Tempting Donovan Ford (11 page)

“Or pick on one of your other kids,” Donovan suggested. “Shouldn’t I get some brownie points for being the one who’s actually here?”

He was the one who’d stepped up to lead the company when it became clear that Gus wouldn’t be returning to the office anytime soon. Yes, he knew Mal and even Owen had taken on more responsibilities and larger roles, too, but the majority rested on his shoulders. He should, therefore, be excused from any paternal harassment, well intended or otherwise.

Gus didn’t get the memo. “My heart attack put some things into perspective for me. I want to make sure my family is happy.”

“I’m happy,” Donovan said, and for the most part it was true. “Of course, I’d be happier if you’d consider my idea about putting the restaurant back on the market.”

He hadn’t mentioned it to his father lately. But if his father was well enough to make a surprise visit to La Petite Bouchée and hassle him about his personal life and his pretty chef, then he was clearly feeling better and could listen to what Donovan had on his mind.

Donovan had crunched the numbers and knew exactly how much they needed to get to turn a profit, even with the planned renovations. While he’d originally considered trying to make a quick flip, he saw now that seeing the renovations and grand reopening through made better business sense.

“I know you have a personal attachment to the restaurant.” The nostalgia in his father’s voice when he’d talked about it over lunch had made that clear. But this wasn’t about personal attachments. “Branching out into the gastropub market is a better fit with what we already do and it has higher profit potential.”

Gus nodded. “It’s not always about profit, though.”

“No, it isn’t...” Donovan paused, considering his next words. “I think we should sell.”

“Really.” But that was the only outward reaction from his father. Donovan shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t told his father this before. Gus steepled his hands in front of him. “Why?”

Now,
that
was a surprise. Every other time Donovan had mentioned his thoughts on the matter, his father had remained unshakable in his stance that a restaurant was their ideal growth market.

Gus smiled. “I know you’ve got a plan.”

“I do.” Donovan felt the fizz of excitement. The hope that maybe this time his father could be convinced.

“So tell me.”

Donovan’s mind whirred. He wanted to share everything, all the details big and small, because he knew he could make the transition not only smooth but successful. But as with most plans, he decided it was best to start with the first step. “If we list the property—”

“No.” His father interrupted before he could even get going. “You’ve told me that before. Plus the financing, the marketing, every aspect of the business side. I want you to tell me why it’s important to you.” He looked at Donovan, his watchful gaze taking everything in. “I can tell this isn’t just business.”

Donovan felt the fizz die out. “It’s not.” But he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell his father the rest of his reasons.

They sat in silence for a moment, engaged in a quiet contemplation. Donovan didn’t want to hurt his father’s feelings, but it didn’t feel right to sit on his thoughts any longer, either. And his dad had said he just wanted them to be happy.

“Did you mean that? About wanting us to be happy.”

“I did.”

“Even if it means doing things differently than you would?” Up until the heart attack, Gus had had the last word on all company decisions, which was why they owned La Petite Bouchée in the first place.

“Yes.”

Donovan drew in a bracing breath. “I need to make my own name.” Make up for his failed initial attempt to crack the market on his own.

His mother blinked at him, but his father merely pressed his fingertips to his lips. “I see.”

“I don’t know if you do, Dad. You’re recognized in the industry.” Gus Ford had been a success right out of the gate. He’d been a young man with a little money and a big work ethic, who’d studied the Vancouver market and decided that an upscale lounge where people could have excellent drinks and high-quality appetizers was missing. He’d been right. Elephants had been a hit from the moment they’d opened the doors, and nothing had changed in the following years.

His mother sat forward. “So are you, Donovan.”

“Not really.” Yes, he was successful as part of the brand his father had developed. But when he’d tried to follow in his footsteps, fresh out of university with a degree in business management and a trust fund to support his dream, his restaurant had failed.

Donovan knew it was nothing he’d done wrong. He’d had a good location, a great kitchen, a solid business plan that he’d executed cleanly. Sometimes, businesses failed. Even when he looked back on it years later, with an eye for something he might have overlooked, he’d found nothing. It had just been one of those unfortunate things. And yet, that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“Donovan,” his mother began.

“No.” Gus quelled her words with a hand on her arm. “I want to hear.”

“I just want something that’s my initiative. That I can look at and know I created it and made it a success. Like you did with Elephants.” And since Donovan had invested the majority of his trust fund in his failed restaurant, he needed to look to the family company to back the dream. This time it would thrive. He had more experience, more success and he knew now that the money was in liquor sales. Lower cost, higher profit. And he was ready to put all his learning to use.

“Are you thinking of leaving the company?”

“No.” Donovan’s response was swift. He had no intention of removing himself from the day-to-day running of the family company. “I’d just like to be able to have my own section under it.” A way to prove to himself and everyone else that he was more than his one failed attempt.

His mother was silent, but his father made a humming sound in the back of his throat. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about this.”

“I do.” They’d never really discussed his restaurant going under. Though it had been a difficult time for Donovan, he’d tried to grow from it. He’d applied and been accepted to Cornell, where he’d received a master’s of management in hospitality. He’d learned from his years working under his father’s guidance. He still had no guarantees, but if anyone was ready to succeed with a new opening, Donovan felt it was him.

“I love knowing that I’m part of the tradition you started,” he tried to explain, “but I want to start something new, too. My own tradition.” He looked from one parent to the other. To his relief, they both nodded. As if what he said wasn’t completely far-fetched.

“And you think we need to sell La Petite Bouchée to do that,” his father said.

The relief expanded. “Yes.” Since he no longer had the necessary funds to expand on his own, this plan would have to go through the company accounts. “We need the capital if we want to pursue my preferred investments.” And he had an eye on a location a few blocks away from Elephants that was ideally suited to the project. “But aside from the cash flow, I need the ability to focus my energy on the project, and I can’t do that as well as oversee the restaurant and our other holdings.”

“Okay.”

Okay? Okay they understood? Okay they’d heard enough? Or okay they were willing to sell the restaurant as soon as they received an acceptable offer?

“Let’s hear the details of this plan.”

And while Donovan talked, his father listened, asking a few questions, but mainly just absorbing the information. When Donovan was finished, Gus nodded.

“I don’t see why not.” He leveled a gaze at Donovan. “But I don’t want to sell the restaurant.”

Donovan frowned. Wasn’t that the whole point of his spiel? That he needed the time and the funding if they were serious about expanding into the gastropub market?

“I’ll take over La Petite Bouchée when I come back to work.”

That would solve half the problem. “What about the funding to buy another locale?”

Gus opened his arms. “Money isn’t a problem, Donovan. Send me the business plan for a look and we’ll start taking next steps.”

CHAPTER SIX

D
ONOVAN SAT IN
his office looking at the finalized marketing materials his sister had pulled together. It was a nice clean campaign. Effective in its simplicity and reliant on his chef, who was now—he checked his watch—fifteen minutes late.

But he wasn’t too annoyed. He knew how hard Julia had been working, seeing as he was at the restaurant most nights for dinner. Partly to see what they were doing, looking for ways they might make improvements with the renovations, but mostly just to see her. To watch her chat with their few regulars, to see the way she handled her staff and to watch the way she smiled at him when she saw him sitting at the bar.

She often came out after closing to sit with him, ask about the renovation plans and state her own opinions on the matter. He loved watching her face in those moments. The way her eyes focused on him, her lips pouting in his direction.

Donovan hadn’t kissed her again. Not yet. But he sensed it was only a matter of time. The more he saw her, the more he wanted her, and since she wasn’t ignoring him, asking him to leave or otherwise expressing disinterest, he figured she felt the same. Whether or not she would act on it was another matter. But that hadn’t stopped Donovan from ending his casual relationship with Tatiana or from avoiding entanglements with any other women. The only woman he was interested in was Julia Laurent.

He tried calling her cell phone again, but it kicked him through to her voice mail without ringing. Unfortunately, he was unable to leave a message because, as the computerized voice had informed him, her inbox was full.

Instead, he cooled his heels with a glass of cold water and by familiarizing himself with all of Mal’s initiatives. They were meeting to discuss the marketing plan, which would be moving forward in the next couple of weeks.

Normally, Mal would have led the meeting, but she’d been invited to join a coalition of other eating establishments in the city to discuss a charitable project that would both raise awareness of the hungry in the region and encourage residents to eat out in one of the participating locations.

They thought the opportunity would dovetail perfectly with their hopes of elevating La Petite Bouchée
back to the position it had once held. Gus had wanted to attend the meeting, too, but Donovan and Mal had convinced him to let them handle it. Still, it was becoming clear that it wouldn’t be much longer before Gus was back in the office working his twelve-hour days and taking the restaurant off Donovan’s hands.

He hadn’t yet told Julia about the change in plans regarding ownership of the restaurant. Not because he was trying to hide anything, but because he wanted a new contract in place to offer her. She’d made certain concessions in her current contract based on the assumption that they’d be putting the property up for sale and she’d have rights of first purchase. But if that wasn’t happening, Donovan felt it was only fair they offer her other perks and bonuses.

He dealt with other business while he waited for Julia. An email from his real-estate agent to set up a showing for the space near Elephants
that they thought might be viable for the gastropub. Another from his father with questions and suggestions on the business plan Donovan had sent him last week. A third from Mal, who was hoping to wrap up her meeting in time to catch the tail end of this one. Plus, the myriad questions and details that were part of running a successful business.

Donovan answered some, forwarded others and placed a few in his to-be-handled-later file, as they required information that he didn’t know off the top of his head. Then he turned his attention to the amendments his father had made to the business plan.

Some of them were things he had already considered and decided against. Like the choice to pursue quick growth versus slow. While normally cautious, Donovan worried that any delay in getting the idea to market could be the difference between success and failure. It was only a matter of time before the Vancouver market was flooded with these kinds of upscale establishments that combined a casual atmosphere with high-quality food and drink. A place where you could pop in after a yoga class and not look out of place.

He envisioned a place that his current clientele would flock to on those nights and afternoons when they didn’t want to dress up. Somewhere they could be a bit more relaxed and still enjoy the high-end service that the Ford Group was already known for.

“Mr. Ford?” Bailey, his pretty, young receptionist, knocked at the door, interrupting his thoughts. “Ms. Laurent is here to see you. I’ve placed her in the meeting room.”

About time.
He thanked Bailey and gathered up his materials before heading to the boardroom. He wasn’t pleased that Julia was late, but he was still glad to see her. The small pricklings of irritation ebbed away completely when he saw her smiling at him. “You’re late,” he said anyway.

She frowned. Was it wrong that he looked at it a moment longer than might be deemed professional? “We said eleven thirty,” she told him. “I’m actually ten minutes early.”

“We said eleven.” He spread the papers out on the desk—Mal’s media plan and other events that his sister felt would raise the profiles of both Julia and the restaurant. “But you’re here now. Let’s not waste any more time.”

“Donovan.” Julia ignored the paper he slid in front of her, her eyes pinning him. “I don’t want you to think I’m not professional. If we had agreed on eleven, I would have been here at eleven.” She reached out and put a hand on his arm. Her fingers were warm through his sleeve. And suddenly Donovan was thinking about the bedroom instead of the boardroom.

He could feel the tips of her fingers pressing into his skin. No prick of lengthy nails, though. He glanced down. No sign of polish, either, which made sense as she worked in a kitchen. And yet her hands were intensely feminine.

“I think we can chalk it up to miscommunication.” He didn’t move his arm when it would have been logical to step away. Though he knew she wouldn’t have been to the restaurant yet, she still smelled like lemon and white wine. The aroma of his new favorite dish. Her coq au vin blanc. Delicious.