Page 92 of Long Shot

“I don’t know.”

“You have questions?” Bob says. “We’ll answer as many as we can.”

I cut off a piece of my omelet and pop it in my mouth, thinking. This is undeniably an exciting opportunity. Getting in on the ground floor of one of Graham’s restaurants, which will absolutely do well now that he’s pretty much a household name. That alone will bring people in, and if the food is as good as Piccolo . . . it will be a smash hit.

I worked for Graham before, and it was a challenge. But I’m older and wiser and more experienced, and this time I’ll be the one in charge . . . sort of. As he said, he won’t be there on a daily basis. It will be my kitchen to run.

And I can do it.

Can I?

But what about New York? What about what happened there?

The possibilities do start a tingle that spreads to my fingers and toes, but doubt also clamors inside me.

“You need to think about it,” Loni says. “We understand that. Right, guys?”

Graham frowns. “I thought you’d jump at this opportunity.”

“I really am intrigued,” I say slowly. “And as I said, flattered. But yes . . . I would like some time to think about it.”

“So you can make nachos at a tequila bar?”

I regard him steadily, tipping my head. “You were raving about my food a few minutes ago.”

Graham sighs. “You’re right. I’m just . . . determined that we’re going to work together again.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. That’s all I can ask for. How much time do you need?”

I bite my lip. I have no idea.

“I’ll give you until the end of the week.” It’s Wednesday. “We’re on a tight schedule to be open in January. I’ll call you Friday. Give me your number.”

We exchange cell phone numbers and finish our meal, talking about Graham’s TV show and people we both knew.

I go home to get Jack and take him for a walk before going to Conquistadors. A nice long walk on the beach will clear my head and help me think.

Cade

“Jesus, who crapped in your corn flakes?”

I frown at Beck. “What?”

“You’re all pissy today. What’s going on? We’re still not making enough money?”

“No. We’re doing great.” The sales numbers are definitely looking up. Reese is bringing in all kinds of new customers with her food. Word is getting out about our tequila-tasting nights, which sell out immediately, and the paint night was a big hit, too. “No worries about being shut down because of our booze-to-food ratios.”

“Good to hear. It’s been fantastic seeing how busy we are every night.”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s the problem?” Beck’s gaze sharpens. “Is it Reese?”

“Uh. Sort of. I’m just . . . ” I rub the back of my neck. “Last night her old boss was here.”

“No shit. The celebrity chef dude?”

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