Perfect.
I smile, while considering the limitless possibilities for their meal.
Thibault mentioned he might show this evening, and he’s the reason I came in when I would’ve been spending the evening with my dads. Missing this opportunity wasn’t conceivable, and the decision was easier to make with Bas turning in early for the night.
In parting, Yasmine grabs my hand briefly, and it’s hard to miss the way her fingers linger, her gaze dark and suggestive. Her father’s grin widens.
Great. Just what I need.
“Excuse me, I’ll get started.” I remove my hand.
As I retreat to the kitchen, I spot Olivia at her table, settling the bill. She’s another reason I’m glad I came in tonight.
For a heartbeat, I hesitate, torn between what I want to do and what I need to do. I’ve been networking for months, trying to find the right investor since my usual investors have their money tied up right now.
I’ve had a lot of interest, and the celebrity factor helps, but I don’t want just anyone to invest. And so my hesitation with Aureum. I need to know who I’m getting into bed with.
Sure, that’s what contracts are for. To safeguard potential pitfalls in an agreement of this nature, yet I have friends who’ve gotten into horrible messes because of the wrong investor.
Daniel’s offer could shape my future. He’s a more viable option than Laurent’s group. Closer to home, greater possibility for me to have more control, less oversight from him.
And the most important part is that I know Daniel. He’s a successful businessman, has been frequenting Mon Petit Chou for years, and has experience investing in restaurants. The only red flag is my inability to find out how those ventures have worked out. I need to pursue this with Daniel. I don’t want to lose the opportunity. Otherwise, I’m back to square one.
But Olivia…
My yearning trumps everything.
At the kitchen entrance, I beckon Anton over, the only one here that I’d pass the reins to. “Start the amuse-bouche and seafood platter for table three.” I lean in close and lower my voice. “Daniel Thibault. He could be our investor. I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Bon.” I turn to face the dining room, ready to pick up where we left off.
And she’s gone.
6
OLIVIA
“Ah, shit,” I screech, stumbling and almost snapping my ankle in two.
Old Montreal’s cobblestone streets might look like a scene from a postcard—quaint, romantic, a European dream—but the uneven stones are absolute hell in heels.
We pick our way down the well-lit street, taking tiny, careful steps, each of us hyperaware that one wrong move could mean a broken heel or worse.
“Are you okay?” Sin stops for me to catch up, and I gratefully latch on to her arm with a shaky breath.
“Barely.” I laugh to disguise the pulse of nerves. “How much longer till we hit pavement?”
Why didn’t we just call an Uber to pick us up outside the restaurant?
“Soon.” Erin’s closer to the next intersection where a blessedly smooth road awaits.
“How you holding up?” She quirks a brow and casts an assessing gaze my way. “Any regrets for bolting like a bat out of hell?”
Before I can form my defense, I hear from behind us…
“Olivia.” That deep, unmistakable voice cuts through the night.
