Then I slammed the check down with first and last months’ rent, giving him a sweet smile.
I turned to bring the stuff out back and his hand snaked out, grabbing my wrist gently.
When I looked down at him, there was a vulnerability there. “Millie…” He sighed. “Don’t waste your time trying to change the menu or buying a fridge. I’m selling the place before it goes into foreclosure.”
He let my wrist go softly and held up a paper that looked like a purchase contract. The defeated look on his face made my heart sink.
“What? You just hired me.” Shock ripped through me. Was I surprised this place wasn’t earning money? No. But … selling it. Already? I just got here. I’d just declared to myself that I’d save this place.
He shrugged. “I needed your rent money. I wasn’t really planning on paying you much for the cooking anyway.” He set the contract down and gestured to me. “You seem nice enough. So, I wanted you to know you can stop wasting your time.”
I stood there numbly, unsure what to do. I was going to give this thirty days, and now it was over before it started? I didn’t do good with failure. I wasn’t built for this. First my cupcake shop and now this? I hadn’t even had time to tell him about my new menu item ideas. The truffle mac and cheese, the chicken finger sliders with garlic aioli.
The motherfucking guac.
“But … wait.” I clutched my little basket of veggies like a lifeline. “This is what I do. I go into failing restaurants and fix them up.” Okay, technically Colin did. “We can turn this around,” I told him with certainty. I suddenly felt like if I didn’t save this place, it was a smear on Colin’s name.
Ashton chuckled. “Honey, this isn’t a restaurant. It’s a bar. One of a hundred in this area. It’s time to let it go.”
He reached for his pack of cigarettes and my fists balled, pressing into the wicker basket.
“No!” I shouted.
He raised an eyebrow, looking over at me behind blue eyes. “Excuse me?”
“We’re not giving up on the bar just yet. Give me thirty days to turn it around, and if I can’t make a decent profit, you can sell.”
What the hell was I doing? He was going to think I was insane. I just met him, but I was fully committed now. This was my pro-bono project in Colin’s name. I would turn this place around and leave it ten times better than I found it.
He raised one eyebrow. “Are you okay? Like mentally? I never asked you for help with my bar and you just bought a fridge. Something’s not right up there.” He reached out and tapped my forehead.
I growled, an honest to God growl, and it caused him to laugh, a genuine laugh. It made him look five years younger and sent a pool of warmth through my belly.
I put a hand on my hip. “I like projects, okay?”
“Darlin’, I’ve already negotiated with the laundromat that’s buying this place and they’re willing to let me keep the three units. You don’t need to worry about being homeless. So just take your avocados and go.” He shooed me with his hands.
That motherfucker!
The dudes from craigslist came out of the kitchen then, dousing my anger. I thanked them, giving them the $120 I’d negotiated. When they left, I pinned Ashton with a glare.
“I’m not worried about being homeless. I told you, this is what I do. Professionally. I save failing restaurants.” Again, technically, Colin did, but I built their menus and taught their chefs how to cook the items. So same thing, right?
His brow furrowed. “Didn’t you just say you had to close down your cupcake shop?”
Asshole.
“That was different.”
It took everything within me not to chuck this avocado at his face. His very chiseled and beautiful face.
“Mmmhmm, and what does a fancy French pastry chef know about cooking for a bar?” he asked.
I raised an eyebrow. “How did you know I was a French-trained pastry chef?”
“First of all you told me.” He held up his phone. “Secondly Facebook, you’re a long way from New York City, doll.”
Crap. He must have a secret account. How did he know my last name? My eyes went to where I kept my purse last night under the bar. He’d looked at my ID! Who was the stalker now!?
“I’m an expert in pastry, but I’m an amazing cook too,” I told him with pride. “I learned from the best.”
He shrugged, as if he didn’t care that he literally had a goddess of the kitchen right before him. I wanted to claw my eyes out and then beat him with them. Everything about him infuriated me and I didn’t really know why. It annoyed me that he was so good looking, it annoyed me that he was smoking with my dead husband’s heart in his chest, and it really fucking annoyed me when I was losing my shit and he was so calm.
“How long before you sign the papers?” I crossed my arms around the basket in front of me, gripping it like a life raft in raging waters.
He gave me an annoyed expression. “I dunno, like a day. I just gotta talk to my Gran and then my real estate agent is coming by tomorrow night.”
Panic gripped me. I couldn’t just let him lose the bar and leave him a smoking, drinking mess with no business. Why did he need to talk to his Gran? Did she co-own the place?
“Give me seven days,” I begged. “Give me seven days and I’ll prove we can save this place. It could be amazing.”
I held out my hand for him to shake and he just stared at it like it was made of fire. “We?” He laughed.
I nodded. “I’ll help you every step of the way. I’ll craft a new menu, talk to vendors to get some craft beer. Live
