by Elle Berlin
“Arie!” Simon’s tone is a warning to not insult Connor again. I grab the door handle and strut out, walking all the way down the hall into the kitchen, where I’m halfway tempted to grab my chef’s knife and start chopping up onions and tomatoes to chuck at my business partner. I could even flash the dripping tomato juices at Simon as they slide down the silver blade, you know, for dramatic effect. Of course, that would be childish of me. But what can I say? Everything about this situation brings out my inner temper tantrum.
“What the hell is going on?” I say, trying to contain the fury, forcing my hands to smooth out the sides of my skirt rather than grab the nearest pan to use as a projectile.
“Nope!” Simon says sharply, cutting me off before I can start on another tirade. “We are not playing this game. You are not the one who got the rug pulled out from under them. You are not the one whose partner went behind their back and started making deals and demands without consulting them. You are not the one who’s three weeks away from opening a restaurant with a partner who’s going out of her way to sabotage everything.”
“That’s not what’s happening!”
“Arie! This partnership only works when there’s trust and honesty. It works because we’ve agreed to have each other’s backs. Not stab one another in them! When we say something, we have to mean it. We don’t go and undermine what the other has done and make each other look like a complete asshole. Which is what you did!” Simon balls up his fists, clutching a roll of papers that he’s brought with him from the office. He drops the papers on the counter and raps politely on the surface next to them, his arms rigid, teeth clenched, two hundred percent furious. “Seriously, Arie. Right now, I have no clue if I can trust you with anything!”
“What are you talking about?” I grab a napkin from the stack beside me and twist it into my own fist of anger. “This restaurant is my first priority.”
“No.” Simon shakes his head. “Your first priority is making sure you have everything your way, even if it puts us out of business.”
“We are not even in business yet!” I toss my hands in the air. “Those doors aren’t open. We don’t have a clue what’s going to work and what’s not until we get customers in here who—”
“And that’s my point!” Simon pulls off his glasses and squeezes the pressure point above his nose. “Yes, the customers matter, but this isn’t a throw-spaghetti-against-the-wall-and-see-what-sticks operation.”
“Oh, and Connor is the answer? He’s some tried-and-tested plan? Um, I’m pretty sure he’s exactly your spaghetti analogy. Except, I can tell you right now, it sucks!”
“Connor comes with a cash-flow. One that I’m pretty sure you have no clue how to get any other way. Or do you?” He pushes his glasses back on and glares at me.
I shake my head, annoyed. “That isn’t the point.”
“Actually, that’s exactly the point.” He motions back to his office. “In fact, you just barged in on my meeting, spouting some bullshit about creativity and having other plans. So, let’s hear them. What is your other plan, Arie? Give me another option. Right now. Let’s hear it.”
I stare at him, heat crawling up my spine as I twist the napkin’s neck. “We can see how things go, assess the—”
“No!” Simon cuts me off again. “We are not running a business on hope here. What’s your backup plan? Your financial plan? What will we do when what you’ve hoped for doesn’t happen? Huh? I want details. How about when revenue is fine, but not high enough to keep your staff paid? Or when you don’t have the cash flow to pay for the next week’s produce delivery? Do you have a trust fund of cash hiding away somewhere that I don’t know about? ‘Cause I sure don’t.”
“I, um—” I look out through the kitchen door to the beautiful dining room bathed in morning light. It’s everything I wanted this place to be; spared no expense. The chandeliers glitter and the tables shine in the sun, gorgeous and full of possibilities. I wait for inspiration to kick in, but nothing comes to mind. “I think we could—”
“Think? No, I’m pretty sure the words you’re looking for are ‘I don’t have any clue, Simon.’” He pins me with a searing look. “You don’t have a plan. Right?” I meet his glare, but don’t answer him. “Right. Because what you like to do is swirl onto the stage like a raging typhoon and tell everyone what you want to happen, but you don’t come up with a solution yourself. You just storm around and light everyone else on fire and then leave while the rest of us put your mess out.”
“Why would you ever go into business with me if that’s what you really think?” I snap.
“Oh no, Arie, this is not about your hurt ego, or any of that! I’m talking about the commitment you made to this business. The hard-working, brilliant woman who said she would do anything to make this a reality. Anything!”
I break away from his gaze and look out the window, past the dining room and all the way to the ocean on the horizon. It sparkles, vast and far, a tumultuous beast of water, unafraid to crash against any shore. I hear what Simon’s saying, but I’m made for the storm.
“Connor told me about last night.”
I snap out of my head and turn back to Simon. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, he told me everything.”
My body stiffens, a cold sweat breaking out on my skin. “Everything?” I look back at Simon, my body heating. Connor wouldn’t have, would he? Not everything? Not how he knotted his hands in my hair and asked me to beg. Or how his shallow thrusting made me burn incandescent. Or the fact that last night wasn’t the only night? Did he tell Simon he’s the dragon tamer who inspired the drink written on the specials menu?
My mouth is dry, but my skin is damp. I don’t want to have this conversation and I’m pissed that all of this has to be so damn complicated. It’s bad enough that Connor knows how to take me from zero to a thousand in less than a minute, but showing up this morning to tell Simon how he can completely own my body is crossing a line!
“Yes, everything,” Simon confirms, pointing to the front entrance of the restaurant. “He was standing right there at six-o-clock, asking if you’d come in yet. He wanted to know if he could talk to me before you showed up.”
“And he told you …” I pull at the collar of this stupid blouse, wanting it away from my neck where it’s suffocating. Sure, I know I’m fishing, but there’s no way I’m saying it out loud.
“He’s actually a complete gentleman!”
I scrunch up my face, completely appalled. Connor’s hands searing my skin was anything but gentlemanly. In fact, it’s his rough, eager need to push up my skirt and slip his fingers inside me—take possession—that makes him so damn hot in the first place. Telling my business partner about it is not gentlemanly!
“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” Simon snaps. “Because I’m talking about how he showed up at the crack of dawn to tell me about how you showed up at his apartment, with all these reasons for why he can’t work for Flambé.” Simon starts ticking off fingers. “Branding, professionalism, a culture of excellence, all the things you think the Gin n’ Lava isn’t. That he isn’t. I’m talking about how you basically told him he’s a piece of trash and he should stay away.”
I tick my head to the side, confused. “Wait a second, he didn’t lead with—”
“Oh, and here’s the part that really got me,” Simon interrupts, and I grip the stainless steel countertop behind me, getting ready to hear the worst.
“Okay?” I can feel my whole chest flushing, which is ridiculous, because I’ve never been embarrassed about fucking anyone. Normally, I’d tell Simon all the dirty details, but something about this is completely different.
“He wanted to talk to me about how passionate you are about this place.” I frown, not following, but Simon continues. “Connor wanted to tell me about how much you care about this place. How much you love it. How important and precious it is. And yes, he also wanted me to know that this job is temptin
g, but he doesn’t want to walk in on something that’s your baby.”
“Wait—” I unbutton the top button of my shirt because it’s still too hot. “He said that?”
“I know. Classy guy,” Simon sneers. “The truth is, he just wishes you’d give him a chance. He thinks he could add a lot to this place—to which I agree—but he doesn’t want you to think he’s stepping on your feet. In fact, he was pretty sure you were going to blow up at the first sight of him. Which—look at that—” Simon grabs his roll of papers from the counter and smacks them against the stainless steel for emphasis. “—you absolutely did! And you didn’t even know he was in the room.”
“I just wanted to—”
“Control everything. Yeah, Connor said that too.” Simon shakes his head. “Look, you think you’re special and different, Arie, but Connor absolutely knows what’s happening here. You’re the diva chef who needs to micromanage everything. I didn’t even have to warn him about your fiery personality because he knows exactly what your game is and how you play it.”
“Look, if he can’t stand the heat, then get out of the—”
“Arie, you’re not the damn Mother of Dragons. You’re going to flame out, and fast, if you’re not careful. And I’m starting to feel terrified that you’re going to take me with you.”
“I just want everything to be perfect!”
“And guess what, it won’t be!” Simon’s gaze cuts like ice. “And it won’t be because we live in the real world, Arie, not some fantasyland in your head. You can’t simply wish for everything to work out and have that be enough.”
“I’m not delusional!” I contend. “I know this will be work. I have been working my ass off, in fact, for the last eight months. Don’t tell me I haven’t.”
“That’s not my point.”
“I’m not ready to throw all that work away on a whim!”
“My point is you want to be a tyrant, not a partner!” Simon raises his eyebrows, challenging me, and I shrug, completely frustrated. “You know,” Simon continues, “Connor came here with a long list of reasons why he shouldn’t work here. Not why he should.”
“He what?”
“Yeah, he listened to everything you said to him last night and he came here with a long list of concerns. Last night at the Gin n’ Lava, I told Connor it would be me doing the convincing today, and boy have I been! In fact, I’m not sure I’ve convinced him of anything, because every time you show up you explode. And the irony is, I’m even more convinced that we should hire him, because I can’t imagine anyone more caring and kind and thoughtful, especially when the person he’s concerned about has done everything in her power to be a royal bitch to him!”
“I, I—” but I swallow my words. The ashen color of Simon’s face lets me know I’ve already lost this battle. In fact, I can’t believe this is actually what Connor came in to talk to Simon about. “He … he said all that?”
“Yes!”
I look past Simon to the hallway, where Connor is still in the office. My temples throb, and I rub them as I try to process this. Is Simon actually saying that Connor came here to pass on the job? Was he doing exactly what I asked? Because he was worried about me?
“So, uh,” I drop my hands to my skirt again, the sweat on my palms still pooling, “what exactly happens now?”
Simon shakes his head. “You know what, I think that’s entirely up to you.” His whole demeanor is cold. It’s like he’s tired of this fight and wants to surrender. It makes my heart ratchet with fright. I’ve never seen Simon this way. “It’s your restaurant, Arie. You’ve made that abundantly clear. It’s your show and you’re the one who’s going to decide what it’s going to be.”
I stare at him, hurt. It’s our restaurant. But, yeah, I get it. I haven’t been acting that way. I’ve been a hot-headed shit. And what’s worse is I’m absolutely getting my way right now; I can toss Connor out on his ass if I want to. Yet, nothing feels good about it.
It feels like I’ve lost.
“Of course, I know what I’d do,” Simon continues. “And that would be—hire Connor. I’d do it in a heartbeat. Hell, I’d double the salary I was going to offer him, because I’m sure no one will be as good and take your shit. If that alone didn’t already make him a saint, the fact that he’d still be on your side after you vomited lava at him and acted like a tyrant, well, that makes him Mother Teresa in my opinion.” Simon nods back to his office. “Of course, you’ve done everything in your power to make sure he walks out the door. So, you decide.” Simon shrugs, tossing the roll of papers onto the counter again. “You’re the only one who can go back there and make this right. I can apologize a thousand times, but the only one whose apology he deserves is yours. And I don’t even know if that will convince him.”
Simon pushes the papers toward me and heads for the dining room.
“Where are you—?”
“I’m taking the day off!” Simon snaps, opening the kitchen doors and spilling sunlight all through the dark space. “I’ll be back tomorrow to see if I need to update my resume and pull out of this restaurant gig. It’s your castle, you decide what to do with it.”
“Simon—” but he’s gone, leaving me in silence.
I pick up the papers he pushed in my direction. They’re financial projections. The first one is an outline of the next year with Hamblin on board, his money floating us out of the red. The other is without him, and I can’t ignore the fact that even if we have a good opening, we’ll still be struggling. A lot. The third page is Connor’s contract and an outline of his job expectations. It’s currently untouched, the dotted line blank and unsigned. He really did come in here to politely decline, and I made a mess of it.
I fold the papers back up and take a deep breath, calming all the spitting fire inside my mind. I take another breath to settle myself before heading for Simon’s office.
15
Connor
When Arie comes back in, she’s quiet. The flaming dragon from a few minutes ago is gone and somebody quieter and less confrontational walks in. She’s all by herself without Simon, shutting the door behind her softly and walking up to the desk to lean against it. She doesn’t meet my eyes.
I lean back in my chair and stay silent, watching her closely. She looks like a different person in her “businesswoman” outfit: hair up, pencil skirt, like she’s playing a part and not really herself at all. I want to make a crack about her quietness, but I don’t dare cause I know this is a different side of her—something defeated and vulnerable. No more playing games or pretending.
In her hands are some rolled up papers which she taps on the side of Simon’s desk nervously. It’s odd to see her apprehensive. Every interaction I’ve had with this woman has been assertion, dominance, power, and it’s weird to see none of those in her gait.
“It looks like …” she starts, finally looking up, but she pauses and I see her fight back the desire to lift that chin and start shooting insults at me again. A smile slips over my face, a completely cocky one that eggs her on. I can’t help myself. Her chin lifts ever so slightly in reaction, and I know this woman is a powder keg, and for some dumb reason I can’t help teasing her till she goes off.
She brings out the worst in me.
“It looks like … ?” I prod, repeating what she’s started with.
“So,” she starts again. “I guess I, um—” She looks away, reaching back to pull her hair out of the bun. She’s distracting herself to avoid this conversation, nervously making a show of untangling that ruby hair until it’s spilling out over her shoulders. She’s stalling, that’s for sure, but unleashing that mane of hair—the hair I grabbed and fisted in my hands when I had her on all fours—yeah, that is probably not the best strategy.
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt her nervous fluffing, “but are you trying to make me think about last night?”
Her eyes flick back up to me and that pulse of heat sparks between us. Her hand freezes mid-comb, her fingers caught in her net of ri
nglets, recognition flitting over her face as she makes the connection. Rose flushes up her neck and I never would’ve taken this woman to be bashful, but I realize the context of this is different.
Her eyes narrow angrily. “You realize, I’m trying to apologize!” she snaps, her momentary vulnerability snipping away. She pushes her mane behind her neck, rolling back those shoulders, and business attire or not, the viper is back. “I’m not trying to make you think of anything. The fact that I pull my hair down and your dirty mind goes straight to imagining me—”
“Is this the apology?” I interrupt, enjoying the way her chest huffs at being cut off. “Because …” I deliberately run my eyes down the silky shirt that holds in her tits. “I don’t need you to fluff your hair for me to imagine you—”
“Connor, stop! Just—” One of her fists flies into the air, balling up as she tries to contain her dragoness rage. I bite my lip to keep from grinning at how fast she’s flamed, only, I’m not doing a great job of hiding it. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.” She points to the glib expression on my face, my cheekbones aching from how wide my smile is. “You with that damn grin, doing everything in your power to undermine me.”
“It’s just a smile.”
“It’s not just the smile! It’s the sexy eyes, and the cavalier attitude—”
“What?” I counter, my tone full of mock innocence. “This is my resting bitch face.” I try to squelch the smile, but her scowl makes it impossible to do so. “I’m sorry you read this as sexy, but—”
“It’s more than that!” she raises her tone. “It’s the slouched posture, and your—” she waves her hand up and down at me as if my mere existence is the problem “—your clothes, and the entire lack of respect for—”
“This wasn’t a job interview,” I cut her off. “You do realize that when one is not lounging around naked, one wears clothing? You know … jeans, t-shirt?” I point to my attire. “It’s a pretty normal thing.”