“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Mate, you seem to be forgetting something very important: the funding clause in the bankruptcy plan.”
“What about it?”
“If you lose your funding, control of the restaurant reverts back to the court trustee. And the trustee may or may not allow you to invest your own capital, since that would reduce your debt-to-income ratio. American finance, mate. Might want to read up on how the system works before you decide to invest in it.”
What Edward is implying is, should Cristian decide to not sign off on the final funding phase, the restaurant will be confiscated by the court, so it can be sold off to pay the former owner’s debts. Even if I offer to fund the rest of the project with my own money, the court trustee may not agree to this.
I would have never used Greenwood Capital if it wasn’t for Edward’s recommendation.
I disconnect the call without saying goodbye and drop my mobile onto the coffee table as if it’s a hot pan. My vision blurs with rage as I contemplate whether this entire scenario—Edward bringing the Forked buyout to my attention, suggesting I use Cristian’s VC firm, then suggesting I hire Alice—was orchestrated from the beginning.
But why? Does my brother really resent my success that much? Is he really that gutted over Alice walking out on him?
The longer I consider these questions, the more I begin to see the blueprint of Edward’s plan unfolding before me. Until, finally, my mind lands on a memory that brings everything slightly more into focus.
When Edward came to London to spend Christmas with us last year, and to beg me to bail him out of the financial hole he’d dug with his restaurant project, he looked utterly defeated. We spent four days at my parents’ flat in Battersea. I didn’t agree to help him until day four, but Edward’s demeanor changed halfway through our stay. Something else raised my brother’s spirits last Christmas.
I have two options now.
I can proceed with Alice however I want and risk losing my funding and my restaurant.
Or I can simply play by Edward’s rules and leave Alice alone.
As winding and treacherous as the first road appears, I’ve never been one to play it safe.
Chapter 11
ALICE
When I enter the kitchen at Forked, looking for Ollie, I’m caught off my guard by the huge grin that spreads across Ethan’s face when he sees me. I flash him a soft, dreamy smile, realizing too late that this may come across as flirting.
Forcing a serious expression, I turn to Ollie. “I have a message for you.”
She glances at Ethan, then back to me. “For me? What is it?”
“A woman just called. She said her name was Elizabeth Hardley, and she was booked as the photographer for the opening, but she won’t be able to make it due to a family emergency.”
“What?” Ethan and Ollie both exclaim at the same time.
I flinch at their strong reaction. “I just—”
“Is she on the phone right now?” Ollie pleads.
“No. I asked if she wanted to speak to you, but she said she was at the hospital and didn’t have time to hold.”
Both Ethan and Ollie look ready to strangle someone, giving me the impression I should slink out of the kitchen for my own safety.
“I’m on it,” Ollie says to Ethan and quickly exits the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” I say before I can stop myself.
Ethan’s eyes meet mine and something seems to shift inside him, as if he suddenly remembers where he is. The muscle in his jaw relaxes, and he becomes visibly more at ease.
“No need to apologize,” he reminds me. “I’m sure Ollie will find a replacement for the photographer. And if she doesn’t, this is New York. We can probably step outside and find a dozen amateur photographers within eyesight.”
I flash him another quick smile and a nod, then I turn on my heel to leave.
“Alice?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I realize Ethan’s following behind me.
“I need to speak to you in my office,” he says, then seems to notice my trepidation and clarifies, “about tonight’s reservations. Come.”
I follow him to his office and my heart-rate speeds up as he closes the door behind us. He doesn’t move toward his desk chair. Instead, he looks down at me as we stand just inside the door.
The intense look in his eyes is unreadable. Did I do something wrong? Am I being fired? Is he… Is he going to kiss me?
“Have you rung everyone to confirm reservations?” he asks.
I snap my gaze away from the bow of his lips and look him in the eyes, trying not to look too disappointed. “Yes. There was only one cancelation.”
“Who canceled?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he looks hopeful or shocked.
I purse my lips as I search my memory for the person’s name. “I think it was…Peter or Perry. Something like that.”
“Peter Badgely?”
“Yes! That’s it. His assistant said he’s out of town. But everyone else confirmed. And I checked the online reservations. A few of those were canceled, but I don’t remember the names. Do you want me to get those?”
He shakes his head. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
“Great,” I say, reaching for the door handle so I can leave.
His large hand lands on top of mine. “Wait.”
My heart hammers against my chest, so hard I swear he can hear it at this distance. “What?” I say, my eyes focused on our hands, too afraid to look up at his face.
He slowly removes his hand from mine. “You need to know that Edward will be here tonight…for the opening.”
There’s a finality in his tone, but he also sounds apologetic.
The flush of attraction I felt a moment ago morphs into disappointment. “I know,” I say, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. “I had no illusions he wouldn’t be.”
His nostrils flare as he looks down at me. “I tried asking him to come another night, when we’re less busy, but he really wants to be here
