Chapter Twelve

When Mack drove to Sam’s office for their next meeting, she braced herself to be cool, calm, and most of all, professional. Not a sex-starved maniac who’d do anything no matter the consequences. Certainly not someone about to cave to Connor’s wishes simply because he happened to know how to make her lose her mind.

Kane Enterprises had a string of offices near the mountain, and Sam had a sunny suite with a view of the tall, craggy peak still snowy at the top. Mack parked in the back and took a moment to appreciate the sight. Which also gave her time to take inventory before she walked in.

Brain: screwed on. Panties: dry. Fists: clenched by her side in a fit of determination to keep her brain and her body from getting away from her at the sight of Connor sitting at the table, breaking a cookie in two, and licking chocolate from his thumb.

Dammit. Did he time it like that, to have his tongue darting out the moment she walked though the door?

Brain: a mess. Panties: same. Fists: still clenched, but not helping.

She sat across from him, mouth set in a line. They were not going to play this game again.

And they couldn’t, because in a second Sam came in, laptop open, and Mack and Connor had to pretend they’d been hard at work at something other than giving each other explosive orgasms in compromising situations.

But today Mack had something concrete to bring to the table. She’d worked out a menu with twelve unique cocktails, each drawing on a different homemade bitter, followed by a second menu with seasonal rotations. In her notebook was another list of options revolving around the same theme.

“I haven’t tried every one,” she admitted, “but I’ve worked through the basics and believe the foundation is strong. The drinks are interesting enough to make us stand out but familiar enough to appeal to our core audience here.”

Sam looked impressed, and Mack gave herself a secret pat on the back. She’d been Googling how to make business pitches, knowing this was her shot to get both Sam and Connor on board.

It looked like it was working. The one time Connor glanced in her direction, it was to reiterate to Sam that the bitters were good. Mack felt a flush of pride—or maybe the heat in her cheeks was from his eyes on her. She swore he was reminding her of how she’d been the last time she’d seen him: on her knees, lips parted, desperate to be filled.

She looked away. They were done with that. He had to understand.

Talking her up to Sam wasn’t going to get Connor more head. But it did mean that when it was his turn to present the food side of the menu, Mack helped out by telling Sam it was a solid idea and she was on board.

See? Look at them working together. Two responsible adults more than capable of starting a restaurant and bar without fucking or fighting every chance they got.

“Have you tasted it?” Sam asked Mack.

“Um.” Mack swallowed. “Some of it.”

More like all of it. She remembered savoring the textures on her tongue, her hands bound.

“Are you hot?” Sam asked. “Want me to open a window?”

“I’m fine,” Mack said quickly, mortified that the flush on her cheeks was so obvious. Sam’s question had cranked up the heat in her core, and it wasn’t coming down.

Connor’s eyes flickered over her as he handed them each a sample menu. He must have known what she was thinking. She wondered if he was thinking it, too.

But she had to focus. This was her chance to see what she’d eaten that day by the lake. Most of the entries were familiar. Ravioli with fresh peas and mint. That dish she’d sworn wasn’t beets because it tasted good. He’d listed it as beet pearls with sweet roasted carrots and almond cream. Pearls? Damn, her mouth was watering.

“This is a sample for spring,” he said. “The menu will rotate according to what’s seasonal, so we can get most of our produce locally. You can see everything emphasizes flavor and freshness. There are tons of burgers and steaks around here. This is how we stand out.”

He eyed Mack as he said that, as though she was going to disagree. But it wasn’t that she’d thought they had to have the standard fare. It was a question of how much change was beneficial. Maybe if Billy’s had come up with new options, it wouldn’t have gone out of business. But there was such a thing as going too far.

“There’s more,” Connor went on, and told them to look at the menu again.

That was when Mack realized how he’d divided the courses. Rather than appetizers and entrées, it was separated between small and large plates. You could order individually, he explained, but the dishes were meant to be shared.

“So then you can try everything,” he said. “You don’t have to choose.”

She almost burst out laughing. They might as well name the restaurant No Commitment. It was Connor through and through.

“This is great,” Sam said. “This is perfect. It’s really going to draw people in.”

“And the thing is,” Connor added, “the concept can focus on these shared plates and the communal eating experience, but the dishes get to rotate. So if you have another chef come in or you want to substitute, change the menu according to what’s in season or what people feel like right then, it’s open. As long as you keep putting out dishes that go well for the table, rather than individual plates.”

“That’s smart,” Sam said. “It’ll work long-term toward building our brand.”

She was typing a note to herself, blithely unaware that Mack’s heart had sputtered and ground to a halt. Another chef? Someone else coming in with their own agenda, their own recipes on hand?

So that was his plan. Get the restaurant started and then move along to whatever better offer came along. If the restaurant did well, he’d have no shortage of choices. The chance to say he’d started a restaurant with Samantha Kane of Kane Enterprises would give him the pick of any job he wanted.

Sourness coated the back of Mack’s throat. Somewhere between tasting his food by the lake and seeing the menu printed before her, she’d slipped, started to imagine that Connor Branding wasn’t a temporary part of her life. As though the restaurant, the sex, everything happening between them wasn’t part of his “fun for right now” attitude.

She’d been entirely focused on what it might be like to see him day in and day out after what they’d done. But it looked like that wasn’t going to be a problem. No Commitment indeed. Only Mack wasn’t laughing anymore.

“So that brings us to the last question,” Sam said as she finished typing. And Mack knew what it was. Her fists tightened in preparation; her stomach clenched. Her brain was doing fine, though. And her panties were dry. When Sam asked, “What’s the vibe of this place?” she was ready.

“Laid-back comfort,” Mack said firmly, at the same time that Connor said, “Refined,” and they looked at each other in surprise.

“What?” they both said, again in unison. Which, honestly, was just embarrassing.

“You still think this has to be fine dining?” Mack sputtered first. “Are you kidding me?”

“We need something different from the other offerings around here. A dining experience that will put us on par with the food capitals of the country, or resorts like Park City or Vail.”

Looked like Mack wasn’t the only one of them Googling pitches to avoid masturbating to memories they’d rather avoid.

But since it also looked like Mack was the only one of them planning to stick around past opening night, no way was she giving up her promise to Billy for some snobby bullshit meant for people who flew in from out of town, emptied their wallets, and left.

“Not a chance,” Mack said. “You can do the menu however you want. You can request whatever drinks you think should be served. You can wear a fucking tuxedo every night for all I care.” She leaned across the table, refusing to flinch from his gaze. “But I’m not giving you this.”

I’m not giving you more of myself.