by Josie Kerr
“Thank you, Ben. That means a lot to me.” Meghan felt her smile widen, and she feared she looked like some sort of overly chipper maniac. “I know you must be really busy making the final determinations of the attendees, so I’ll be efficient. I’ve got a tasting menu prepared for you while we discuss the event. The full menu will be on that chalkboard wall to your right, but for right now, I’ve got a mock-up of the menus.” She deftly replaced her hand, which Charles-call-me-Chuck still clasped, with a menu. “Let me pop into the kitchen and get the first of the cold selections. I’ll be right back.” Then she turned and went into the kitchen, using every ounce of her reserve to keep from sprinting through the restaurant.
She was muttering under her breath, making a beeline to the refrigerator, when two piles of cutlery caught her eye. Dammit. She hadn’t finished rolling the utensils. She wrenched open one of the drawers below the prep table and grabbed two napkins, and as she did so, a pack of unfiltered cigarettes fell to the floor. She picked up the soft pack and looked inside: one half-smoked cigarette remained in the pack.
“Oh, Da.” She put the package up to her nose and inhaled deeply. The scent of the tobacco conjured up such a vivid vision of her father sitting on his customary stool in this kitchen and tamping out his morning half-smoke that she very nearly choked. But she didn’t. She just finished neatly rolling the utensils inside the napkins, slipped both wraps into her apron, and grabbed the two cold plates.
“Sweet Mary, if you let me get through this without crying or throwing up, I’ll call that asshole Richards and spill my guts,” she promised the unseen powers that were.
And with that negotiation, she pushed through the kitchen’s swinging doors to meet with the men who could determine her fate.
☆☆☆
To say that the meeting with the committee members didn’t go as planned would be a huge understatement. The menu was a hit, and Charles-call-me-Chuck tore through all the selections with gusto. Then Ben dropped the bomb that he was selling his bicycle shop to Knoxtree Development, Charles-call-me-Chuck’s company. Meghan was still reeling from Ben’s news when Knox cleared his throat.
“The blueprints I saw indicated there were apartments above the bar?” Charles-call-me-Chuck asked with a wolfish smile.
“Yes, there are,” Meghan answered.
“Oh, hmm.”
What the hell does that mean? And where did he see blueprints of the pub?
“The apartment was grandfathered in with regard to the residential zoning,” she quickly added. “My father fought long and hard for it, but everything is copacetic. Though, with all the conversions going on, I don’t think it’s really an issue anymore.”
Charles-call-me-Chuck’s facial expression didn’t relax at the news that the upstairs living area was within code. In fact, he appeared more concerned.
“And you still live upstairs?”
“Yes, I do. For twenty-odd years.” Every slimeball alarm went off in Meghan’s skull.
“Where would you live if the building sold?”
“Um—”
Charles-call-me-Chuck quickly interrupted her. “But I guess that’s a moot point since the building’s not for sale anymore, is it?”
“Hmm.” Charles-call-me-Chuck scratched his head and gave her an aw-shucks grin. “Well, the truth is, Meghan, while this meal was definitely impressive, this property needs a whole lot of work. The kitchen needs to be upgraded—”
“But my father just did that a few years ago.”
“More than ten years ago,” Charles-call-me-Chuck prompted.
“No, it couldn’t have been that long ago. I remember I—” Meghan stopped because she remembered the chaos of the upgrade during her senior year of high school. She’d just gotten a notice for her fifteen-year high school reunion. Fuck.
“Between the kitchen upgrades and the freshening up of the interior, not to mention updating the façade to meet the design standards, I’m afraid this property really doesn’t convey the . . . joie de vivre of the Cabbagetown Eats brand.”
Meghan felt her eye start to twitch, but she kept that smile plastered on her face, hoping it would mask her clenched jaw. “So what are you saying, Mr. Knox?”
“I’m saying, we’re going to take a hard pass on Foley’s Public House this year. As you know, the event has grown by leaps and bounds, and there are a finite number of slots available. We feel it’s time for some of the newer businesses to have an opportunity.”
“Mr. Knox—Chuck—what would it take for you to reconsider?”
Knox looked directly at Ben while he answered. “Well, I’m not the only decision-maker. The committee has—”
“Excuse me, I misspoke. What would it take for the committee to reconsider?”
Knox blew out a breath, flustered, and held up his hands helplessly. “Well, I don’t really think—”
“What. Would. It. Take.”
“Well, aside from the cosmetic issues, I’m afraid you’d need a complete overhaul of the menu because—”
“Nolan Harper designed the menu.”
That bit of information made Knox pause. “Nolan Harper? From the Happenstance Kitchen?”
Feeling a bit heartened, Meghan nodded.
Knox tapped on the tabletop. “Let me make a call.” He got up and went to stand at the far corner of the pub.
Ben took the opportunity to furiously whisper to Meghan. “He wasn’t supposed to come. It was supposed to be me and Judy. The committee is in an uproar—the developers have taken over because they’re throwing money around. I was going to warn you that you might be excluded, but I didn’t think he’d make the decision right here and now. In fact, I don’t know if Knox can make that decision.”
Then Knox strolled back over to the table, looking pleased. “Well, we’ve talked—”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Meghan batted her eyes at her new nemesis.
“Um, the other committee members—”
“So Ben . . . ?” She looked at Ben, who give his head a little shake before looking away.
Knox gave them both a predatory smile. “I was under the impression that Ben already understood our decision. However, the committee has decided that if Foley’s can meet the façade specifications within an appropriate amount of time, then we will reconsider.”
“Well then, I look forward to the immediate delivery of the specs and the schedule.” Meghan flashed a toothy smile of her own.
Knox looked at his watch. “I have got to run. We will be in touch with the information. Soon.” Knox stood up. “It . . . was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sullivan.”
Meghan stood and extended her hand, daring him to not take it. When he did, she held on tight. “You have to have the specifications on hand; otherwise you wouldn’t know that Foley’s fell short. I need those plans today. If not, I’ll be calling you first thing tomorrow morning. You’ll find I can be persistent.” She released his hand and turned to Ben. “It was nice seeing you, Ben. We’ll catch up later.”
Ben gave her a flicker of a half grin, then shook her hand and followed Knox out the door of Foley’s Public House. Meghan collapsed into the nearest booth, completely drained. Holy fuck. What was she going to do? How was she going to do this with no time and no money? Completely overwhelmed, she fell back, closed her eyes, and turned her cheek to rest on the cool vinyl of the bench seat. laying there wouldn’t solve any of her problems, but right now, it sure made her feel better.
After taking a few deep breaths, she opened her eyes, ready to face reality. She had propped herself up on her elbows when she saw something wedged in the seam between the back and the seat of the booth. She tugged on it, and when it came loose, she immediately recognized it as Jason’s wallet.
Then she laughed. The universe was practically screaming at her to call his bossy ass. Now, she definitely had an excuse. She’d call him and tell him to pick up his wallet, and by the way, she might have a job for him.
Now, Meghan sat in the pub’s office with her
feet on the desk, the cordless phone clenched in her hand. She didn’t know which made her more nervous—facing the reality that the pub was in deep shit, or calling Jason. Each one promised to be yet another reality check in a day of truth bombs, and she really didn’t know if she could handle anything else.
She dialed Jason’s number and got his voicemail. She didn’t leave a message, taking the voicemail as a sign she should just hold her horses until she found out all the details. She’d wait. For now, she was going to do some investigating, because Meghan Sullivan knew when to trust her gut, and right now? Her gut was telling her that this whole situation was bad news.
Chapter 5
Jason pulled into the detached garage behind the house that he bought and, until recently, shared with his twin. He walked up the back steps and let himself in the door into the kitchen. He turned on the overhead light and then walked through the lower level, turning on lights. Even after six months, he wasn’t completely used to coming home to an empty house, and nights like this, man, he was acutely aware that he was alone.
In the past, he’d go up to Foley’s and park himself at the bar, chatting with Sully if he was feeling up to socializing, or squabble-flirting with Meghan if she was on duty. Of course, Sully wasn’t going to be there ever again, and despite her assurances that she’d call him after her meeting, Jason wasn’t optimistic about that happening. Nevertheless, the first thing he did after going into the house was check the landline voicemail, just to make sure he hadn’t missed a call.
“Of course she hasn’t called,” he muttered, feeling like a needy idiot. He swiped his hand over his face and stood in the middle of the living room. At a loss for how to spend his evening, Jason sank back on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table before flipping on the television and queuing up his favorite movie on the DVR.
“Okay, Tori, I guess it’s just you and me tonight, babe,” he said to the television.
Jason was about thirty minutes into his recorded movie when the doorbell rang.
“I don’t remember anyone coming to the door in this scene,” he murmured, half-asleep, and then he heard a knock on the door and a female voice call his name.
“Jason? Jayyyyyyyyyyyson!” More banging on the door and ringing the doorbell.
Jason closed his eyes and sighed, then heaved himself off the couch. When she called his name a third time, he took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Hey, Chelsea,” he said. “I . . . didn’t realize you were back in town.”
The blonde woman leaned into his space and gave him a sloppy air-kiss. “Here I am!” she giggled. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
Jason paused for a moment. He hadn’t seen Chelsea in months, not since she’d gone to California to try her hand at getting a real modeling job, as opposed to just posing and making duck faces in the mirror for people on the internet. She’d continued tagging him in social media, and even called a few times when she first got to L.A., but as she got more comfortable on the West Coast and actually got some jobs, he heard from her less and less, until he was just one of her tens of thousands of followers. Her showing up with a bottle of champagne in each hand foretold of either a huge break or a giant breakdown, and Jason didn’t know if he could handle either one tonight.
With a groan, he stepped aside, and Chelsea sauntered into the house. She turned and held up her arms. “You are looking at the newest lead contestant on ‘The Superlatives.’ Congratulations to me!”
Chelsea spun around in a circle and then bowed. She beamed, looking so proud of herself that Jason began to grin in spite of not knowing what the hell she was talking about.
“Congrats, Chelsea. That’s awesome,” he said, sensing this “Superlatives” thing was a boon.
“You have no idea what ‘The Superlatives’ is, do you?” She squinted at him, and Jason knew she was trying to see only one of him.
“Well, I know what a superlative is . . .”
“Open this for me, babe,” Chelsea cooed, handing him one of the bottles. Jason chuckled but went into the kitchen for a towel. Chelsea followed him, looking around her as she went. “This looks really nice, Jase. You’ve done a lot of work since the last time I was here. Where’s Ryan?”
Jason snorted. The last time Chelsea had stayed over, Ryan had run out of his bedroom sporting a giant erection and whooping like, well, like a guy who hadn’t been able to get hard in three years. Yeah, that was pretty damn memorable. That visual was definitely seared into his brain. Good God A’mighty.
“Ryan moved in with his partner, but yeah, we’ve been working on it a lot.” He popped the champagne cork and handed her the bottle.
Chelsea wagged her finger at him. “No, that’s yours, Jason. If you hadn’t encouraged me to get off my ass and actually go to California, I wouldn’t have gotten this fantastic opportunity. So.” She shrugged and grinned. “Cheers?”
Jason huffed a laugh. “Cheers,” he answered and took a swig directly from the bottle.
Tori Spelling’s shrieks sounded from the living room.
“Oh my God, Jason, is that what I think it is?”
He flushed. “Uh, yeah. There was nothing else on and—”
Chelsea shrieked with glee, ran into the living room, and hopped onto the sectional. “Oh my God, I love this movie! And the best part is coming up!” Chelsea took a big drink from her bottle and pulled an afghan around her shoulders. Jason just shook his head, and he and his bottle settled in beside Chelsea on the couch.
☆☆☆
Jason came downstairs to find Ryan and Dan “Bojangles” Beaujardin staring at the coffee table. Or rather, they were staring at the champagne bottles and high heels sitting on the coffee table.
“Trying something new?” Dan quipped, holding up the bright red stiletto heel.
Jason showed his former platoon mate his middle finger. “Ha ha, asshole.”
He stomped into the kitchen, ignoring the two men, who followed him.
“Oh, ho, ho. Spill, Big Brother. I know those aren’t Meghan’s. They look like something . . . oh, motherfuck.”
“Ryan, don’t.” Jason’s head felt like it was going to split open. He always forgot how wicked of a hangover he got from champagne, at least until he overindulged again. “Just don’t.”
Dan looked from one brother to the other. “Clearly, I’m missing something.”
“ ‘Someone.’ You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Chelsea.” Ryan shook his head. “Dude.”
“Who the hell is Chelsea?”
“Chelsea was Jason’s go-to snatch pre-Meghan.” Ryan helped himself to a cup of coffee. “She’s . . . something else.”
“Shh! Damn, Ryan.” Jason closed his eyes. Of all the days to carpool.
Ryan’s jaw dropped. “She’s still here? Dude.”
“Yeah, she’s still here! She showed up last night, wanting to celebrate. She got this new gig on some reality show.” He shrugged. “She said if it weren’t for me giving her the heave-ho, she would have never gone to California.”
“And hence never gotten the job.” Dan shrugged. “Sounds like it turned out all right.”
Jason nodded. “Yeah. It’s great. She seems happy. She’s just in town for a few days, then she heads to Miami.”
“Where’d she sleep?” Ryan arched an eyebrow at his brother.
“In your bed. We watched some movies, polished off a couple of bottles of bubbly, and I put her to bed. Man, she was wasted.” Jason shook his head. “I can’t do that anymore.”
“Does Meghan know she’s here?”
Jason frowned. “No. She was supposed to call me after her meeting yesterday, but I never heard from her. Did you hear anything?”
“I went by yesterday evening to see how the chalkboards were received, and the place was locked up tight with a sign on the door that said ‘Closed for inventory.’ ” Dan shrugged. “I don’t know what that was about. I called and left a message.”
“Well, damn. You thi
nk she’s okay?” Jason tapped on the counter. “I don’t like this.”
“Jase, chill. I’m sure she’s fine. Give her another day. She might have gotten some news that she needed to act on immediately. That food and beverage event is coming up in what—six weeks? Two months? She’s probably kicking it into high gear.” Ryan drained his coffee cup. “Speaking of kicking it into high gear, we need to do it to it.”
Jason snapped of the lid onto his travel mug. “Let me leave a note and the extra key for Chelsea, and then we can scoot.”
He grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled a note to Chelsea, put the note under an extra key, and then he, Ryan, and Dan headed to their latest job site to finish installing a custom closet.
“Hey, did I leave my wallet in your truck, Bubba?”
“I just went through the whole thing so I could have it detailed and didn’t find anything.”
“Damn.” Jason scratched his head. Oh well. The wallet would turn up.
Chapter 6
Meghan sat in front of Jason’s house for ten minutes rehearsing the script she’d spent the day preparing after she’d received the spec sheet from the Cabbagetown Eats committee. Correction, it wasn’t from the committee—it was from Knoxtree Development, who, just as Ben had said, had taken control of the event and changed it from a celebration of the diverse community that was Cabbagetown into an extended advertisement for a real estate company. It made her sick to her stomach, and she had half a mind to tell Charles-call-me-Chuck Knox to shove it. If she hadn’t had Nolan or the kegs already booked, she definitely would not be trying to get what was probably six months of work completed in six weeks, all on a shoestring budget. Meghan snorted. Not even a shoestring—more like dental floss.
Which was where Jason came in. He and his brother had started Land & Sea Renovations a few years ago, after they both left active military duty. They did everything from custom closets to complete restorations and were getting a reputation for efficient, price-conscious work. If Jason and his team could pull off all the updates Knox wanted, it would be a boon for both Foley’s and their fledgling company. Which is why Meghan was prepared to bargain. Hell, she was prepared to grovel if she had to.