“I think you’re being rash. So I’m guessing you’re taking a stand for reasons that go beyond your vision. Because, honestly, I can’t imagine why Alec’s loftier ambitions don’t excite you.”
Her gaze fell to her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap. “I don’t know if I can work with him.”
“Because of Joe?” Her father touched her arm.
She nodded, then confessed something she didn’t like admitting, not even to herself. “And Mark. I’d finally gone ten straight weeks without a nightmare. But anticipating seeing Alec today had me on edge all night. Now I’ll be working with him—a constant reminder of both Joe and Mark. What if the nightmares start again?”
Her dad set his chin on his fist. “Did he say anything to upset you?”
“No.” She privately acknowledged he’d been quite forgiving. That there had been moments when she’d even thought it could work. When she’d imagined it would help them both. But she’d been wrong about so many things before that she didn’t know which feelings to trust. It seemed safer to push Alec away. “This restaurant is supposed to be my fresh start. Seeing Alec brings the past all back. And on top of that, he wants me to roll over and let him make all the decisions.”
She’d let Mark make most decisions, and that had been disastrous for them both.
“Not all the decisions. Just the menu, which seems like something he’s extremely qualified to do.” Her father had one of those rich voices, like a late-night DJ. Deep and silky. Soothing. Amazingly effective at calming and persuading her whenever she let her guard down.
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s precisely the point. You’ve got to put the past behind you, honey. No one but you can do that, though.” He glanced at her ring finger. “Don’t let ghosts interfere with your objectivity, in business and otherwise.”
He sat back, arms crossed. She recognized the signs that the kid gloves were being removed.
“Apparently I can’t separate from people and emotions as easily as you.” The knife’s edge in her voice caused him to frown. She shouldn’t have gone there. Not when he’d been trying to help.
Again, her eyes stung as unruly emotions fought for release. Would the legacy of her marriage to Mark forever be the feeling that someone was trying to force her head under water?
“You want more autonomy? Pledge your personal shares of CTC against the investment we made. Hunter and I will ease up then, because you’ll be shouldering most of the risk. Maybe if you have everything to lose, you won’t be so quick to turn away good advice when it’s offered.”
Her CTC shares were her safety net, and he knew it. She wanted to be angry that he’d called her bluff, but that would be childish and wrong, and she’d already been childish enough for one morning. How many times had she heard him say “Shit or get off the pot” in her life? A million? Two million?
Now he’d boxed her in, just like Mark had always done. If she refused, she revealed her weakness, and he and Hunter would continue to make the decisions.
Outside the office, she could hear people walking and talking, going about the day as if everything in her world weren’t tipping on its axis. Her father sat in silence, except for the tapping of his forefinger on the table, while she considered the ramifications of her choices. Although she was mired in self-doubt, a tiny voice deep in her heart whispered, “You can do it.”
Colby stood and picked up her purse. “Let’s separate the restaurant legally. Have your lawyers draw up a partnership agreement where CTC keeps a ninety-nine percent stake as a limited partner, but I’ll be the general partner with a one percent interest. In exchange, I’ll surrender the income from my shares if the restaurant loses money. You’ll have limited liability and rights to distributions until I can afford to buy you out, and I’ll be free to make decisions as I see fit without needing to kowtow to Hunter.”
Thank God lawyering taught her how to negotiate. Failure at A CertainTea would be a material financial hit, but not bankruptcy. She could live with that. Her mother, on the other hand, might have a breakdown when she learned that her private bank could run dry for several years.
Her father nodded, and she noted a gleam of respect in his eyes. “So what are you going to do about Alec?”
“I’ll let you know once I decide.”
Alec unpacked the basket of fresh produce and edible and other flowers he’d cobbled together from the farmers’ market. His body buzzed with creative energy and determination.
Colby had agreed to meet him at his apartment tonight to talk. Of course, he knew talking about food was never as effective as showing and tasting. So he’d dedicate the next several hours until her arrival to preparing a meal—an experience—to convince her that they could find a compromise.
Tonight would be the first time he officially invited to his apartment the woman for whom he’d always felt a tortured kind of affection. His heart knocked around inside his chest thanks to his decision to base the entire meal around flowers.
Unprofessional? Yes. But he’d do it, anyway. The romantic in him couldn’t not do it for her. And maybe setting an intimate mood would remind her that she was safe with him. Might coax her into dropping her guard and remembering who she really was at heart—a girl who’d patiently stopped and answered all of crabby old Mrs. Miller’s questions whenever she’d come out to her mailbox rather than run away like the other kids. Not a woman who threw someone’s failures in his face, although he’d take that from her because he’d earned it, even if she never knew why.
After snipping the bottoms off the pink and yellow tulips he’d bought, he arranged them in a square vase. She’d always liked tulips. And hydrangeas. And peonies. Pink peonies. Pink like her lips . . .
He shook his head. With only a few hours at hand, he needed to start cooking. Table setting and daydreaming would have to wait.
As an executive chef, he rarely got to cook at work. He’d almost envied his chefs de partie at times. Tonight, however, he’d indulge his love for food and aesthetics without interruption or pressure. Or a never-ending line of dinner orders from the front of the house.
Methodically, he began pulling out cutting boards, bowls, and platters. He smiled, recalling when he’d first been taught the importance of mise en place. Everything, everything, would be set out and organized before beginning—cookware, utensils, recipes, ingredients, and prep.
A quick glance at the clock made him work faster. Thankfully, he’d been experimenting with a new sorbet yesterday. Colby and her mother had always had a sweet tooth.