Maybe We Will (Silver Harbor)

by Melissa Foster

  Abby moved to the edge of her seat. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

  “This isn’t about sides, babe. This is business, and if you’re going to be a business owner, you need to see it from all angles.”

  “Is that what you’re doing? It’s like you flicked a switch, and suddenly you’re as curt and business-minded as Deirdra.”

  He cracked a smile. “I do have my business hat on. I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into and that you’re protected, but I apologize if I sound harsh. I don’t mean to. But I would hate to see something come between you and your sisters, especially since you and Cait are beginning to form a friendship.”

  “I thought there was no room for emotions in business.”

  “There’s not, but the part of me that cares about you doesn’t turn off when I have my business hat on.”

  She flopped back in her chair and sighed. “I love that. But I hate this.”

  He scooted closer and put his hands around her waist, pulling her to the edge of her seat again. “I have a few suggestions.”

  “Are they as sucky as all the stuff you just told me?”

  “I have a great sucky suggestion,” he said seductively.

  She smiled despite the cloud now hovering over the Bistro.

  “We’ll table that particular suggestion until you’re in a better mood,” he said.

  “Good choice.”

  “I ran the numbers, and I estimate you’ll need roughly two hundred thousand to make this place what you envision.”

  Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Two hundred thousand?”

  “It’s not that big a number, and you’ve got forty-five, so you need about another hundred and fifty.”

  “Thousand,” she said incredulously.

  “Yes. I have a few bucks in the bank I can invest to help you out.”

  “A few bucks? This is more than a few bucks, Aiden, and you don’t mix business and pleasure, remember? I’m not taking your money. Can you imagine what that would be like? I’d be forever in your debt.”

  A slow grin lifted his lips. “I do have creative repayment options.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No. I need to do this on my own, and we only just met. I could be a crazy woman who will drop everything and abscond with your money.”

  He chuckled and held up his hands. “Okay, have it your way. In that case, I think you should have your attorney approach the investor who wanted to purchase the property and pitch an angel investor deal instead.”

  “Maybe your calculations are wrong.”

  “They’re not. It sounds like a big number, but do you want this place to take off? Or do you want to run it hand-to-mouth?”

  “I want it to be a success, but that’s way too much debt to take on.”

  “It takes money to make money, babe.”

  “Yeah, but that’s huge money. I can’t do that. It’s too much. What if I started smaller? I could set up ten or fifteen tables and see how it goes the first year?”

  “That would lower your overhead, but it would also lower your income, and you’d still need two months of operating expenses up front. We’d have to run the numbers, but I’m not sure it would reduce your overhead significantly enough to make the kind of difference you’re looking for. And for Pete’s sake, Abs, whatever you do, don’t slight yourself. Make sure you hire another cook or two so you can take a break. I assume you’ll want to enjoy living here again and have a real life, which it sounds like you missed out on back in the city.”

  “Ohmygod, Aiden. What was I thinking? A hundred and fifty thousand?” She felt sick. “Maybe Deirdra was right and this place is a money pit.”

  “In the grand scheme of things, it’s not that much money to make your dreams come true.”

  “Maybe not to you since you deal with finances every day. But it is to me. I don’t even know how angel investors work. Do they get to tell me how to run the business?”

  “No. That’s why I said an AI instead of a VC.”

  “VC?”

  “Venture capitalist. Angel investors are typically silent partners, but VCs aren’t. Financially they both work the same. They both take a percentage of interest in the company, and they usually take all of the profits until the initial investment is returned, and then they take an ongoing percentage.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “What’s the use if I’m giving up my profit?”

  “You wouldn’t give up all of your profits forever. It comes down to if you want this business and how you want to run it.”

  “I definitely want it.”

  “Okay, well, if you go the angel investor route, you can define the terms and pitch a deal you can live with. I can help you with that—negotiate down the percentage and try to make sure you keep a percentage of the profits while they’re earning back their investment. With the right investor, there are all sorts of ways to broker a deal like this.”

  “I don’t know. It’s all overwhelming. I need to think about it and talk to Deirdra and Cait. This is their business, too, and we’re talking about a lot of money and a commitment that would last as long as we own the restaurant.”

  “Yes, but better to do it right than to get started and lose your pants.”

  Despite her mind going in a million directions she didn’t want to think about, she couldn’t suppress her smile as she said, “Losing my pants sounds like a heck of a lot more fun.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ABBY LAY IN bed staring at the ceiling Thursday morning, dissecting an idea for the Bistro that had been percolating all night. She and Aiden had spent the last few days cleaning the Bistro and endless hours going over budgets, forecasts, and all of the options for obtaining the money ad nauseam. She’d even gone online and researched restaurant expenditures, and everything Aiden said was right on the money. But any way she looked at it, the amount of additional capital she needed felt like an elephant sitting on her chest. Her mind was spinning with the complexity of the situation. They’d spent the last few nights cooking dinner together, listening to music, and getting to know each other better. Two nights ago they’d gone for a ride along the coast, and last night they’d bundled up and gone for a romantic walk to try to clear her head. She enjoyed every minute they were together, but the only time she’d been able to stop thinking about financing for the Bistro was late at night, when they’d tumble into bed and get lost in each other’s arms, making love until neither one could think at all. If only we could do that every time my mind went crazy, she mused.

  Aiden rolled onto his side and pulled her against his naked body, kissing her softly, stirring a flurry of anticipation inside her. She’d never found sex very exciting, but with Aiden everything was different and thrilling, from their talks and romantic walks to his kisses, dirty promises, and the fulfillment of each and every one of those delicious promises.

  “Did you get any sleep?” he asked, running his hand down her back.

  “I don’t know, a little maybe. But I have an idea, and I think it’s a good one.”

  He gave her butt a squeeze and said, “I have a good idea, too.”

  She felt him getting hard. She loved how much he wanted her and debated putting her idea on hold. He kissed her jaw, nipped at her neck, and her thoughts started to blur. She forced herself to say, “Wait, Aid. Your idea will make me forget mine, so maybe I should go first.”

  “Fair enough. As long as I don’t have to let you go.”

  “Sounds like a win-win for me.” But his kisses turned to sucking on her neck, and her whole body ignited. “Wait, wait, wait.” She leaned back far enough to see his wolfish grin. “You can’t do that. It’s too hard for me to concentrate.”

  “I’ll have to remember that the next time you’re putting me in my place. What’s your idea, beautiful? Whatever it is, I bet it’s not nearly as fun as mine.”

  “I don’t know about that. You seemed to get off on spreadsheets yesterday.”

  When she was studying the spr
eadsheets in the office of the Bistro yesterday afternoon, trying to figure out another way to approach the restaurant, Aiden had come up behind her and distracted her with kisses on the back of her neck. Kisses had led to caresses and titillating taunts that had her begging for more. He’d guided her hands to the edge of the desk, stripped her pants down, and made love to her from behind right there in the office, hitting that secret spot inside her as if he were using a heat-guided missile, and oh, how she’d loved it!

  “No, babe. I got off on you.”

  Great. Now she was thinking about him taking her from behind. Her body thrummed with desire. He must have sensed it because his hand moved down her butt to between her legs.

  He brushed his lips over hers and said, “Seems like you get off on me, too.”

  “Aiden,” she said breathily. “Just give me three minutes to tell you my idea before I forget. Then you can have me.” The grin that earned made her want to forgo the next three minutes, but this was too important. “I think I know how to cut down on overhead costs. What I loved about the Bistro was the feel of the place. I think I can put my own twist on that without losing anything. Let’s say we’re open from twelve to ten to serve lunch and dinner, but instead of sit-down lunches, we run window orders only. It would be easy to put an ordering window on the side of the building for walk-ups, and we can serve a lot more people per hour at a walk-up window than in a sit-down restaurant, where people linger and chat. During the summers, the beach is packed. I bet we could serve three times as many people an hour with enough staff. More if the lunch menu is standard beach fare—burgers, fries, fish tacos, shrimp quesadillas, and something that’s easy but specifically made for our customers. Customers can still eat at the tables in the restaurant and enjoy the environment, or they can eat on the patio, or take it to go. But they’d clear their own tables and throw away the trash, alleviating the need for waiters and full-time bussers. Then we can close from four to five to clean the floor, wipe the tables, and reopen for sit-down dinners with more elaborate meals. For the first season, I’d start with only twelve to fifteen tables for dinner instead of twenty-five. That way we’ll only need a few waitresses, bussers, and kitchen help. Dinners would sell for around twenty-five bucks a plate, plus we can serve liquor, which has a high profit margin. I was thinking about the menu, too. I could make special dishes on certain nights, Parisian fare, using my dad’s recipes, and charge more for them. I have to run the numbers, but I think I could get away with much less capital doing it this way. What do you think?”

  He looked awestruck, his brow furrowed, jaw slack, eyes sharp. “It sounds brilliant and makes a lot of sense for a beachfront restaurant. But based on the information I’ve gleaned about this area, I think you’ll probably see far more people on an hourly basis for lunch than you anticipate, which could mean needing more kitchen staff. But that’s a good thing, as long as you won’t lose the aspects of the restaurant that you were so excited about. Those magical elements you were hoping to bring back to life.”

  “I love that you remembered that. I won’t lose them. I can still decorate with the same romantic, bohemian vibe, visit with customers like my dad did during the dinner hours, and create a warm, friendly environment but without as much overhead. It’s the best of both worlds. A new twist on an old type of magic. I was also mulling over what you said about making sure I still had time to enjoy life and not work myself to death, and I appreciate you bringing that up. I’ll want to be at the restaurant most of the time, at least the first season or two, but I also want to enjoy living on the island again and spending time with friends, so I’ll definitely need another chef.”

  “Good. That’s important, Abby. You have a zest for life, and it would be a shame to miss out on that.”

  She lowered her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t sound clingy, and said, “Last night you said you’d come back to visit after you leave the island. Did you mean that? Assuming we’re still together?”

  “Absolutely.” He kissed her and said, “I’ve got to come back and see my bike.”

  “And pay your storage fee,” she said, and he kissed her again. “I want to have time to spend with you when you visit.”

  “Abigail de Messiéres, are you putting expectations on me?”

  “No. I don’t mean it like—”

  Her words were lost to the hard press of his lips.

  “I’m kidding, Abs. Of course I want to spend time with you, but this is your business, and despite the man I am while I’m here on vacation, I really am a workaholic. You need to know that I will understand if you have to work every day. You should do whatever you want or need to do, and we’ll figure the rest out.”

  “I appreciate that. But I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and if we keep seeing each other after you leave the island, I’ll have plenty of time to work in between visits. I want to run the numbers and see what the bottom line is.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Get that sexy ass out of bed.” He gave her a chaste kiss and swatted her butt. “But you’d better put panties and a shirt on, because right now the only number I’m thinking about is sixty-nine.”

  She threw off the covers and scrambled on top of him. “My numbers can wait.”

  Much later that morning, after pleasuring each other senseless and getting ready for the day, they ran the numbers for several scenarios and sat at the kitchen table hammering out a plan in which she would need only an additional seventy-five thousand dollars of capital.

  “Do you feel better about this?” Aiden asked.

  “Yes. This feels much more manageable. It’s also terrifying, but as you said, it’s an investment in my future and in making my dreams come true.” She was still nervous, but mostly because she still had to run the idea of changing the restaurant into a window service during the day and a sit-down restaurant at night by her sisters. She didn’t know what she would do if they weren’t on board with the idea, but she’d deal with that when and if the time came. She also wanted to see Shelley and discuss the ins and outs of what she and the others had done for their family, but first things first.

  Aiden pulled up a word processing program on his laptop and said, “Okay, let’s get started on defining a pitch for the angel investor.”

  “Wait. I don’t want to go the investor route. I don’t think it’s smart to give away profits to a company I don’t have any connection to. It feels wrong. I want to get a home equity loan and use that.”

  “Abs, as a businessman I would never support an endeavor that I thought would fail. When I said I believed in you, I meant it, and I still do. So when I say this, know I’m saying it with my personal hat on.” His tone was so serious, it made her uneasy. “This is the guy who takes up space in your bed speaking, not the finance guy.”

  In an effort to ease her nerves, she went for levity. “That’s a very possessive designation.”

  “With you I’m a possessive guy.” He took her hand, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “Yeah, you are. You take up space in my shower, too.”

  His grin broke free. “Careful, sweetheart, or we’ll monopolize this table next.”

  “That sounds like a lot more fun than whatever you were going to say a second ago.”

  He scooted closer, holding her gaze and her hand as he said, “Babe, this house means the world to you. I see the way your shoulders relax when you walk in the door. Last night after our walk, when we were standing at the edge of the property, you were talking about gardening with your mom and how your dad used to tell stories about when he first came to the island. You said he knew this was the house for his family the first time he saw it, and I could hear how much it means to you. This house is the very fabric of the family you cherish. I will stand back and support whatever you decide, and Lord knows it’s not my business, but if you take out a home equity loan and something goes awry, you risk losing both the Bistro and the house. Please think this through before you make that decision. I would hate to see
you make a mistake that can’t be undone.”

  She slid her hand free and put it over her stomach, nauseous at the thought of losing everything. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about since yesterday. If I screw up, or something happens and this goes south, I’ll have enough to deal with from disappointing myself and my sisters. I will put enough pressure on myself to try to keep that from happening. I don’t need the additional pressure of some investor breathing down my back, waiting for me to fail.”

  His jaw tightened. “That’s not what investors do.”

  “Come on, Aiden. You’re a finance guy. You must know they’re sharks, investing with the hopes that companies will fail so they can take over.”

  “That’s not how investors work, Abby.” He squared his shoulders and said, “Not good ones, anyway. They help companies become even more profitable. If they do their job right, both parties come out on top.”

  “Yeah. I know that’s what’s supposed to happen. But it feels like they’re sharks with giant teeth waiting for the little fish to slow down so they can gobble them up.”

  “Abby—”

  “I’m sorry,” she said sharply. “I know that sounds bad. But if this doesn’t work, I’d rather lose it all to a local bank than to some investor I don’t know, especially when it didn’t feel right to go that route in the first place.”

  He drew in a deep breath, his eyes contemplative. “Then reconsider my offer. Let me invest. Let me help you.”

  “No way. If I’m not taking my own sister’s savings, there’s no way I’d ever take yours.”

  His expression softened, and he said, “Abby, I know what it feels like to leave childhood memories behind. Even though the memories were too much for me to stay in West Virginia, selling that house was the hardest thing I’d ever done at that point in my life. I’m trying to protect the things that mean the most to you.”

  He was fighting so hard to help her, a lump formed in her throat, but she had to follow her gut instincts. “I appreciate that, but I’ve made up my mind. Now I have to get my sisters on board.”