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We lay on our backs, her head nestled in the crook of my shoulder where she belonged. I couldn’t stop kissing her dark, silky hair.
“It’s enough for me to open my own restaurant.” I rolled on to my side to see her face better.
She looked at me, a smile lingering on her face, her eyes tired. “And what would I do?”
“You have to finish your diploma. The business classes you’re taking will be needed in our business.” I traced her flushed cheeks.
“Ourbusiness.” Her smile grew. “But I still have two years of classes.”
“That’s okay. We can start looking for a location and I’ll still work for Frederick to learn as much as I can from the bastard. We’ll work on a business plan together and start as soon as everything is ready. It might be busy, Blue”—I sat up, excitement filling my veins—“for a while juggling your classes and work at the restaurant, but we’ll be building our dream. For us, for our family.”
“For our family,” she whispered and pulled me down for a kiss.
ChapterFive
Gina
“Oh my God, I never know which shade of blue suits you better, but this indigo dress kills it.” Mila assesses my outfit.
After a sleepless night, I feel like a steamroller pressed me flat and then its engine died, parking it over my lungs. I’m glad that at least my outfit choice—a short-sleeved sheath dress hugging my curves—exudes confidence and some sort of control.
“But what’s with the colorless face and bags under your eyes? We didn’t drink that much last night.” That kills any confidence her praise sparked.
“I couldn’t sleep.” I take a sip of my extra-large Americano and stifle a yawn.
We’re sitting in a busy coffee shop across the street from Casa Cassi, my potential new client.
“Any particular reason?” Mila raises her eyebrows and slurps from her fancy drink that included at least ten words to explain the order.
“I broke my vibrator,” I deadpan.
I won’t explain it was a combination of her well-meant advice and an unanswered call from my ex-husband that kept me tossing and turning all night. Or staring at the ceiling.
“Where is the glow then?” She laughs, and I swear the entire male population in the visible radius turns and drools.
I frown to remind her of my position as her boss, but she just squeezes my hand, bites her lip and wiggles her shoulders as if our current situation is the most exciting adventure.
When I groan, she purses her lips and scrunches her mouth to the side, assessing me. For all the superficial flakiness she freely displays for the world to see, Mila is anything but. She is also discreet and won’t pry if I don’t offer any further details.
“Okay, then…” She pauses and narrows her eyes, giving me one last chance to explain. But when I respond with another sip of my coffee, she tosses her hair—and now I’m sure some men drool for real—and continues.
“I researched the restaurant. From what I could see, their reviews are stellar, the cuisine is exceptional, the only complaints ever relate to the staff being inexperienced. The chef has many awards, and a temper.”
“Don’t they all?” I don’t tell her I know this particular temper more than I care to. My brain is floating. If only I could take the coffee intravenously.
“You’re probably right. The thing is, by all readily available information, there is no reason the committee hasn’t noticed them yet.”
“What about their online presence? Are they booked out regularly? Word of mouth? Special menus?” Immersing myself in work momentarily relieves my anxiety and lifts my spirit slightly.
“I wasn’t able to find out much last night, but yeah, we can definitely help them with social media and influencers. Generating enough concentrated buzz should spark the committee’s interest.”
She scrolls through her phone as she speaks. I used to hate that. I still do. How someone can talk to me and have their attention on the phone is beyond me. And it’s rude, but Mila has always been taking notes on her phone, and when she talks she often consults them.
I learned to appreciate how much she has literally at her fingertips and I know she’s not browsing while talking. But still, it’s a strange habit.
“I skimmed the reviews and made a few calls when the owner called me. I agree with you, we need to generate interest and maybe look into the staff engagement. There doesn’t seem to be an issue in the kitchen, but something is off. Let’s call some of our friendly foodies and send them for dinner there.” I look across the street at the inviting entrance. “We better go. We don’t want to be late for the first meeting.” I stand up and gulp the rest of my coffee.
We maneuver around traffic to cross the street. The front wall is tinted glass, only a few lights glimmering inside. Mila pushes the door open and we enter a dark interior. I like the evening mood and the modern industrial look. The bar on the right seems well stocked with offerings at different price ranges.
