He didn’t love the restaurant the way she did. Guy had always gone his own way. She was the one with one foot in the past, one in the present. She was the one who loved this old place for what it was and what it had been as well as for what it could be. She didn’t fault Guy for the way he felt, but right now she was a little less than tolerant.
Because there were only the old-timers around to bear witness to what she did, Demi whacked her brother upside his head with the heel of her hand the way she used to do when they were kids. “Yes, it’s a slice of heaven, and don’t you forget it.”
Guy swallowed a groan. “You’ve got to do something about that winsome way of yours,” he told her, rubbing his head. The man who finally wound up with his sister was going to have to have a hard head if he hoped to survive, Guy thought.
Theodore Tripopulous squinted, barely making out the forms of his grandchildren. He didn’t have to see. Their outlines were as familiar to him as the palms of his own hands. A voice made smooth by years of anisette warned, “Demetria, Augustus, not in front of the customers.”
Demi glanced toward the last booth, her chin lifted in defiance. “What customers? There’s only family.”
Theo shook his snow-white head and sighed as he looked at Alex across the chess board. “Fifty years younger than me and I am the one with the good vision.”
Then, to emphasize his point, he removed the pipe that was as much a part of him as his mouth was and pointed with the tip toward the entrance. He looked back down at the board, dismissing everything else but the move that he had yet to make.
Demi turned and saw a well-dressed, dark-haired man standing just within the entrance. Oh, great, and here she was, behaving like a shrew. Slanting an annoyed look at Guy for forcing her to hit him and embarrass herself, Demi squared her small shoulders.
Instantly, right before his eyes, the girl she’d been was gone, transforming into the hostess of Aphrodite, a family-styled restaurant that prided itself on its fine, old-world Greek cuisine. It was a little like watching a magic act, Guy mused.
She didn’t care to be his source of amusement. “Don’t you have someone to arrest or something?” she whispered as she passed her brother.
He grinned. “I’ll be on my way as soon as I talk to Theo. You go do your thing.” Turning his back on her, Guy made his way to his grandfather’s booth. The scent of anisette and cherry wood guided him.
Her thing. Leave it to Guy to trivialize the maintenance of a family tradition, making it sound like nothing more than mundane habit. She dearly loved him, but there were times she wanted to double up her fists and pummel him.
Like now.
Her mood wasn’t his fault, she reminded herself. It was the fault of that letter. She’d only just now had the opportunity to read it, even though, by its postmark, it had arrived over two weeks ago. Quarterly tax time had come breathing down her neck and she’d let everything else slide while she went over the books. Demi still did the books herself. The idea of letting someone else do it was tempting, but that would mean paying someone else and right now that was out of the question.
She should have buried the damn letter instead of reading it.
Why was she letting it get to her? Just because Winfield, Inc., was an organization that was slowly eating up some of the other independent restaurants in the area didn’t mean they were going to do the same with hers. It was just that…
Just that she was afraid, she thought. Afraid of messing up, of losing the business. Of losing something that meant so. much to her family.
Enough. There was a paying customer to seat and a hundred things that needed her attention. She’d wasted enough time on the letter, its implication and the sharks who had sent it.
“Hello. Welcome to Aphrodite.” With an easy sweep of her hand, she picked up the dark green menu from the hostess desk, her fingers brushing along the raised gold letters. “I’m your hostess. Do you have any preferences as to seating?” She smiled at the man and inclined her head toward the interior of the restaurant. “As you can see, you’re in luck. You can have your choice of several very nice locations.”
The woman had a voice like dark whiskey subtly poured over ice in a very tall glass. It went right through a man, straight to his gut. Jared Panetta returned the smile he found beguiling.
“Anyplace is fine.”
“Ah, an easy man.” Her eyes bid him welcome, as did the gentle sway of her hips as she turned to lead him to a table. “My mother always said to beware of an easy man.”
Rather than walk behind her and enjoy the view, Jared stayed abreast. He regarded her profile and calculated just how long it would take him to make her come around. “Oh, and why is that?”
“They get you off your guard.” Stopping at a table that was centrally located, Demi set the menu down in front of a place setting. “Here you are—our finest table.” She gestured around for his benefit. “A view of the entire restaurant.”
He slid into the chair. The only view that looked interesting from where he sat was standing right in front of him. But he was here on business, so he surveyed the area, taking in its atmosphere.
It could do with some work, he decided. But all in all, it would be a fine addition to the chain.
Jared raised his eyes to the woman before him. “So I see.” A loud exclamation from the rear drew his attention. “What’s going on back there?”
One of the men had finally made a move. From the sound of it, the move had belonged to Theo. Alex was not happy about it. Her mouth curved fondly. Alex hated losing. “Oh, that’s just Theo and Alex.”
Jared leaned forward to get a better view. “It looks like…they’re playing chess?” He looked at her questioningly.
She laughed at the confused expression on his face. But the sound was so friendly, he couldn’t find himself taking offense.
“‘Playing’ is a generous way to put it. Actually, a more accurate description would be to say that they’re staring at chess pieces. You just happened in when one of them made a move.” There was pleasure in her eyes as she regarded the two. “This is tantamount to an historic moment.”
He still didn’t understand. “But I thought this was a restaurant.”
Because she was so accustomed to having the chess game in progress, Demi didn’t immediately see the reason for his confusion. “It is.”
Jared opened the menu and perused both sides. “Chess pieces on the menu?”
Demi glanced around. The other handful of customers were all regulars, all given to lingering over their coffee or, in Mr. Savalas’s case, his anisette. There was no hurry and no other customer for her to tend to. So, because the customer asked, she gave him an abbreviated history of the restaurant.
“For them,” she acknowledged. “Theo’s my grandfather. He started Aphrodite. In the afternoon, when business was slow, he and Alex would play a little chess. Just because he retired didn’t mean he had to give up his pleasures. Theo is very big on tradition.” She’d always admired that about him. To her, it was the glue that kept things together when times were rough. “So am I,” she added after a beat.
Jared set down the menu and leaned back in his chair, going over the information that had been given to him as he studied her face. The photograph he’d been supplied with must have been taken by an imbecile who didn’t know his way around a camera. The photograph didn’t begin to do her justice. “Then you’re the owner?”
As if anyone could actually own a tradition. She extended her hand to him. “Demetria Tripopulous, at your service. But I’m not really the owner.”
His hand holding hers, Jared stared at her. He seriously doubted he’d been misinformed. “I don’t understand.”
She smiled, pride getting the better of her. “The restaurant owns me. I’m more of the keeper of the flame, so to speak.” Like an Olympic torch, overseeing the restaurant had been passed to her. But the imprint of other hands on the torch was ever-present.
But he didn’t want to hear abo
ut that, she thought. Demi nodded at the menu, getting back to business.. “So, what will it be?”
“You’re the waitress, too?” The report on his desk said that business had fallen off a little of late. Had that been an understatement? Just how bad was business when a third-generation owner had to double as a hostess and waitress?
Since her father had first tied an apron around her middle when she was ten, Demi had worked every position there was within Aphrodite, including scrubwoman. Her early training came in handy.
“Today, I’m almost everything. One of the waitresses called in sick, the other is on her break.” And taking much too long, she thought. But then, she was almost positive she’d seen Lena’s fiancé sneak in around back just as she was going out. Another ten minutes wouldn’t kill her. After that, she would go out to get Lena. “It’s slow this time of day.”
There was no resentment in her voice at having to wait tables. He found that interesting. “Are you also the cook?”
The question was asked so engagingly, Demi forgot that she was coaxing his order out of him.
“On occasion. Other times, Theo does the honors.” Of all of them, he was the best, she thought It was his compliments she strove for and held dearest when they finally came. “He likes to keep his hand in. Then there’s my mother, my grandmother and my cousin George. He’s the one we pay to do it.”
Demi abruptly stopped, studying the man. Though she was friendly, she didn’t usually spend this much time talking to a customer, especially not before an order was placed. There was a certain rhythm she liked to follow with her customers, a rhythm that had been temporarily lost amid his questions. Despite his gregarious manner, there was an edgy air about him, like someone who had just recently stopped running in order to catch his breath before he resumed a race.
She indicated the menu with her eyes. “You ask a lot of questions for a man who hasn’t ordered yet.”
To oblige her, he opened the menu again. His tastes ran to meat and potatoes, which was ironic, given his line of work. “What’s good today?”
“Everything.”
He looked up at her dubiously. “Really?”
She gave him an honest answer. “If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be on the menu.”
He sincerely doubted that. Every restaurant he’d ever had anything to do with always had hits and misses. It was only natural.
“Well,” he admitted, allowing her the lie, “I’m not really very hungry.” He hadn’t come to eat, but rather to look the place over and observe. Setting the menu down, he folded his hands and looked at Demi. “How about some coffee and dessert?”
If he wasn’t hungry, what was he doing in the restaurant to begin with? He wasn’t like the regulars, who came to talk and nibble, or, in Alex’s case, to play chess and reminisce. Unlike other customers, the regulars came rain or shine, because this was their home away from home. They were people she’d come to know and, in some cases, love as she was growing up above the restaurant. People her grandparents and then her parents counted among their friends. It was no secret that during the years after the Second World War, when times were difficult, Theodore Tripopulous could always be counted on to feed your pinched belly and give you a hot cup of coffee that not only put you back on your feet but had you moving quickly, as well.
It was the sort of reputation Demi took pride in. He was the kind of man she was proud to be directly related to.
That was why disappointing him was something she lived in fear of. The restaurant represented his life’s accomplishments.
Demi regarded the man at the table, wondering what had prompted him to come. “What kind of dessert would you like?”
Jared left the selection up to her. “Why don’t you surprise me?”
Surprises—the man wanted surprises. She walked away, bemused and shaking her head.
Demi returned almost immediately, a demitasse cup of coffee in one hand, and in the other, a plate with the same baklava that her brother had driven three miles out of his way to get. She set both down in front of the customer, then stood back and waited for him to take his first taste.
Jared eyed the delicate china cup. Tiny pink roses were painted on it and along the rim of the saucer. Hand painted, if he wasn’t mistaken. There was a certain charm to it, he allowed. But charm only went so far, and he was thinking profit. He knew that the restaurant had an excellent reputation. He’d come to see if it was merited.
“Kind of a small cup, isn’t it?” His hand felt almost clumsy as he picked it up.
She could tell what he was thinking: there wasn’t enough. The cup held only half the amount found in a regular one. “It’s not the size, but the taste,” Demi assured him.
He put it to the test, taking a sip that all but depleted the contents. Jared’s eyes were watering by the time he set the cup down again. He reached for the water glass. The water did little to cut the thickness of the liquid he’d swallowed.
Jared looked down at the cup. “What’s in that?”
She couldn’t suppress her grin. “Initially, espresso. The rest is a family secret.”
After a moment, when the first impression had time to settle, Jared found himself thinking that the taste was unique. Definitely one that could be acquired.
He wondered if that was true of everything here. Jared eyed the baklava. “Should I be braced?”
She glanced back and saw that her brother was still here and watching the customer with amusement. “Only for extreme pleasure. Go ahead.” She gestured toward the plate. “No one’s complained yet.”
That might be because their throats were paralyzed by the coffee, Jared thought, gamely biting into the cylindrical tube. Tiny golden crumbs as light as snowflakes drizzled down from his lips as they closed over the pastry.
He raised an eyebrow in obvious appreciation. “And this is—?”
Baklava was nothing new. But the way she prepared it, right down to the almost translucent phyllo wrapped around the confection, was. “Also a family secret.”
Though he was tempted to finish the dessert in another bite, Jared set it down on the plate. Enjoying a new taste sensation was not why he had been sent here.
“Ms. Tripopulous,” Jared sighed, reaching into his pocket, “I’d like to make you an offer I feel you won’t be able to refuse.” He placed on the table a copy of the letter the corporation had sent her two weeks ago.
The satisfied smile faded from Demi’s lips.
2
“You’re with Winfield?”
So, she had read the letter, Jared thought. He didn’t miss the steely tone that had entered her voice, nor the very solemn look that had taken over her exotic features. She was probably preparing to play cagey. He was up for that. It was the nature of the game. Jared inclined his head.
“Yes.”
Demi said nothing. Her only response was to dramatically remove from his table the plate with the half-eaten dessert. Taking it, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Jared had no way of knowing that she was too angry to speak, but the others in the restaurant did. They settled in to watch the fireworks.
He sat there a moment, a little stunned at her abruptness, before leaping to his feet. Skirting around an amused patron who inconveniently chose that time to rise and get in his way, Jared was quick to catch up to Demi before she made it into the kitchen. Rather than follow, he moved to block her path.
“Wait a minute, we need to talk.”
Since he was standing directly in front of her, she stopped. For the moment. “No, we don’t. You need to leave.”
Interpreting her body language, Jared automatically took hold of her wrist to keep her from disappearing behind the swinging door.
“You don’t understand, Ms. Tripopulous. I’m prepared to give you a very lucrative offer.”
Jack Winfield had authorized upping the ante if Jared felt the owner was going to be stubborn about the sale. In Jared’s studied opinion, it was definitely shaping up that way.
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br /> Winfield wanted this restaurant, with its unique reputation and its distinctive cuisine, under his expanding umbrella of restaurants. Rather than a single theme, he was after quality and variety. Whatever the appetite, there was a Winfield restaurant to fit the bill, ready and willing to serve. By the end of the decade, Winfield was determined to make his name synonymous with dining out in Orange County.
Demi stood stone still, the fire in her eyes so hot, Jared was surprised he didn’t just burst into flame where he stood.
Definitely stubborn, he decided.
The quiet hum of voices in the room that she was accustomed to had ceased. Except for the soft, piped-in music, the restaurant had fallen completely silent. Everyone’s attention was focused on the scene taking place in front of the kitchen door.
She was barely aware of the others. Only of the annoying man blocking her way.
“No, you don’t understand, Mr. Making-you-an-offer-you-can’t-refuse. The answer is no—a resounding, firm, unequivocal no.” She glared at the fingers wrapped around her wrist. “And, if you’re not prepared to lose that hand, I suggest you take it off my wrist. Now.”
His hand went up immediately, not in surrender but in acquiescence. Gauging her response, he regrouped. Winfield hadn’t sent him just to feel her out. He had a specific agenda. Jared was good at what he did and what he did now was to dig in.
Mildly aware of the stares he was garnering, he pursued Demi and the matter at hand. “You haven’t even heard the offer.”
She gritted her teeth. The imbecile in the expensive, well-cut suit knew his employer had sent a letter. “I’ve read the offer.”
“This is a new one. A…shall I say, more generous one.” He watched her face, waiting for the storm clouds to shift.
Typical. He thought it was about money, she thought contemptuously. People who worked for corporations that bought out people’s dreams always thought it was about money.
“I don’t want to hear that offer,” Demi ground out evenly.
There were too many witnesses around for her to hit him, although she sorely wished she could. Who the hell did he think he was, coming here and presuming that he could just toss her a sum of money in exchange for what she’d worked for, what her family had worked for, all these years?
The Offer She Couldn't Refuse Page 2
