in training his younger brother only to have it be a waste of time. “He’s had plenty of opportunity to get involved before.”
“I know.” Mal heaved out a sigh and crossed her legs. She’d removed her suit jacket. Her shirt was bright red and matched the soles of her shoes. “But maybe he’s finally ready. Don’t you think we should give him the chance?”
“Probably.” Donovan told himself that this was a special situation and poor timing on Owen’s part. “But Dad’s not ready to come back and the restaurant is a far bigger project than we usually have in spring. Maybe once the renovations are done and the campaign is over.” Once their dad was back, maybe Donovan could start to bring Owen in a little more. A bit of extra work here and there, see if it was something Owen could stick with or if he’d start to blow them off. Something that wouldn’t destroy their bottom line or productivity.
“I think you need to give him a chance.”
“I will, Mal.” He really would. But not now. Not with La Petite Bouchée and Julia. “But this isn’t the right occasion.” He leaned back in his chair, finished with that topic. “Now, you want to tell me why I’m going to the food festival and not you?” Not that he wasn’t looking forward to it, but it wasn’t like Mal to pass her load on to anyone else without good reason. He wanted to hear it.
But instead of the quick rejoinder he’d expected, Mal looked worried, a frown on her lips and a furrow to her brow. She’d been looking pinched in general lately, but when he’d asked, she’d brushed off his concerns with a brisk wave and a terse reminder that she was fine.
“Mal?” The tickle of concern about his sister turned to a full death rattle. “What’s going on?”
She looked away, to the side of the room. “I have a thing.”
“A thing?” It wasn’t like Mal to conceal her thoughts. “What thing?”
Her leg started to jiggle. “Just a thing.”
Donovan didn’t say anything, sensing that any pushing on his part would cause her to close up and start in on how she was just fine and he didn’t need to worry. But Mal hadn’t been herself lately. Actually, she hadn’t been herself in a while. She came in early, stayed late and generally ran her department with skill and confidence, but the smile she used to share so easily was gone and her satisfaction with life seemed diminished. And he was pretty sure this thing had something to do with it.
“I’m going to see Travis.” She still didn’t look at him.
&nbs
p; Donovan kept his expression neutral. “I wasn’t sure you were still together.” He hadn’t asked anything specific about his little sister’s love life after the first time, when she’d bitten off his head and reminded him to stay out of her personal business. But the sapphire ring hadn’t reappeared and she never mentioned Travis’s name. “So, you’re going to Aruba?”
“Yes.” She didn’t offer any more information on the matter and Donovan didn’t ask for details. He’d been fortunate enough to end all his relationships amicably and with no lingering feelings, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize what his sister was going through would be hard. She and Travis had been together more than five years. They’d met in university and he’d been a fixture at their family gatherings ever since.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Finally, she turned her gaze toward him. “Yes—go to the food-and-wine festival.” Mal tapped her finger on the seat. “Unless you think we should send Owen. He does love that kind of thing.”
“No.” Donovan cut that thought short before it could take root. “Terrible idea.” His gut churned at the thought of Julia relying on his brother instead of him.
“Donovan.” Mal sounded disappointed, as if he was the one doing something wrong. “Owen wants to be more involved.”
“I know, but this is the wrong situation.” It wasn’t just the restaurant and Julia on the line; it was Donovan’s reputation, as well. And while Owen had certainly been showing initiative and growth, Donovan wasn’t ready to put his personal reputation in his brother’s hands. “I’ll go.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JULIA STOOD IN the kitchen of La Petite Bouchée stirring the sauce in the pan in front of her. A variation on hollandaise, one of the master sauces in French cooking, and incredibly tasty. Even in her currently tense state, she knew that she had a winner. Too bad she had no one to share it with.
She’d sent the staff off an hour ago, with instructions to enjoy their time off since the restaurant was now officially closed for renovations. The construction team would be in first thing tomorrow morning to start tearing down and then building up. Julia and Sasha had already rescued the pictures from the wall, stowing them in Julia’s office until they could be put back up.
Part of her was excited to see what the space would look like, but another part of her was still worried. Worried that the changes would ruin the classic style she wanted to keep, worried that the space would no longer remind her of her mother. She sighed. But Donovan had been right when he’d said things needed to change. She knew that. And she was trying to embrace it, or, at least, not run screaming from it.
Julia pushed the distracting thoughts out of her mind. She’d stayed behind not to mourn the coming changes but to work on her menu for the Whistler food festival. In a week and a half, she and some of her staff would be on their way to what was already being touted as a foodie must-see. And Donovan.
She swallowed. Despite their near kiss in his boardroom a few days earlier, he hadn’t made another move. He’d continued to show up for dinner most nights and stayed after closing to recap the night with her, but there had been no lean-in and no brush of lips across her skin. She wasn’t sure how she felt about any of it.
She liked him and liked spending time with him. But this was as far as she could go. At least for now. She stirred the sauce again, trying to drown out her conflicting thoughts. That she was already spending lots of time with Donovan and that getting involved wouldn’t change anything. That she should stop wasting the free time she had by flirting with him and instead should concentrate on building a better business plan and ensuring her investors were all on the same page.
She should be focusing on her new menu. The one she was responsible for creating and perfecting. The reason she was standing over the stove now. Julia had no intention of doing anything too drastic. Instead, she envisioned a menu of updated classic French cuisine. Small changes that wouldn’t scare away traditionalists but would encourage those looking for something different to try.
But late at night, lying in the emptiness of her bed, she didn’t think about the menu or about the new look La Petite Bouchée would have. She thought about Donovan Ford.
She stirred the sauce faster, keeping it from congealing into clumps while it reduced. Julia might have been able to let it all go, to move on and think only about the restaurant, if she’d been able to wipe that kiss from her memory. That heart-stopping, leg-weakening kiss that she also thought about when she was alone in her empty bed.
Sasha thought she should just sleep with him and get it out of her system. Which Julia wasn’t going to think about because it did little to help her already-tender stomach or case of rollicking nerves.
She wished her mom were here. Suzanne would have a strong opinion on the matter. Not just on the food—which protein was best suited, whether or not the sauce needed more pepper, if she should serve a traditional accompaniment like asparagus or something less common like a green papaya salad—but on any potential relationship with Donovan, as well.
As a woman in the industry at a time when they were badly outnumbered, Suzanne had managed to navigate the dangerous waters with style and panache. Julia wished she’d asked her more about that. It had never seemed necessary. As the industry shifted and more and more women turned to cooking as a profession, as well as running and owning their own restaurants, Julia had assumed the path would be relatively straightforward. And it would have been had Donovan Ford not appeared to put a wrinkle in things.
But her mother wasn’t around to ask and never would be again. It was up to Julia to choose her own path.
She wished she’d let Sasha stay when she’d offered. Instead, she’d shooed her best friend out, not wanting Sasha to cancel her plans just so Julia wouldn’t be lonely. And she wasn’t lonely. Even if the deserted state of her kitchen indicated otherwise, she was just alone.
It was just that some nights it felt like the same thing.
Julia shook her head, dislodging the thoughts and the moroseness that came with them. She didn’t need to fix her entire life tonight. She tasted the sauce, then drizzled some on the piece of salmon and chicken she’d cooked to test it with. It worked for both, though the salmon tasted better when she added a few more drops of lemon.
Satisfied, she cleaned her dishes. Tomorrow, she could try again. Maybe Donovan would finally show up for dinner and she could ask his opinion.
She tossed her chef jacket into the linens hamper and switched her comfy pants and sneakers for jeans and red flats and headed outside. When her phone rang, she considered ignoring it. She didn’t feel like talking, but she didn’t feel like going home to stare up at her bedroom ceiling, either.
“Hello?”
“Don’t tell me you’re still at the restaurant.” Sasha’s voice was a bit fuzzy, partially drowned out by the noise of the bar she was at.
“Just leaving,” Julia admitted. She made sure the door was locked behind her and then started the trek toward the bus stop and home.
“Excellent—then I don’t have to come over there and pry you away from the stove. Come out.”
“Sasha.” Julia started to decline, then paused. Hadn’t she just been thinking that there was nothing for her at home but another lonely night of staring at the ceiling? And what was the point of that? Clearly, it wasn’t getting her anywhere. And maybe a night out would get her mind off her current situation. “Where are you?”
“Elephants.”
Julia jerked. And maybe a night out would just highlight her conflicted life. Yeah, suddenly studying the ceiling sounded excellent. “You know, I’m pretty tired.”
“Your man’s not here.”
“I never should have told you about that kiss.”
“Should have, could have, would have.” Sasha laughed and the sound lifted Julia’s mood. “Come out.”
Julia sighed. She was tired and it had been a long, draining night. Even closing the restaurant down temporarily felt like
saying goodbye.
“Don’t make me come to your apartment and drag you out.” Julia knew she would, too. Sasha had done it before. Right after Suzanne’s funeral, when it had taken all the energy Julia had just to get out of bed and get herself to the kitchen.
Those had been dark days, full of pain and regret, and Sasha had pulled her through. Showing up at her apartment, forcing Julia to get into the shower, styling her hair and doing her makeup, even choosing her clothes and then making her come out for the night because it would be good for her. And Julia had to admit that Sasha had been right.
Those nights out had done a lot to improve her mental state and help her deal with her grief. Not that this was the same thing at all. She wasn’t grieving Donovan or what might have been. There was hardly anything to grieve, even if her body did sometimes ache for his touch.
“Fine. I’ll see you in ten.”
It took less time than that since she got lucky, spotting a cab just after hanging up and making every green light on the drive there. Julia’s heart thumped as she paid the driver and climbed out the back door.
The bar was full. Julia could see the mass of bodies through the window, and when she opened the door, she was met with a wave of sound and heat. She tugged at the sleeve of her wraparound sweater, glad that she’d been wearing something going-out appropriate, as she wound her way through the crowd and into the heart of the bar.
She squinted but finally spotted Sasha and some other people sitting in a booth by the back corner. She wound her way through the tables, her years of working in the industry allowing her to avoid potential spills and bumps easily.
Sasha greeted her with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek as though it had been years instead of hours since they’d last seen each other. Her green eyes were bright with excitement as she wagged them toward the end of the table and then whispered in Julia’s ear, “What do you think of the blond? I want to take him home tonight.”
Tempting Donovan Ford Page 10
