Jennifer McKenzie - Tempting Donovan Ford

The diversion appeared to work, since Sasha frowned and asked, “For the restaurant?”

“Yes. Like the deal I had with Alain.” The original owner, the one who’d loved the restaurant as much as she did. The deal she’d never bothered to get in writing because she’d trusted Alain. Julia sighed. It was her own fault.

When she’d returned to Vancouver, she’d been thinking only about caring for her ailing mother, not her career. But Suzanne had wanted Julia to take the role of executive chef at La Petite Bouchée, a role Suzanne had held for a decade. Julia had agreed, noting that it was only temporary, just until her mother recovered and could return to the kitchen. Except Suzanne had never recovered, the cancer metastasizing through her body, leaving Julia with no family and a temporary job.

When Alain had offered her the position permanently, she’d agreed. There had been comfort in working at the same place as her mother, working with the staff who had loved Suzanne as much as she had. And she found consolation working in a space imbued with her mother’s presence. Due to the restaurant’s struggling fortunes, Alain had been unable to pay her the salary she knew she deserved, but he’d offered something better. The promise that when he retired the following year, he’d sell her La Petite Bouchée at a discounted price.

Except Alain had passed away before retirement, and when his nephew and sole heir, Jean-Paul, claimed no knowledge of the deal, Julia found herself with no legal recourse. Just a nearly empty bank account. But she could learn from her mistakes. This time, she’d get everything on paper. And notarized. Assuming she could talk Donovan Ford into it.

“And what did he say?”

“He wasn’t amenable to the idea.” Which was putting it mildly. He’d been painfully, stridently clear that he wouldn’t offer shares. On the other hand, he’d admitted he wanted to sell, which provided her with opportunity. If she could find a way to merge the two, they might have a deal.

“And will you sign without them?”

That was the question that had been rolling around in her head since the meeting. Without some sort of ownership promise from the Fords, she was merely an employee and replaceable. After all, there were plenty of fantastic cooks in the city.

The thought of leaving the restaurant made her stomach twist. A strong, visceral gut reaction of no. No way. No how. No dice. La Petite Bouchée was hers. No matter if her name was on the deed or not.

“I don’t know,” she told Sasha, not willing to go into her thoughts until she had some of them sorted out.

Julia had spent too much time thinking about it. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it all day. Not when she chopped vegetables, oversaw the evening service or assisted with cleanup after closing. But she was still no closer to figuring out what she would do if she and Donovan couldn’t come to an agreement.

She did know one thing. “I won’t be undervalued.” Julia didn’t think it was bragging to say that the only reason La Petite Bouchée hadn’t gone completely under when Jean-Paul took over and decided to cut her budget in half was that she’d made it work. Unwilling to see the once-grand restaurant where her mother had been head chef declare bankruptcy, she’d worked around his ridiculous decisions, always with an eye on the final prize of buying it from him.

Of course, that hadn’t gone according to plan.

Julia’s throat tightened. She lifted her wineglass to her lips and then put it down without sipping. Wine wasn’t going to ease the rigidity there. The restaurant, her mother, family had all gotten twisted together and she didn’t know how to separate them. She sniffed and dabbed at her eyelashes.

“Your mom?” Sasha asked, her voice quiet but still audible under the hubbub of other conversations, most patrons half-corked by this time of the night. One of the benefits of being such close friends and spending so much time together meant she didn’t have to explain why she was feeling emotional.

Julia nodded. Her mom had been gone for just over eighteen months, but it still felt so close. There were mornings she woke up and couldn’t believe she was gone. She wondered if that place in her heart would ever be filled or, at least, not feel so big.

She had no other family. An only child of an only child. Her grandparents had died when she was little and she’d never known her father. All her mother would tell her was that he was a Parisian she’d met while apprenticing as a chef in the City of Light. No name, no background, not even a photo, though Julia could surmise he’d been lithe and dark like her. Her mother had been short and round, the years of butter and heavy cream she featured in her dishes showing on her round cheeks and rounder hips. Suzanne had also been much fairer than Julia.

“I miss her.”

“Of course you do.” Sasha hugged her. Julia absorbed her friend’s comfort. The kindness and sympathy offered without judgment or expectation of payment. Sometimes Sasha reminded her of her mom. The welcoming way they invited others into their lives so easily.

When she’d gone to Paris for staging—working in high-end kitchens for a pittance, the real salary being the opportunity to train under a highly respected chef—she’d looked for her father, checking the eyes of every man of the right age to see if they looked like hers.

Her direct appraisal had gotten her hit on a few times, but no closer to finding her father. She’d finally come to accept that she would probably never know. Her mother claimed not to have even told the man she was pregnant. Julia suspected he might have been married. Maybe she had an entire family in France, half brothers and sisters, a stepmother who would make those clucking French noises when she didn’t like something and a father who shared her eyes. But she wasn’t going to find them.

She sighed. Instead, it was just her against the world.

“I want to buy the restaurant.”

She didn’t need to tell Sasha. Her best friend was well aware of her plans.

“I know.” Sasha rocked her for a moment. “But what if you can’t?”

Julia didn’t like thinking about that. Not tonight. Not when she was already physically and emotionally drained from the long day on her feet and the surprise of the sale.

So she didn’t. She shoved it out of her mind and sat up, picking at the food in front of them. She knew that although Sasha was empathetic, she couldn’t really understand.

Their dreams were as different as their upbringings. Sasha had come from a nice suburban childhood with a big backyard and parents who were still married. Julia had grown up in a two-bedroom apartment in the city. A beautiful top-floor apartment, but far from the picket fence Sasha had known. Sasha’s mom thought gravy from a bag was an acceptable choice, while Julia’s mother had made everything from scratch, even bread. And Sasha had zero interest in owning her own place and had once told Julia that she wasn’t sure she wanted to even become an executive chef. The one night a week she ran the kitchen was enough for her.

It was as foreign an idea to Julia as growing up with two parents in the suburbs.

“Can we talk about something else? Who’s your latest boyfriend?” Sasha always had a new beau, claiming that she’d yet to find one who could hold her interest for more than a few weeks. It amused Julia to see the way she cut a swath through them, somehow always managing to have an amicable breakup.

And because she was a good friend, Sasha went along with the subject change, telling a humorous story about a man she’d met last week and how he already wanted to take her away for a tropical vacation.

But Julia couldn’t keep her mind on the story or on anything but the dilemma now facing her. She was going to have to figure something out. Luckily, she had a week and she planned to take every minute of it.