by S. A. Wolfe
“So, what if I got that, too? I have a lot of restaurant experience, and the organic farm-to-table dining is profitable. And I know some people with money. Kind of.”
“You’re talking about running three businesses in one location. Three of the hardest businesses to operate. An inn, a restaurant, and a farm, of all things. A farm.” I laugh.
“Stop laughing.” She takes my remaining fries and eats them, chomping like she’s still hungry.
“I don’t want to stomp on your dream. It’s a big one.”
“But you do think it’s interesting, right? You can see how it would be appealing to city people who want to get away and want something smaller than the Mohonk resort. And local people would like to have another dining experience option. Something very different than Bonnie’s diner or Swill. Right?”
“I see the appeal. It’s a great idea. In fact, Dan Barber has something similar at Stone Hill Farm. Did you think of that? And he’s something of a celebrity in this business, so you have to consider that. Not to mention all the other farm-to-table restaurants in the other towns.”
“This would be different than Stone Hill, and we’re far enough away that we can serve people the other places can’t accommodate. Everyone tells me how dense the Hudson Valley is, and it’s ripe for business. I think there’s room for all of us who want to have a restaurant.”
I like her spunk and how she doesn’t give up or let a jerk like me dissuade her.
“Fair enough. How did you come up with this idea?”
“Pickwick has been abandoned and on the market for years. Most people don’t want to buy a rundown estate with forty acres of farmland. Before we moved to Hera, my dad drove us here to see the countryside. It was a day visit, and we happened to stumble upon this place. So we stopped and had a picnic, like today. We thought of all the ways we could fix this house up. My father had outrageous, fun ideas, and my mother and sister laughed along, but it really made me hopeful that someday we would be able to have a family business.
“When we did move to Hera, though, things were already pretty bad between my parents. I was the only one who thought about Pickwick. I was the only one fantasizing about a beautiful inn where we could live, and where my mother and I could cook for guests. I didn’t realize when my dad brought us here all those years ago that he was just getting my hopes up and blowing smoke up …”
“Your ass. He was blowing smoke up your ass. Sorry.”
“Yeah, the whole smoke-up-the-ass part really hurts when it’s your own parent letting you down.”
“No kid deserves that.”
“I come here a lot. It cheers me up. It’s gorgeous,” she says, beaming at the wreck in front of us.
“Sure is.” I’m looking at Talia, not the house. “But this needs a few million in renovations to start. To build a small hotel, a restaurant, and a frigging farm? An organic farm. You are so far out of my expertise on this one.
“You haven’t told me much about your dad. Was there a time when he took on big projects like this?”
She’s quiet for a moment as she reflects. “There was a time when I did believe in him. He was funny and enthusiastic, and as far as I knew back then, he put all the stars in the sky. I adored him. Once. We depended on his spirit and determination to leave Poland and start over here.”
I reach out to touch her hair, twisting it gently in my fist. I feel I’ve at least earned this right since we slept together. “We all think our parents are heroes when we’re too young to know better. You have to be realistic, though. Most restaurants fail. Farming is hard, and many farms fail, too. Don’t get me started on the hospitality industry and hotels. It’s twenty-four-seven. Put all three of these businesses together in one place and you’ve got yourself one of the most challenging, stressful operations possible.”
“I understand.” She looks down at her lap. I keep bursting her fucking bubble.
“Don’t forget, you’re already a success. You have a great business with your sister. An in-demand personal chef with a wait list is a big deal. You’ve cornered the market in this area.”
“I want to do more than work in other people’s kitchens and cook for them, and Aleska doesn’t want to clean houses forever. I want a restaurant of my own. You don’t think I’m a complete fool, do you?”
“Never. I think you’re …” I want to say fantastic, amazing, sexy, beautiful, and you’re starring in my fantasies.
She tilts her head with a slight smile.
“You’re perfect the way you are.”
I slide off the truck and step in front of her, positioning myself between her dangling legs. She gazes at me, her lips parting slightly. I don’t want to miss this chance, so I grip both her knees and move in slowly to kiss her, first on the cheek. Then I kiss her tenderly on the neck, where I see her pulse. I glide my lips over to her mouth, our lips mingling, gently tugging. She tastes salty and sweet as she returns my kisses with a slow, restrained pressure.
My hands are eager to journey up her body once again as the kiss deepens and she cups her hands firmly around my neck. The kiss builds, my heart races, and I place my hands on the back of her head, crushing her lips to mine so I can explore every part of her mouth. I grab her ass and slide her across the truck hood until our bodies are pressed together and my cock is hard, straining against my jeans.
“We have to stop,” she says, pushing back. “We can’t do this in public.”
“You want this as much as I do. No one is around for miles.” I keep my hold on her, kissing her neck, right below her delicate earlobe, and feel the heat of her flesh.
“No,” she says, pushing me away harder this time. “I don’t want this kind of relationship with you in front of everybody else. The sex stays in the bedroom. There will be no public flirting. No public kissing. No public touching of any kind. And most definitely no sex where we can be seen. This is the only arrangement that will work if we still want to maintain a professional working relationship. You know it as well as I do. You’re the one who said you don’t sleep with people you work with. We may not be working together, but we are working side by side almost every day.”
I sigh and straighten myself up. I make sure she notices that I have to stick my hand down my pants to adjust myself because it’s so goddamn uncomfortable. She gives me an understanding smile.
We’ve barely started something, yet we’ve already come across a problem with our friend-sex setup. And the truth is, I know she’s right. The boundaries need to be clear. It’s sex and nothing more. I remind myself there are different agendas at play. She wants a guy who can commit to the same future she wants, and my commitment is to my career. What I want won’t fit in Hera. I’m glad she’s the one setting the parameters so I don’t have to play the asshole role.
“Sorry. Let me just pour the rest of my milkshake down my pants to put out the fire below.”
“Very funny.” She blushes, reaching for my arms until she slides her hands right into mine.
“Hey, no public touching,” I say, shaking her hands off as if her touch doesn’t affect me.
When her cell phone interrupts us, for once, I’m grateful.
She takes the phone out of her bag, and her eyes light up when she looks at the screen. I’m pretty sure I hate whoever is on the other side of that connection. When she answers with a grin and a sultry hello, I feel a prickle of jealousy.
“Yes, of course I can do it,” she says. “I take care of all the shopping, and I can pick up any alcohol you want to stock in your bar.”
Shopping and stocking a personal bar?
Adam Fucking Knight.
The guy isn’t wasting any time when it comes to Talia. And how convenient to hide his ulterior motives under the pretense of having her cater his party.
I begin cramming our garbage into the paper bags while she finishes the call. When I toss everything on the back seat floor, Talia hops off the truck with a faraway smile.
“Good news?” I ask dryly.
/> “As a matter of fact, Mr. Knight and I were finalizing some details. So, yes, very good news.”
“Good for you. I mean that. Let’s go. I’ll take you home.” All the excitement has completely fizzled.
Adam Knight sure knows how to ruin the mood, and the guy isn’t even here. I try not to show my disappointment. After all, Talia is giving me exactly what I want. I guess I’m not used to someone else calling the shots.
As I drive us away from the battered old estate, my thoughts keep returning to Knight and if he has planned anything for her. Is he really only hiring her to cook, or does he plan on making a move? More importantly: why do I care?
“Why isn’t Swill exciting enough for you?” she asks after she shuts off the stereo. “What’s so special about Los Angeles?”
“Danny Bourdain is based there now. Hopefully, I’ll be opening two new restaurants with him and his conglomerate, Bourdain-Torrance Enterprises.”
“I ate at one of his Manhattan restaurants a couple of years ago. Lois and Eleanor treated a few of us at the yoga studio to a night out. The food was very good, very expensive, and Lois had to reserve three months in advance.”
“When I worked in Danny’s first restaurant, as a teenager, he was still the head chef. He’s been my idol all these years. I watched him become one of the most famous chefs in New York City and then the country as he opened more restaurants in major cities.”
“But he stopped cooking. Like you. He’s not a chef anymore.”
“True. He’s a restaurant guru. He runs his own investment group, too. Everything he touches turns to gold. He visited my Midtown restaurant last year, heaped on the praise and encouragement, and dangled that proverbial carrot in front of me and Bash, letting us know he’s been following our careers and would like to work with us in the future. He called soon after we bought the building for Swill and several times since. Initially, we discussed very detailed plans about two properties he wants to develop, and he liked my ideas and input and said he wanted to hire me and Bash. I explained that we have a commitment to Swill for a certain period of time, and then Bash and I can go out to Los Angeles. We haven’t hammered out the contracts, but they will be executive positions. So it’s different than Swill. I won’t be managing an individual restaurant. I’ll have a team.”
“So the goal is to keep building restaurants for Danny Bourdain? You won’t be the manager and get to know the staff of any of these restaurants? You’ll finish one restaurant and move on to the next?”
“Yeah. Basically.”
“But you’re such a good manager. You’re so good with the people who work for you. Won’t you miss that personal interaction?”
“It becomes predictable and too routine. The development team under me will involve personal interaction, too.”
“That’s not the same as a big, busy restaurant.”
“I’ll be plenty busy. Scouting locations, working with architects, designers, and Danny, and dealing with city officials and the press. It will be long hours and a lot of excitement.”
“I guess I don’t understand how you can move across the country when you have everything here. Cooper and Greer live in Hera. Your sister moved here because of you. And your father and uncle, and your other brothers and all those nieces, nephews, and step-siblings are close by in the city. You have three successful restaurants here. You already have so much.”
“You have to act on ambition when you’re young. This is the time for me to go for something much bigger. And I can always see my family. That’s what planes are for.”
“Huh,” she says warily. “You act like such a tough guy, but I think it’s an act.”
“Really? Well, speaking of acts, what was that little performance of yours on the phone a few minutes ago?”
“I wasn’t performing. I was talking to a client.”
“Is he just a client, or do you have an agenda for this guy?”
“Keeping my options open. Like you and your business prospects.”
“What about not getting involved with clients? You said something to the effect of not mixing business with pleasure.”
“Thankfully, I’m the boss, so if the guy fits, I’ll …”
“Wear him?”
She laughs.
“So, you’ll sleep with me, ruthlessly use me for sex, while you pursue a more promising prospect?”
“Don’t pretend to be indignant. You’re a physical person, not an emotional one. You’re getting exactly what you want.”
“As I said, ruthless. But fair, considering my record.”
“It’s fair because we agreed upon the terms.”
“For such a savvy businesswoman, tell me why you don’t have a company name.”
“Oh.” The word deflates as she says it, along with her confident, verbal sparring. “That was my mistake. We did have a name.”
“Go on,” I prod, eager to hear what’s made her clam up. She looks cute when she’s trying to hide something embarrassing, so I know this has to be something good.
“When we started the business, Aleska and I discussed using our first names. I got carried away and went out and made business cards.” She looks at me for a moment before wrinkling her nose.
“I want to hear this,” I say.
“Instead of our names, I used our first initials, like contractors do. I had T & A Services with We’ll Meet All Your Needs printed on a thousand cards, and I left stacks of them at shops all over Dutchess and Ulster counties and, well, let’s just say it’s good I ran out of cards.”
My laugh is pretty ear-shattering. “I bet every guy in a fifty-mile radius wanted to hire you with that promising name.”
“Fortunately, Aleska prevented it from getting worse.”
“How long did it take you to figure out the cards were sending the wrong message?”
“Aleska got a hold of one of them. Actually, it was Imogene who thought I did it as a practical joke to freak Aleska out, and she called to tell me that my sister was sufficiently upset and on her way home to kill me. I can still hear Imogene laughing, screaming, ‘Tits and Asses!’ After that incident, I promised I wouldn’t make any decisions without Aleska. We didn’t get all the cards back. For about six months, we kept getting calls from strange people, mostly men, asking for a list of the full services we provide.”
My laughing subsides as her cheeks grow pinker. “I would have hired you, too. Hell, a personal chef who cooks naked.”
“Only idiots would think that. And we did weed out the crank calls. Actually, we had to change our number.”
“Priceless.”
As we approach the little swath of homes in her isolated cul-de-sac, a particularly shiny, expensive Tesla parked in front of Talia’s house stands out. Mila is leaning against the doorframe of her home, engaged in conversation with Adam.
“Seriously?” I mutter.
“Adam is here!” Talia exclaims in a soft, high-pitched voice. “I thought he was calling me from the city. I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“He’s doing what he does best. He’s managing people. He’s managing you, and now he’s managing your mother,” I say, parking abruptly next to his car, which is impractical for the unpaved roads in Hera.
Talia huffs in response and jumps out of the truck before I cut the engine. I’m faster. I’m out of the vehicle and by her side in a flash. At the same time, Norma comes out of her house next door, waving one arm while she leans on a metal walker.
“I need help!” she yells in a crackly voice.
Talia’s mother braces her hands against her doorway and leans out to see what’s wrong with Norma, but it’s like an invisible force field is preventing her from stepping over the concrete threshold.
Talia, Adam, and I head quickly to Norma’s home. My speed and long legs get me there faster, and I feel like a ten-year-old beating everyone else in a race. Adam is right on my heels, and the ten-year-old in me would love to trip him and watch him fall on his face. I keep my juvenile fee
lings in check, though, and try to push down the overprotectiveness I have toward Talia and her family. It’s that old game of I was here first.
“Norma! Are you okay?” Talia asks, out of breath.
“It’s Baby! He’s escaped.”
“Baby?” Adam and I say in unison.
“Norma’s dog. Sometimes he breaks through the backyard fence and runs for the woods. We’ll have to hunt him down.” Talia leads us around the back of the house with Norma scooting her walker after us.
“How hard can it be to catch a Pekingese or a little poodle?” I say, and Adam nods in agreement.
“Poodle?” Talia looks over her shoulder at me. “Who said Baby is a poodle?”
“His name implies something sweet,” Adam answers. “Please tell me Baby isn’t a German shepherd.”
“Baby isn’t a German shepherd,” she says. A rustling in the woods ahead makes us all take notice, and suddenly a huge dog comes barreling toward us. A beast, really, with loose, flying jowls and what appears to be a dopey canine smile as his girth lopes happily.
“Holy Jesus,” I say, mesmerized by the dog’s size and speed.
“He’s a two-hundred-pound Saint Bernard,” Talia adds dryly. “He’s two years old and has the strength of King Kong and the speed of Usain Bolt.”
“Good God, that’s a whole lotta dog there,” Adam says.
There’s a split-second when Adam and I share a what the hell look.
As Baby gets closer, he quickly turns and runs in another direction, as if he’s willing us to chase him. Then he charges back into the woods.
The backyard is corded off by a sagging, chain-link fence. We find the foxhole dug under the fence by a two-hundred-pound dog determined to be free.
Norma catches up to us, and all that concern for her dog turns into a bright smile for Adam and me. “Isn’t he a beauty? It’s so nice of you boys to come help rescue Baby.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Adam replies. I hate his politeness. I hate that he’s hired Talia. I hate that he’s in this town. I hate the guy.
“What are you doing with a two-ton dog?” I ask Norma.