Page 70 of Neap & Spring

“Oh yeah. And every single time, he’d look over at your table with this —” She makes a face, scrunching up her features into an exaggerated glare. “Especially when that younger guy was talking to you.”

“Cameron?”

“Is that his name? The one who kept laughing at everything you said and leaning in too close?”

Heat creeps up my neck. I’d noticed Cameron being friendly, overly friendly, maybe, but I’d chalked it up to him being the most human of the three finance bros. “He was just being nice.”

“He was flirting.”

“He was not!”

“Viv. He asked for your number.”

“For work purposes!”

“He asked if you were on Instagram.” Frannie raises her eyebrows. “That’s not work purposes.”

I groan and let my head drop back to the table. “I gave him the restaurant’s Instagram.”

“Perfect. Another follower!” Frannie laughs. “Callum came out right after that and pretended to check on table seven. He stood there glaring at the back of Cameron’s head for like thirty seconds and table seven just sat there awkwardly until he left. It was kind of funny.”

A warm, complicated feeling spreads through my chest. “He did not.”

“He absolutely did. Roman noticed too. We had a whole conversation about it in the kitchen.”

“Oh God, please don’t —”

“Relax. I didn’t say anything to Callum. But Roman definitely did.” She shifts the plates to her other arm. “Anyway. The food was incredible, and the investors seemed happy by the end. And you survived. I’d call that a win.”

The restaurant isn’t empty yet. There are still a few tables finishing up. A couple splitting dessert in the corner. A group of four lingering over wine by the window. The dinner rush is mostly over, but we’re still an hour from closing.

“Yeah,” I reply, looking at my laptop and the scattered papers that represent two hours of frantic preparation. “Except now we have ten days to put together a comprehensive business plan.”

Frannie whistles low. “Ten days?”

“Ten days.”

“That’s —”

“Insane? Impossible? A completely unreasonable demand?”

“I was going to say tight, but yeah, all of those.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “You need anything? More coffee? Something stronger?”

“Sleep. A time machine. Maybe a miracle.”

“Fresh out of those, but I can get you coffee.” She’s already backing toward the kitchen. “Decaf or regular?”

“Regular. I’m going to be up all night anyway.”

“Coming up.”

She disappears through the kitchen doors, and I’m alone again with the wreckage of the evening.

I pull my laptop closer, staring at the presentation we threw together under duress. It’s good. Better than it has any right to be considering the timeline. But it’s not enough. Not for what they’re asking.

Ten days.

We have to put together a whole plan with detailed financial projections and implementation timelines in a week.