After a quick debate, she took the stairs. She appreciated the echo of her heels off the concrete walls. Strong, powerful, just as she was. She’d worked with some of the toughest chefs in Europe. A meeting with her new owner wouldn’t rattle her. Even if she did find herself thinking of him at the most inopportune times. Though she blamed much of that on Sasha, who’d somehow gotten the crazy idea that Julia liked Donovan.
Julia shook her head. Of course she didn’t like him. For one thing, he was thwarting her plans to buy the restaurant herself. For another, he wasn’t her type. She liked creative types who worked with their hands and weren’t afraid to get dirty. Plus, she barely knew him.
So no, she didn’t like Donovan so much as she knew they needed to have a good working relationship. Nothing more, nothing less.
She reached the top of the stairwell and rolled her shoulders. Breathed in and out. No reason to linger even if she did have a bit of time before the kitchen expected her. She affected her best moue—the French expression that indicated boredom or a desire to get this over and done with—and opened the stairwell door.
A young woman with the kind of smooth skin that came from good genetics sat behind a long wooden desk that shared the same glossy effect as the bar downstairs. Clearly, this was their brand. All sparkle and flash. Julia swallowed. She hoped there was some substance beneath the sheen.
There was a handsome man leaning up against the desk. Julia recognized him as a Ford immediately. The younger son, Owen. He looked like Donovan, but sweeter or maybe just more relaxed. Whatever he’d been saying to the receptionist made her laugh.
She stopped midgiggle and cleared her throat when she noticed Julia. “Good afternoon.”
“Hello. I’m Julia Laurent.” She glanced at Owen, who appeared to have perked up at the mention of her name. Great. Exactly what had Donovan been telling his family about her? She decided to ignore the question. No need to borrow trouble. Maybe it was nothing, just human interest at putting a face to a name. “I have an appointment with Donovan Ford.”
The woman nodded. “Yes, Ms. Laurent. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll let Mr. Ford know you’ve arrived.” She gestured to a long white leather Barcelona couch. It looked custom-made, the tufted seat and back running the length of the entryway.
Julia remained standing while the woman picked up the phone and pressed a few buttons. A small ploy to show that she was on the same level as Donovan Ford when he appeared. But she hoped he wouldn’t be too long. Her feet hurt in these shoes. Though she was used to standing all night, she never did so in heels.
Instead, she stripped off her gloves, stuffing them in the pocket of her coat, and then slid out of the heavy wool. The offices weren’t overly warm, but they felt that way after the brisk outdoor air and her brisker climb up the stairs. She folded the coat over her arm, keeping her practiced pout in place.
“The lovely Julia Laurent.” Owen pushed away from the desk and held out a hand. “Owen Ford.”
Julia shook his hand politely, perfunctorily. Was it just coincidence that he was out here prior to her meeting with Donovan? Or had he been planted here? Some sort of gatekeeper to soften her up or throw her off her game? “Hello.”
She searched for something, anything, that might hint why Owen just happened to be in the reception area when she arrived, but the only thing she noticed were the laugh lines that radiated from his eyes. She liked them. They made him look like the kind of person who knew how to have a good time and included everyone around him in the fun. He moved that way, too, a smooth, laid-back roll to his motions that indicated a man who enjoyed living and didn’t always have a set goal.
For just a second, Julia wondered what that was like. How it would feel to simply take life as it came and not worry about the things she couldn’t control. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
She’d done some research on the family over the past few days. Elephants was their first purchase and had been a swanky lounge back in the ’80s. One of those of the time monuments to shoulder pads and three-martini lunches that had become a city staple during that decade. But, unlike La Petite Bouchée, it hadn’t stagnated. Instead, it had been renovated in line with the times, shifting from bright neon to flashy lasers and disco balls to its current clean look. And it had been successful enough to allow the family to buy the building that housed it and expand to three other locations in the city. All shared the same styling and nod to excess.
Owen wasn’t listed on the company website. In fact, the only place Julia had seen his photo was on the city’s social pages. Always with his arm around one beautiful woman or two. Maybe he didn’t have the cutthroat instincts necessary for business.
His smile certainly didn’t indicate a cold, sharklike nature. “The pleasure is all mine.” And somehow, when he said it, the words came off as charming and self-effacing rather than smarmy. All in the delivery, she suspected. He took her hand and bent to buss a kiss along the back. “I love your food.”
Julia decided she liked him. The pout slipped off her face, more easily than it had slipped on, replaced by her real, natural smile. “You’ve been to the restaurant?” She hadn’t planned to talk about food. Today was about numbers and contracts, budgets and projections. The back-end things that needed to be done properly to allow her to focus her attention where it belonged. In the kitchen.
“A few times. The coq au vin blanc is amazing.”
Since the coq au vin blanc happened to be one of Julia’s favorite dishes, she couldn’t knock his taste. She inclined her head. “Thank you.”
“And the fact that you’re not making life easy for my brother is just one more reason to like you.”
No, she decided, eyeing Owen Ford. She didn’t like him—she loved him.
Owen’s smile deepened, showing off his dimples. “He’s used to getting his own way. Being the boss. Always has. It’s good that you’re standing up to him.”
Julia opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn’t standing up to Donovan so much as standing up for herself, but another voice spoke first.
“Owen, what are you doing here?”
Julia turned to see Donovan behind her, arms crossed over his chest. She hadn’t realized quite how broad his shoulders were. Not that she should be noticing now.
Owen’s tone remained easy, a noticeable difference from the tightness that edged Donovan’s. “Just checking in.”
Donovan frowned and looked from his brother to the pretty receptionist and back again. “Well, if you’re all done checking in, perhaps you could do some work.”
Julia felt a twinge of sympathy, but the loaded statement appeared not to bother Owen. “Sure thing, boss. Bailey.” He nodded at the receptionist. “Julia.” He kissed her on the cheek and then exited the offices.
Julia watched him go, wondering what all that was about. She hadn’t been kissed goodbye by someone she’d just met since her time in France, but somehow Owen pulled it off. Maybe because it felt genuine. He was the kind of person who liked people and was comfortable sharing easy affection. She liked it. She liked him.
“Julia.” There was a low growl in Donovan’s voice. She turned and took his outstretched hand, noting that it wasn’t nearly as warm or friendly as his brother’s handshake, and yet unlike Owen’s handshake or kiss, Donovan’s touch sent an arc of attraction through her.
Why? Why, after all these months of being perfectly content to focus on the restaurant and her staff, being satisfied with the occasional night of flirting when out with Sasha, was she suddenly finding her hormones waking up? And why were they waking up for him?
Seriously, she was going to kill Sasha for ever mentioning the attraction and planting that seed in her head. Because, yeah, she totally wouldn’t be attracted to Donovan at all if Sasha hadn’t brought it up.
Julia batted