Читать книгу With No Reservations - Laurie Tomlinson - Страница 12
ОглавлениеTRAFFIC WAS SO backed up with cars arriving for the soft opening that Sloane’s driver could go no farther. She had to walk two blocks to Simone, camera bag bouncing against her hip. This was one of the reasons she never wore heels, even for nice occasions. No amount of beauty was worth the blisters.
But fortunately, there were no torrential downpours or hurricane-grade winds. The sky was clear, a pleasant breeze wafting through her filmy aubergine dress. Just cool enough that she knew the warm flavors and comforting atmosphere would be spot-on.
Now she knew exactly how to begin her article.
With one gloved hand on the polished copper door handle, she paused to take a deep breath and tried to drown out the sounds of the crowd inside.
One. Two. Th—
The door flung open, careening her into the restaurant. Her camera bag slid down her arm, and she was mere inches away from eating some serious floor when two solid arms caught her around the waist and shoulders and lowered her to the floor at a much safer velocity.
“I’m really sorry about that,” a booming voice said. “Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”
Sloane looked up to see perfect white teeth surrounded by a charming smile. And a face that looked oddly like Cooper’s.
“Hello.” He drew out the last syllable suggestively as his gaze moved from her face to her peep-toe flats and back. Holding on to her hand just a little too long. “Have I met you before?”
Sloane felt a gentle tug on her elbow. The real Cooper appeared at her other side, syrupy eyes filled with irritation for the man he’d just pulled her away from.
His look turned to concern as he faced her. “Are you all right?”
“I—” She darted her gaze between him and the person who’d spared her from certain humiliation. Same height, same muscular build, same chiseled facial structure and cleft chin. The other man had reddish-brown hair to Cooper’s mocha color and eyes so dark they were almost black in place of Cooper’s honey-flecked ones. “You’re...?”
“Brothers.” Cooper sighed. “Sloane Bradley, meet Owen Cooper. Director of marketing at J. Marian Restaurants.”
“Twin brothers.” Owen’s million-dollar grin was a stark contrast to Cooper’s flat reluctance. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Cooper rolled his eyes. “Sloane is the food writer helping with the launch.”
“Nice to meet you, as well.” Sloane’s voice came out shaky, no doubt compounded by her heartbeat’s seismic proportions. Was it her almost-fall and rescue that was whipping her into a tachycardia? The two very good-looking men on either side of her? The warmth of Cooper’s hand still holding her elbow?
And, goodness, did he clean up nicely. Cooper’s eyes practically glowed in the low lighting. His now stubble-free jawline could cut glass.
Sloane’s stomach dipped as she recognized the Cooper patriarch approaching, motioning his sons to him with a commanding expression. Cooper gave her an apologetic look before following his brother.
With their backs turned, she took the opportunity to smooth the hem of her dress and rearrange her Spanx in one stealthy movement.
She took in the room. So. Many. People. Just breathe. She only had to do this for a few months. Then things would return to normal.
When Sloane turned, Mr. Cooper was still speaking to his sons in a hushed tone. He was dressed in a dark, textured dinner jacket that looked fresh from the tailor. The woman at his side—gorgeous, with a sparkling planet on her ring finger, long white teeth that seemed to go on for miles and half his age—said nothing.
Unsure where to go or what to do, Sloane scoped out the restaurant decor. Cooper had pulled everything together in time. And he’d added a touch of elegance with low lighting and rustic burnished candlesticks on every table.
But the best part? Massive canvases of the photos she’d taken had been hung on each wall, flanking a huge black-and-white portrait of an older woman—probably seventy or so. The contrast and lighting of the photo highlighted her lined face, wide cheekbones, and deep set of her eyes in a way that showcased her strength and dignity. Though her mouth was set in a firm, thin line, there was a sparkle in her clear eyes that spoke volumes about her and also made her very French. Made Sloane want to know her.
She tore her gaze from the portrait and turned to the Coopers. Owen was deep in conversation with a woman she recognized as a network news anchor while Mr. Cooper and his wife moved on to more schmoozeworthy pastures.
“Come with me.” Cooper’s low whisper startled Sloane and sent shivers down her spine. “I know just the spot for you.”
He led her to a table with a small chalkboard sign marked Reserved. Seated there were a blonde who looked fresh from the beach and a woman with the regal elegance of a politician’s wife—Marian Cooper.
Sloane sucked in a trembling breath. If she could have any superpower right now, it would definitely be invisibility. Cooper destroyed any possibility of that when he interrupted their conversation. “Ladies, excuse me.”
They turned toward him, mirroring his charming smile. Sloane flinched as his fingers brushed her bra strap and came to a rest on her lower back.
“I’d like you to meet Sloane Bradley, freelance writer and ambassador for VisibilityNet. She’ll be working to expand our presence on the web.”
Sloane listened closely for a dismissive air in his tone, still a little stung by his words a few days before. But if he still thought her job was ridiculous despite all of the help she’d given him, he hid it really well.
“Oh.” The blonde straightened to her full, runway model posture. “You’re a blogger, right? I think I’ve seen some of your recipes on Pinterest.”
Sloane swallowed a lump in her throat, wishing more than anything that Grace or one of her faithful blog commenters was here to do the talking.
“Yes, her recipes have built quite the following,” Cooper answered for her. “This is Trina Taylor, local reporter for the Dallas Morning News.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of you, too,” Sloane said. “You have quite the reputation around here.”
“Persistent?” Trina raised a shaped eyebrow.
Sloane nodded. “Yeah, something like that.” Though she’d never met the reporter in person, ruthless was the word people most often used to describe Trina. It was an excellent quality for a young journalist, but Sloane preferred to stay away from them in general. Maybe it was all the questions.
Cooper moved behind his mother’s chair. “And this stunning creature, as you know, is my mother, Marian Cooper.”
“Hello again.” A nervous laugh escaped Sloane, followed by an even more awkward wave, if such a thing was possible.
The older woman smiled, her familiar golden-brown eyes glowing. “Hi, Sloane. You’re welcome to sit at our table.”
Calmed by Marian’s drawl, Sloane pulled out the chair next to her. “That’s very kind of you.”
Cooper stepped aside as a server arrived with a tray of appetizers. His head swiveled toward the door, where people dressed in expensive suits and glittering jewels filed inside. “I need to say hello to a few other guests,” he said over his shoulder. “So I’ll leave you ladies to enjoy the evening. Let me know if you need anything.”
Trina dove right in when he was out of earshot. “So, Ms. Cooper, what is your role at the company these days? Are you here on official business?” She tore a leaf from the roasted artichoke and sucked it delicately. “Mmm. This is delicious.”
Part of Sloane was glad Trina wasn’t the type to pull her punches. Maybe Sloane would get some answers about this family that she didn’t have the clearance to ask.
“You want to know how they handle the jilted matriarch at these kinds of things?” Marian’s expression didn’t waver.
“That’s not what I was asking, but if you’re answering...”
Please be careful what you say! One wrong step and Marian could find herself snapped up in a proverbial bear trap, if the amusement twinkling in Trina’s eyes was any indication.
“Though I elected to focus on the City on a Hill Foundation, I’m still very interested in the company that has my name on it, even if I’m not involved with the day-to-day operations.”
“Of course.” Trina gave a little nod.
“But beyond keeping an eye on my investments, this is one of the biggest nights in my son’s life. Anything else is a nonissue.”
Good for her. Kind, but still firm. Jilted or not, the woman could hold her own.
Sloane glanced at Trina, measuring whether the reporter was daring enough to dig deeper. Not now, her firmly pressed lips told Sloane. But her calculating eyes said there would definitely be a later.
A silence settled over the table as they sampled the French onion soup. Sloane focused on picking out each ingredient in the broth as the hum of chatter in the room and the soft, dulcet French music whitewashed her senses into a warm calm.
Once she was thoroughly relaxed, she excused herself and pulled out her camera to take some action shots for her recap article. The hoity-toities were too focused on their food to notice her, which was exactly how she liked to keep it. She even captured one of the Dallas-Fort Worth area’s district attorneys midbite, staring at his croque monsieur as if it had been laced with some kind of love potion.
Trina’s chair was empty when Sloane returned, traded for a spot next to Cooper and Owen. Judging by the look in Trina’s eyes and the way she was half hanging on Owen, it seemed she was about to lap the Cooper brothers up with a spoon.
Nope. That was none of Sloane’s concern.
“Your son is an excellent chef, Marian.” She put her fork down after finishing her chocolate lava cake and leaned back in her chair. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to cut my Spanx off when I get home.”
Marian chuckled. “Yes, Graham’s always had a special talent when it comes to cooking. He and his sister were making us dinner when he was practically still in diapers.”
Sloane smiled at the image of a toddler standing on a chair and stirring something over a stove.
“We put him to work in our first restaurant when he was fourteen.” The smile vanished from Marian’s eyes. “There was a time when I didn’t think he’d ever cook again.” She blinked several times, and the twinkle was back. “He’s come a long way here.”
Sloane nodded dumbly as Marian’s words echoed against the corners of her mind. She’d practically lived under a rock for the past several years and even she knew enough of the story to see he wasn’t the same person. Though Sloane was beginning to get the feeling all she saw was the tip of a very jagged iceberg.
She scanned the room for Cooper and started when she found him looking directly at her.
Whoa. She felt like a dunk-tank seat had plunged her into water.
He smiled and gave her a little nod before returning his attention to the white-haired lady making animated gestures in front of him.
Distraction. Sloane needed a distraction from Cooper and locked her gaze on the black-and-white portrait of the older woman. If that was a stock photo, it was spot-on for the restaurant. “Do—do you know who that is in the picture?”
Marian turned in her chair for a look. “Did Graham not tell you?”
Sloane shook her head.
“That’s Simone. The woman this restaurant was named for.”
“Simone?” That couldn’t be her. The moisture evaporated in Sloane’s mouth and throat.
“My son rented her upstairs apartment when he moved to Paris, and she really got through to him when he needed it the most. If it weren’t for Simone...” Marian swallowed hard. “Well, I don’t know that I’d have two sons right now.”
Sloane nodded, transfixed on the photo as Marian’s words sunk in. With the record straight about her horribly false assumption of Simone, it was clear every interaction she’d had with Cooper needed a fresh interpretation.
“So, are you from this area?” Marian leaned her elbows on the table, the gold in her bracelet catching the candlelight. “What’s your story?”
I moved here because I couldn’t handle my hometown—and my hometown couldn’t handle me.
“No. When I graduated from college I basically took out a map, closed my eyes and pointed to a random spot.” Sloane sipped her water. “There are lots of good things happening in Dallas.”
Marian pressed her lips together. “Do you get to see your family often?”
What? Was this woman in league with her mother?
“We, uh, keep in touch.” Sloane crossed her legs and smoothed her dress.
Marian nodded, her eyes narrowed with understanding. She knew there was more to it, but unlike Trina, she was polite enough not to pry.
Sloane had been back to the place she grew up, that one-stoplight Indiana town, once since her high-school graduation. And that was only to pack a few things and ship them here.
“Well, you’ve done quite well for yourself with your website,” Marian said. “I appreciate everything you do for the foundation, and when I found out your line of work, I had to check out VisibilityNet. I’m looking forward to seeing where this partnership goes. Depending how this launch fares, I think it could lead to a bigger deal with this company.”
“Wow,” Sloane injected enthusiasm into her tone. “I think my bosses would give me their jobs if that happened. They would love the opportunity for a contract with J. Marian Restaurants.”
She, on the other hand, would love to go back in time and tell Blissfully Ignorant Sloane to never take her comfy job for granted. She looked up as a figure stopped next to their table, and Cooper Sr. aimed a searing glare at her before moving on.
Yes, if she could do it over again, she’d definitely reread her contract and negotiate the whole human interaction thing before she signed on the dotted line. She glanced at Marian to see if her ex-husband looked at all total strangers like that. But the woman was distracted, stifling laughter into her napkin. The source of her amusement? Cooper angling farther and farther away from Trina’s less-than-subtle advances.
“He’s a totally different person,” Marian said, sipping her water. “Owen, on the other hand—”
An earsplitting whistle commanded the silence of the entire room.
Cooper had moved to the front of the restaurant and was seated on the counter. “Thanks for breaking bread at Simone tonight,” he said, earning the applause of his patrons. “It means the world that you’re willing to share this moment with me.”
His cell phone buzzed loudly against the counter’s surface, but he didn’t flinch.
“I want to thank my dad for supporting my vision even when we didn’t see eye to eye.”
The older Graham Cooper uncrossed his arms, the smug line of his mouth curving into a beaming grin before snuffing out.
“And my mom, Marian, for being brave enough to put all her eggs in one basket and taking a chance on that first restaurant years ago.” Cooper slid off the counter and crossed to their table. “Our family’s been through a lot, and I can’t imagine that J. Marian Restaurants would have survived without a person like you at the helm.”
While Cooper’s father was the great and powerful Oz of J. Marian Restaurants, Marian had been the mastermind calling the shots behind the curtain. And that made sense, given that it was her money that had funded the company in the first place.
Cooper bent to kiss his mother on the cheek.
“Jordan would have been so proud of you,” Marian whispered, squeezing both of her son’s hands before he returned to the center of the floor.
Jordan? Who was Jordan? Judging by the sheen in Cooper’s eyes and the way he kept glancing at his mother while he thanked his staff and did the obligatory name-dropping, he was someone special.
“Thank you for sitting with me and keeping me entertained this evening.” Marian stood as Sloane gathered her things to leave after Cooper closed out the evening. “I look forward to getting to know you better.”
“You, too, Marian.” Sloane put her hand in Marian’s outstretched one and returned her gentle, maternal squeeze.
She waved to Cooper as she joined the herd leaving the restaurant and mouthed “Thanks.” He started toward her before he appeared to remember he was in the middle of a conversation with an older gentleman. Cooper smiled apologetically and returned his attention to his guest.
As she stepped into the street where her car was waiting, for some reason Sloane dabbed at tears in her eyes. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Cooper’s mom had squeezed her hand. A weird mixture of sadness and relief pulled in her chest as she replayed the events of the evening in the back of the car, then later as she showered and dressed for bed. As she brushed her teeth, words ran through her mind like a scrolling marquee, the restaurant review she knew she had to write now or else she’d never sleep.
Once it was finished, when she was finally snuggled into her covers in the dark familiarity of her apartment, she allowed her muscles to relax and closed her eyes—only to snap them wide-open. How could she have forgotten to schedule her social media posts for tomorrow? It was something she did every night without fail.
Maybe I can skip it. Just this once.
But visions of the chaos it would spin into her morning schedule unsettled Sloane enough that she shoved her feet into her slippers and wrapped a cozy throw around her shoulders.
After the posts were lined up, she crawled into bed with the quiet reassurance that everything was in order. Everything except for the niggling confirmation that the suspicions she’d had from the beginning of this assignment were one-hundred-percent founded.
The Cooper family was about to unravel her, bit by precise bit.
* * *
IT WAS MIDNIGHT, and Cooper sat on the leather couch in the corner of his restaurant, bathed in the flickering light from the fireplace. Still in disbelief that it was his restaurant.
His guests were long gone. The overhead lights were turned off. He’d switched the French jazz to a playlist that always helped him wind down. He’d just said goodbye to his manager, Janet—the early-fifties woman who reminded him of Simone. She was brusque and hardworking but the pinnacle of kindness when the people around her needed it the most.
The staff had swept the place clean, chairs overturned on the tables, stacks of clean dishes piled here and there. He was left with a to-do list that could probably reach Austin, including adjusting some of the ingredients on his house salad that didn’t quite suit the less adventurous palates in attendance.
But all of that could wait. For now, he would sit. He would relish the fact that he wasn’t the one bored at one of his parents’ events anymore. This was his restaurant. His pièce de résistance. Those people had all been here for him, perhaps like rubberneckers driving past the scene of a three-car pileup to witness Graham Cooper Jr.’s potential crash and burn. But they had been his to take care of nonetheless.
And, with the exception of a few people who couldn’t appreciate a good Blue Stilton in all of its pure and pungent glory, he’d had them right where he wanted them.
Cooper unpeeled the wrapper from a straw and chewed on the tip of it. He closed his eyes and blew the air from his lungs slowly, drawing up an image of the people who’d filled these seats, familiar faces he’d seen dozens of times in the news, at important events, in meetings with his father. But he’d never seen those faces flushed with satisfaction, lined with laughter, relaxed and rumpled. Lingering over his empty plates. His vision for Simone was circling the corner, close enough to reach if he leaned a little.
But he’d had to avoid his father, who’d worn a scowl most of the night and had actually pulled him and Owen aside to ask about a work issue.
“This doesn’t concern me,” he could picture Simone saying in her tiny kitchen as she cut a pat of butter into a frying pan. “The only thing that matters is what you decide to do.”
His phone buzzed on the couch next to him. A text from Owen.
Might not make it tomorrow. It’s going to be a late night :)
Cooper rolled his eyes. Different night but same song and dance from his brother.
Owen had left without a word, laughing and flirting shamelessly with a giggling trio of girls. Daughters of politicians or lawyers, probably. Of course Owen was going to flake on their standing basketball game.
At least Owen hadn’t gone near Sloane for the rest of the night. Cooper had made it clear to his brother that Sloane was different. Off-limits. Not another one of Owen’s conquests to wring dry and leave hanging on the laundry line next to the others. Not that Sloane would let that happen anyway.
When he dismissed Owen’s text, the red bubble of his unopened emails seemed to magnify on his screen. Forty-six issues that needed his attention. Forty-six fires he needed to douse. Forty-six people he was potentially failing in the pursuit of this restaurant.
As Cooper watched the fire cast swaying swaths of light across the dark café, he felt a dry pull in the back of his throat. The tip of panic crept into his consciousness before he shoved it away and allowed his focus to float free. He could almost taste the smooth, rich Jack Daniels and feel its tang burning across his tongue, through the back of his mouth.
He swiveled on the couch, the necks of the oil and vinegar bottles on the expo counter glinting in the light of the flames, taunting him.
For over two years, he’d been sober. Surely he had it under control enough to manage one sip. He’d intentionally avoided stocking alcohol in the restaurant for this very reason despite the revenue it would bring. But there was a liquor store half a block away, a gas station on the corner.
One drink wouldn’t hurt anything, right? Only one glass of the easy stuff.
Cooper growled and snatched up his things. Yes, in his experience, one drink could ruin everything. Because it never ended up being just one. When he was drinking, he was a human tornado that destroyed everything in its path. There was too much at stake, too much life in this restaurant to risk it.
He put out the fire and locked the restaurant behind him, leaning against the door and allowing the cool autumn air to calm him. Willing himself to fight the craving that was so strong he could taste it.
Jake. If he texted his roommate, maybe he wouldn’t do something stupid. As he pulled his phone from his pocket, an alert lit the screen. New email from Sloane.
Mr. Cooper,
I just scheduled the article to post in the morning. Here is a copy in case you’re awake and want to preview it before it goes out. If you have any questions, please let me know.
Cordially,
Sloane Bradley
He chuckled and clicked the link to the document, leaning against the heavy wooden door as he waited for the text to load. Something flickered in his chest. Was he nervous about what Sloane had to say? Or had he simply stolen too many bites from the pastry tray?
The article popped up on the screen, and he read it in Sloane’s distinct silky voice.
Influenced by head chef and developer Graham Cooper Jr.’s time in Paris, Simone is a groundbreaking addition to the J. Marian Restaurants family. The cozy atmosphere offers patrons a respite from the bustle of downtown Dallas, and the commitment to quality in its diverse menu proves that a fast, casual concept doesn’t have to be synonymous with hurried and uninventive.
He scrolled through Sloane’s reviews of the dishes she had photographed—crisp, inviting images of hearty breads and fresh vegetables and bubbling cheeses with vivid descriptions of each taste and smell.
And to think he’d ever questioned what use she would be for him. For his restaurant. He’d never second-guess one of his mother’s recommendations again.
With the last sentence of the article, his fate was sealed. The emotions of the night all whisked together from the corners of his brain to form a lump in his throat.
Simone represents a thoughtfulness, precision and execution poised to revolutionize the fast-casual restaurant experience—a can’t-miss if you’re in the Dallas area.
Cooper stared at the screen, sinking down the outside wall of his restaurant to a crouch. For the first time since he said goodbye to Simone, he had an ally. Someone who believed in him and not just because they shared his blood. Who cared that Sloane was paid to write these things? Whoever she was, guarded and talented and fiercely protective of her camera, with her words, Sloane Bradley made him feel like he could do anything.
“À la bonne heure.” Cooper could almost hear the words Simone often told him as she poured tea into his mug. “In good time.”
Had his time finally arrived?
