Love Will Always Remember, page 4
“So, I made it?”
“You made it, doll.”
Leighton pulled Andrea into a hug, laughing as happiness spilled forth from her.
“It’s just an honor to be considered,” she finally said, with a small, knowing smile.
“Bullshit. You’ve wanted to be on that list ever since you started working as a lobbyist.”
“You’re right. I did.”
Andrea’s face withered into sober lines. “Now, about this engagement—”
“You don’t approve.” It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t,” Andrea said plainly. “He’s not the one for you.”
“That’s an interesting position to take considering you introduced us.”
“He’s the managing director for a large, distinguished investment firm. He was fine to date, especially when you wanted a suitable escort to events around the city. But long term?” Andrea shook her head. “He isn’t in your league. You need someone to challenge you, someone to arouse your passions—”
Unbidden, an image of Jonathan flashed in her mind. The way he’d stared at her mouth like it was a gourmet feast and he hadn’t eaten in a month. She lifted her chin. “The last thing I’ll ever consider when it comes to my future is passion.”
“I’ve seen you together. You don’t love him.”
She brushed that off. “In DC, people get married for lots of reasons.” Power. Access. Branding. “Love is way down on the list.”
“Don’t you want more for yourself? Do you want to wake up five years from now and realize you’ve made a mistake? That you settled out of disappointment, hurt and anger?” Andrea’s tone could just as easily been used to soothe a skittish mare.
Leighton adjusted her stance, shifting her weight onto her back leg and crossing her arms. “Marrying Thomas will give me exactly what I want.”
“Which is what?” Andrea narrowed her eyes. “I used to know.”
A way to build her own legacy. She no longer thought it enough just to be the daughter of Gene and Beverly Clarke. Though the world didn’t know it, the association, especially given what she now knew, sullied her soul.
“What are you doing over here?” Leighton asked, seeking to change the subject. “You’re a long way from Capitol Hill.”
Andrea looked away, running an unnecessary hand over her smooth hair. “I was having lunch with a friend.”
“Have you started dating again? Good for you.”
Andrea’s wife died two years ago from breast cancer. She still wore her wedding ring.
The door to the restaurant swung wide, surprising both women. A tall, middle-aged brunette stepped out.
“That must be an extremely long cigarette, Andrea.” The woman’s eyes widened when they landed on Leighton.
Oh. My. God.
Leighton was sure she mirrored the other woman’s expression.
“Governor Wittig, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is—”
“Leighton Clarke.” Wittig took her hand. “I know who you are. Andrea speaks of you constantly.”
“She does?”
“You have a fan in her.”
Leighton shot a look at Andrea. “The feeling is mutual.”
“I’ve met your parents. Good people. Your father was a brilliant man.”
Leighton didn’t even flinch. “Thank you.”
“How’s your mother?”
“Good. Traveling.”
“One of the perks of retiring from public office. I plan to take full advantage of it if I ever decide to follow suit.”
Leighton glanced at the signage above the restaurant. “I thought you were allergic to seafood, Andrea.”
Wittig answered for her. “We weren’t here for the cuisine.”
The two women shared a look.
It clicked then.
The smile that crossed the governor’s face confirmed when she knew that Leighton had figured it out. “It’s off the beaten path, and at this point, secrecy is of the utmost importance.”
“I understand.”
Wittig turned to Andrea. “Are you considering her for the team?”
“Possibly.” Andrea winked at Leighton. “I’ll try to convince her.”
Wittig nodded. “That’s good. With the people you know and the connections you have, you’d be an asset.” She clapped her hands together. “Make it happen, Andrea, then come back inside. I only have fifteen minutes before I have to leave. It was a pleasure to meet you, Leighton.”
Wittig re-entered the restaurant.
Excitement hummed in Leighton’s body. “The rumors are true? She’s going to run?”
“Nothing’s been decided—”
“Oh, come on. How many times have I listened to your stories recounting the beginning of a campaign? And since you haven’t worked on a state race since your early days . . .”
“We’re talking. We have another year before she needs to declare anything. Right now, we’re just laying out a strategy.” Andrea reached into her fitted suit jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She shook one loose. “Are you interested?”
“In what?”
“Say something was happening—and I’m not saying it is. Would you be interested?”
There was a time when she would’ve jumped at the opportunity. But that was before she’d been able to see past the illusion of service and learned it was all about power.
“Thanks for the offer, but no.”
“Working on a national campaign is something you’ve always wanted to do.”
“Not anymore. Besides, as you mentioned, my career is flourishing, especially with this big client I’ve taken on.”
“Concord Tires.” Andrea shook her head. “You know that’s not going to end well, right?”
Leighton narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve managed to keep it hidden, but you have to be concerned about their safety, with the tires over-inflating and explod—”
“Do you have the entire city under surveillance?”
“Do you want to be called in front of a judicial committee?” Andrea fired back.
“No! And I won’t. By the time the rollout begins, Concord will have fixed the problem.”
“You hope.”
“I’m a lobbyist, not an engineer. If there are mechanical issues, they have nothing to do with me.”
“This isn’t like you.”
“It’s not how I used to be. It’s who I am now.”
“I know when you found out about your parents—”
Resentment thickened her throat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I respected that for a while and maybe my leaving you alone with regards to Thomas and your parents, not saying my piece, did you more harm than good.”
Leighton’s blood simmered. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Have you talked to your mother?”
“Andrea, you want to stay my friend? Stay the fuck out of it!”
Andrea’s mouth dropped open. Raising both brows, she nodded and held her hands up, palms out. “Fine.” She lit her cigarette, inhaled and blew out a stream of smoke. “As for Wittig, you don’t have to make up your mind right now. Take some time. Think about it.”
“I don’t need to think about it. I’m not interested.” Leighton glanced at her watch. She’d have to call Herb now if she didn’t want to be late for her afternoon meetings. Who did she have to lobby to get another couple of hours added on to the day? “I’ve got to go.”
“We’re not done talking about Thomas and your engagement.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Doll, I love you like you’re my own daughter and I’m concerned about you. The engagement, Concord Tires . . . Are you sure you want to go down this path?”
The image of the intense look on Jonathan’s face when he slid the engagement ring on her finger flashed in her mind. Her heart thrashed against her ribcage. She smothered the image.
“My life is exactly how I want it. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Chapter Four
Jonathan shoveled his hands through his hair and pulled. He’d trade a non-vital organ for a moment of quiet.
The restaurant’s front door opened and a short, stocky guy poked his hard-hat-covered head in, bright orange construction headphones hugging his neck.
Anticipation galvanized Jonathan’s pulse. “Wayne, you guys finished? Are you finally ready to take the scaffolding down from in front of my door?”
The metal poles had been there so long it was starting to look like an architectural feature of the building.
Karl hadn’t been enthused about that design detail, either.
The construction had been going on outside his restaurant for the past three months. He’d thought opening Quartet had been tough. He’d thought garnering three Michelin stars had been hell on earth. Both had been child’s play compared to trying to open a restaurant in the nation’s capital. Between permitting delays, updating the historic building to make it a viable space to house a restaurant, and a legal dispute he had to settle between an adjacent property owner and the previous owner of the space, a restaurant that should’ve launched two months ago was still struggling to open.
In the beginning, as he’d faced interruption after interruption, he’d been furious. Now, the inevitability of another setback had reduced his anger to a dulled acceptance. He’d gotten to know the crew pretty well by now.
Wayne scratched his temple. “We were close . . .”
“But—” Jonathan prompted, hands on his hips.
“There’s a broken water main half a block down. The city sent a crew to fix it, but they have to dig up the pipe and, well . . .”
Jonathan’s rage threatened to bubble back to the surface, but he took a second. Inhaled. It wouldn’t help to yell at the man. This wasn’t his fault. “Tell me.”
“The street out here is going to be a war zone for the next four days. Once they’re done, we can assess the damage and give you a better idea of when we can finally be done.”
He shook his head. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. Just another situation in the odyssey to open this godforsaken restaurant.
“Just let me know as soon as possible. You need to be outta here by next week, so we can get to work on the signage.”
“We’ll try.” Wayne looked around the space. “It looks great in here. Things are finally coming together.”
“Thanks.” Jonathan gripped the back of a nearby bar stool so tightly, his knuckles whitened. “Are you done for the night?”
“About another half an hour.”
“Make sure you stop around back before you go. I’ll have one of the prep cooks make up some boxes for you and the crew.”
“Thanks, Chef. You’re the best.”
Jonathan’s reluctant smile faded when Wayne disappeared back outside. Fuck non-vital organs. Were there semi-vital organs? What about his pancreas? Yeah, he’d give his pancreas for peace and no more complications with this restaurant.
He could leave, but where would he go? His new house? It was a beautiful place, a smart investment, but it wasn’t home. His restaurants were home. His kitchens were home. Plus, there was no way in hell he could be anywhere else when the time to open Sedici was winding down with an alarming quickness.
“What about that space in Adams Morgan? No, the other one.” Zach Dalman, his business partner in the newly formed D&M Restaurant Group, pushed through the swinging door into the dining room from the kitchen.
It looked like that “discussion” about the expensive floor change would happen now.
“I need those numbers as soon as possible.” Zach ended the call and slid his phone into the front pocket of his slacks. He settled his hand on his hips and glanced around. “It’s looking good.”
Jonathan shook his head. “No it’s not.”
“No, it’s not,” Zach parroted, “but there’s activity and people buzzing around, so that’s a good sign. Is it going to be done in three weeks?”
His voice seemed to suggest he thought the possibility was unlikely.
“What if we aren’t?”
Zach hefted a blond brow. “Excuse me? September 9. That’s the date. We can’t miss it. Failure is not an option.”
They were opening a restaurant, not starting out on a black ops mission and Jonathan wouldn’t open if the restaurant wasn’t ready. He’d only get one chance to make his first impression to the city. And with all he’d already accomplished, much would be expected from his DC debut.
“What would it cost us to defer a week?”
“Over and above the two million we’re already spending?” Zach scratched his cheek. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t postpone the opening.”
“But if we have to?” Jonathan persisted.
“We have eight hundred reservations. If you cancel them, you can forget about getting them back.”
Zach was right. Jonathan sighed. “It’ll be done. Even if I have to do everything myself.”
Zach motioned toward the front door. “What’s going on outside?”
Jonathan explained the situation.
“We’ve had the worst luck trying to open this place! What the fuck did you do to get on DC’s bad side?”
Lust after his future sister-in-law?
“Maybe the city is trying to tell you something.”
Stop picturing Leighton Clarke naked? Keep your hands to yourself? “It’ll work out.”
“It’d better. Because this is it.”
“I know, I know.”
“No, I mean it.”
Something in Zach’s voice chilled him.
They’d designed their partnership so their roles were clearly defined: Jonathan handled the management of the restaurant; Zach handled the business. But the essential component of their successful association was the respect each had for the strengths the other brought to the table.
“What’s going on?” Jonathan rubbed his temple.
Zach’s gaze was steady. “If we don’t open on our date in three weeks, we don’t open.”
“Why?”
“A clause in the contract. Do you know how many restaurants open in DC? How many close? The sale of the building was contingent on the restaurant opening before a date certain. September 14 is that date.”
“Why would you agree to that?”
“Because the minute you saw this space, you wanted it and nothing else would do. There’s no way we could’ve foreseen a need to delay the opening twice.”
“That wasn’t our fault!”
“It doesn’t matter. The money we’ve put in, the money we got from Adam and Mike, it’s all gone. Do you want to go back to them and ask for more money for another space?”
Fuck no.
Zach looked around. “Probably not a good time to decide to put a new floor in when nothing was wrong with the original one.”
And there it was.
He didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with this right now, especially on top of everything else that was happening.
“I didn’t decide shit. That was Karl.”
“Uh-huh.” Zach’s phone rang. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID. “I have to take this.”
Jonathan clenched his jaw, but nodded.
Zach plugged one ear with his finger. “Talk to me,” he barked into his phone while moving several feet away.
“Chef?” Robby, the front-of-the-house manager, hurried over, carrying two clothing options for the waitstaff. “The mockups of the uniforms came in. Which do you prefer?”
Now that Jonathan saw them in person, the choice was obvious. He pointed to the winning garment.
“I’ll put the order in for these right now,” the manager said. “If I hurry, I can catch them on the West Coast before their business office closes.”
Zach rejoined him, nodding to the departing manager. “I’ve got to fly up to New York, but I’ll be back on Monday. I have faith in you. Let’s get this done.”
He squeezed Jonathan’s shoulder and headed out the front entrance, dodging the pandemonium of the construction, his phone already re-attached to his ear.
“A moment, Chef?” His sous chef, Nyah Gibson, stood in the entryway to the kitchen, one hip bracing the swinging door open.
Fuck it. Forget about non-vital or semi. Vital it was. Kidney or liver? Which one could he give away for the greatest amount of peace?
He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and inhaled. Although the peace he sought failed to materialize, he focused on his second in command. “What’s up?”
She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “We’ve got a problem.”
Clenching his jaw, he hurried into the state-of-the-art kitchen he’d lovingly crafted. The gleaming stainless steel, industrial grade ranges, grills, ovens and coolers. He may have trusted Karl with the front of the house, but the conception of the kitchen was all him.
Members of his cooking staff gathered around the main attraction.
Elaine, one of his entremetiers, jabbed a finger at Miguel, a rotisseur. “—get your shit together.”
“Girl, please. My shit is soigné,” Miguel said, motioning as if to brush dirt off his shoulder.
“Asshole, please.” Elaine mocked him and swept a tattooed arm in the grill’s direction. “Chef sent back three of your veal chops because they were over. I had to refire my swiss chard and my mushrooms. That fucks up my flow.”
Miguel grabbed his crotch. “I can get you flowing right.”
A chorus of “oohs” inflated the air.
Elaine pushed her bottom lip forward in a pout. “Not even with your momma’s mouth.”
Laughter, wolf whistles and claps of appreciation. Elaine executed a bow.
Heat blossomed on Miguel’s tanned face. “Don’t talk about my mot—”
“Enough!” Jonathan settled his hands on his hips and blew out an impatient breath.
Everyone froze. Then, like a scene played in reverse, respect reinforced postures, erased glee from faces and urged cooks back to their stations.
The reaction didn’t surprise him; his presence demanded it. His staff understood the importance of granting him the deference an executive chef was due in his kitchen.
