Page 44 of The Last Date

“Run to your room,” Mom said. “I’ll tell him that you have a research project for work.”

“Thanks,” I said, darting out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

As I shut my bedroom door behind me, I realized for the first time that my mother was partly on my side. Yet another random thing that happened in the past few weeks that I would never have anticipated in a million years.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

* Oakley *

Glancing around the main dining room of Nurture reinforced the wisdom of my decision to do a soft opening. For the next few weeks, the restaurant would only be a quarter full, with regular customers from my other restaurants, and friends and family of the staff who were having special occasions.

Many people did this to work out the kinks before everything became overwhelming, but I also needed to keep my promise to myself to avoid extreme stress at all costs.

Sitting on a stool at the end of the long wooden bar, my bartender Casey poured a splash of three different wines into the glasses waiting in front of me.

Swirling and sipping made the wine glasses look dainty in my thick fingers. He took down notes of my comments about which one should pair with which dish.

As I reached for my water glass to the side, I saw Carter Radcliffe striding toward me with thunder in his eyes.

“Of course,” he said with a cold smirk. “My daughter tells you that you can’t date her, and the first thing you do is have a drink.”

“I’ll be back for the next flight in a little while, Casey,” I said, sliding off the stool.

Carter seemed surprised that I led him to a table in the far corner. “If we’re going to have this chat,” I said, “Let’s do it properly. “Would you like a coffee? Or a scotch?”

“No.”

He sat down, spreading his fingers across the table cloth. His ring finger twitched jerkily, and his jaw seemed

to be strangely set. Here I thought I’d be nervous talking to my girlfriend’s father, but I’d forgotten that I was nearly twice his size.

“I don’t drink anymore,” I started. “I taste.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I have a bunch of rules in place,” I said, forcing a smile to try to put him at ease. “I’m a chef. I need to put whiskey in the barbecue glaze, and wine in the chicken. As part of my job, I need to taste these things. Just now I was tasting new wines for food pairings. But I don’t have more than a sip or two. I never have more than one full glass in total throughout the day. I never drink alone.”

To my shock, Carter nodded slightly. “Well, I guess I should say good for you.”

It wasn’t much but I’d take it. “Thank you.”

“That certainly doesn’t erase your lousy reputation and history. That bizarre TV show was bad enough, but the public drunkenness and criminal record will follow you forever. You’ll never build a stable business without trustworthy investors.”

“With all due respect, Sir, I already have,” I said as gently as possible. “When I was rebuilding after that horrible part of my life, I started in the institutional food prep sector. Hospitals, cafeterias, prisons. Nobody cared who I was, only that I was able to coordinate great food for a rock-bottom price.”

Carter’s eyebrow raised slightly. At least he was listening carefully.

“Once that was rolling along, I started a catering company. Then a few more. Then I started opening restaurants.”

He stared at me for a second. “Really?”

“Yes. The Eastman Corporation has been valued at over a billion dollars, and we’re steadily expanding every year.”

He was absolutely silent for a moment.

“It’s okay to be surprised,” I shrugged. “I know a lot of chefs are covered in tattoos and look a bit crazy. I’ve just always had a knack for the business side as well.”

Carter nodded. “Many would argue that the business side is much more important.”

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