“Or comforting.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Favorite dishes keep people coming back.”
He shifted in his chair, stunned she’d condescend to him about the industry he’d lived and breathed his entire adult life. “What keeps them coming back is curiosity about what might come next. Consistent quality. Unique twists on old favorites. The freshest ingredients. Beautiful presentation.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want this to be a place only foodies can enjoy. People like me, which are most people, enjoy basic, recognizable options. A fussy menu will limit our reach.”
Alec sensed his steely expression but couldn’t relax. Not with something this critical at stake. After scanning the menu, he tossed it on the table. “Do you actually expect me to churn out the same meals night after night?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
The fact she’d even asked sent him shooting out of his chair. Merde! Hunter told him he’d have control over the menu, not be relegated to run-of-the-mill cook.
“Everything.” He began pacing. He needed this job, but he couldn’t imagine being content preparing things as commonplace as chicken marsala year after year. “Ninety percent of restaurants fail in the first year. If you don’t want to be a statistic, then listen to me. I’ll make A CertainTea a destination—someplace that draws people from farther away than the neighboring suburbs. But to do that, we need to think bigger. To create a menu worth traveling to experience. You need to trust me, Colby.” Oh, the irony.
“Maxine and I went through a lengthy analysis to come up with this menu.” She tipped up her chin. “I’ve already paid to have leather-bound, embossed menus created.”
“I don’t know Maxine, but this overly extensive menu is going to cost you a lot in wasted inventory, not to mention making it harder for the cooks to be efficient in the kitchen. And don’t get me started on the distraction of a gimmicky Saturday-afternoon tea service right before the busiest night of the week.”
Colby folded the menu and stuffed it in her purse. She looked paler, despite the grim line of her mouth. “If this is going to work, you need to respect me. This is my place. My dream, not yours.”
“Except that Hunter hired me, and, unlike you, I know this business. I’ve succeeded at the highest levels.” He crossed his arms.
“Until you didn’t.”
It smarted. He wouldn’t lie. He hated reminders of his failure almost as much as he hated seeing her so hard-nosed. To her credit, she looked as if she wished she could take that last remark back.
“If all you want is to mimic every country-club menu in the Portland area, why hire me?”
“I didn’t.”
He went still then. Torn between hating and admiring her honesty. Between feeling responsible for restoring her happiness and needing to reclaim his own. “I don’t think I can settle, Colby.”
“Settle?” Although her expression remained firm, he noted the pulse point of her neck throbbing.
He’d upset her. He should feel bad about it, but he couldn’t let her win this argument. “I can’t be the executive chef and not be free to control the menu. To create and experiment. That’s the quintessential purpose of my job.”
Colby finally stood. He thought he noticed her lip tremble, but then she decreed, quietly but firmly, “Then perhaps you should reconsider this position. I understand your feelings, but I can’t work with you if you’re going to belittle my opinions. Let me know by tomorrow afternoon. If you choose to stay, I’ll assemble the team on Wednesday morning.”
Before he could respond, she grabbed her purse off the back of her chair and marched out the door.
Chapter Three
Like some new kind of PTSD response from her turbulent marriage, Colby’s bones had turned ice-cold when Alec snapped at her about the menu. She’d bolted so he wouldn’t catch her shaking. Apparently she’d given up the Xanax too soon. Nausea gurgled in her stomach as she pulled into the parking lot at Cabot Tea Company.
Rolling over, giving in, keeping the peace. She’d done that for five years to keep her husband happy, only to have it blow up in her face. Lesson learned. Indulgent compassion and bending to the will of another had nearly destroyed her. Never again—especially not with respect to A CertainTea, the one bright spot at the end of the dark tunnel through which she’d been crawling.
If she didn’t establish her role from the outset, she risked being trampled at every turn. Still, the memory of Alec’s expression when she’d flung Une Bouchée’s ruin in his face—yes, she almost threw up.
Cruelty had never been her go-to position before Mark. His refusal to properly treat his illness had warped their love into something unrecognizable. Risky behaviors with his health and their finances, philandering during his highly sexualized manic phases (followed always by profuse apologies), her own feelings of inadequacy and guilt in the face of the deterioration of the marriage—all of it had shoved her against a wall. Having failed to be a wife Mark valued enough to commit to therapy for, she’d built a fortress around her heart.
That barrier enabled her to be cruel when threatened. A lesson she sometimes regretted having mastered.
As she approached her father’s office building, the perfumed air from the abundant rose bushes offered no balm. She breezed through CTC’s lobby, flashing her badge to Jerry behind the security desk, and went straight to the elevator. When she reached her father’s office, she stopped at his assistant’s desk. “Hey, Cindy. Is my dad available?”
“He’s in there with Jenna. Let me check.”
While Cindy buzzed her father, Colby glanced down the hall toward Hunter’s office. To say he’d be unhappy about the ultimatum she’d handed Alec would be a massive understatement.
“You can go in.” Cindy smiled, unaware of the perspiration breaking out over Colby’s scalp.
“Do me a favor, please. Find Hunter and ask him to join us.” Colby drew a deep breath and headed into her father’s office.
Even though he was the founder and CEO, his office remained rather Spartan, sort of like the man himself. Nothing ostentatious or unnecessary. A large desk, flanked by two comfortable navy leather chairs. A round conference table with six swivel chairs. A whiteboard and a SMART Board. Functional, if not conventionally handsome. The opposite of Jenna’s smaller but beautiful office with its sumptuous Tibetan carpet and handcrafted desk.
Her dad had already stood to greet her with a kiss. He was tall and lean, like her, and his salt-and-pepper hair lent him a hint of sophistication. His eyes slanted upward slightly, also like hers, but with deeper laugh lines. “Hey, sweetheart. What brings you by?”