11. Alessandra
CHAPTER ELEVEN
alessandra
Like most teenagers, I went through a rebellious stage.
Much to my mom’s heartbreak, I cut my curls, pierced my nose, and tried my first cigarette.
After almost coughing up a lung, that first smoke was quickly my last, but I remember going against everything my parents wanted me to do.
Joining them for dinner.
Tidying my room. Blasting my stereo at full volume.
Staying out past curfew.
Nothing that got me into major trouble, just enough to make a statement.
To this day, I’m not sure what that statement was.
The same goes for my current stage of rebellion.
Because that’s what I’m calling this thing going on with Booth Sadler .
Only this time, I’m not rebelling against my parents, I’m rebelling against my sanity.
First, I allowed myself to get riled up and stormed into the restaurant, guns blazing.
Next, I’m vowing to actually manage him.
I’m not in control of my moods whenever I’m near him.
My limbs are being governed by a puppeteer, and my mind has been taken over by an invisible force.
Our Place is not the typical establishment Argiros Enterprises invests in.
Restaurants , yes, but on a much larger, grander scale.
Not in a town tucked away in a quiet corner of the country.
So why did we invest?
We didn’t.
I did.
With my money and name.
It was a decision made in haste, and only by chance that I became aware of a family-run restaurant looking to sell.
I saw my in, grabbed it by the horns, and was in contact with the escrow company Larry works for the following day.
By June , I was the proud owner of a quaint seafood restaurant in Maine .
The perfect reason to come to Sutton Bay .
I’d planned to reveal myself after Christmas , but my well-laid-out plans went out the window when I saw the menu.
Booth has been a thorn in my side since day one, but that was the final straw.
And he didn’t like that one bit.
When I made my identity known, it was time to face the music.
I arranged a meeting with the previous owners, Claire Sadler and George Thomas , and prepared myself to be challenged, ridiculed, argued with.
It was nothing like that.
George was serious, but respectful.
Claire, the matriarch of the Sadler family, was annoyingly delightful.
Her plea for me to not fire her son was amusing, especially when she threatened to ground him.
It was hard to not reciprocate her friendliness and even harder to decline her offer to show me around town.
They accepted my authority, assured me I wouldn’t meet any blockers in the shape of a dimpled, six-foot-something chef, and didn’t ask why I bought a restaurant hundreds of miles away from home.
Before we said goodbye, Claire informed me that their “kids” were at the bakery.
I knew I had to clear the air with the youngest Sadler son, and instead, we both stormed out of Just Brew It , seething and ready to draw blood.
Today, however, is a new day.
I started it by informing Larry his services were no longer required, and any further anonymity regarding ownership was unnecessary.
Next, I had a video call with Graham Sadler , which I found odd, considering he lives in town.
Efficient , and to the point, I left the meeting satisfied that he had the finances under control as the restaurant’s accountant.
Now, after a walk-through with Johanna , I’m standing at the end of the bar, observing her and the team.
I’ve ignored the murmured comments under people’s breaths and disgruntled faces.
I know what they think—that I don’t belong here—but before I started working for my father, I paid my dues working in the service industry through college, not to mention the many bars and restaurants within our hotels.
I’m watching a young girl overpour a pint of porter when Johanna wanders over.
“ She’s new. I’ve spoken to her twice about her pours. We’ll get right on it.”
“Everyone seems new.” My eyes follow the gangly busboy zipping past us, who has smashed three plates since I arrived.
“We had a good team, but they graduated and left for college this summer. We’re working on a training program, but with the holiday season in full swing, it’s hard to find the time.” Johanna nods to the tall brunette, running circles around everyone else.
“ Jules is our assistant manager. She’s been here longer than me and is a huge asset. ”
Confused, I turn to her.
“ Your dad said you’ve been working here since you were a teenager. Jules looks no older than twenty-five.”
Her lips twist in thought.
“ I had some time away…”
As if sensing her discomfort, Patrick stops shelving liquor bottles and slides in beside her, running a palm up her spine.
“ And ever since she came back, it’s been a blessing.” They share a smile; one only they know the meaning behind.
It really is a whole family affair in this joint.
“How are you getting on?” Patrick asks.
He’s not been as welcoming as his mom, but he’s civil.
Both he and Johanna have been eyeing me cautiously all day, like I’m going to fire everyone on the spot.
Nodding, I adjust my navy silk blouse, wishing I’d gone for something more casual.
“ You guys run a tight ship. I have no concerns—you know where improvements need to be made. I’m happy with how things are being managed.”
They share another look, this one less intimate and more suspicious.
“So, Booth mentioned you were in town until…” Patrick trails off.
“I didn’t confirm a date.” Thank god.
“Gotcha. Well , I’m finishing up soon, I have to get my daughter from school. Is there anything else you need from me?” He folds his arms.
“Oh.” My eyes dart between them.
“ I didn’t know you had a child.”
Johanna rolls her lips together.
“ Lottie is Pat’s daughter…” There’s nothing sharp in her tone, but from their expressions, it’s information the owner should know.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed.” Needing to remove myself from their scrutinizing gazes, I change the subject.
“ Can I use the office to answer some emails? Then I’ll be out of everyone’s hair. ”
“Sure. You know where it is.” He juts his chin toward the back of the restaurant and then walks off, leaving Johanna and me alone.
“Are you clocking off as well?”
“Umm.” She twists her hands in front of her, and I inwardly sigh.
“I’m not docking points for you having a life outside of these four walls. Don’t let me keep you. Have a good night.” I attempt a smile that definitely resembles a grimace before turning to leave, but her words stop me.
“Booth’s a really good guy,” she rushes out.
“ He’s a man-child, I won’t deny that, but he’s been the backbone of this place since before Ted passed. If I were going to own a restaurant, I’d want him on my roster.”
“Ted?” I ask, head tilted.
This gets a reaction.
Johanna’s brows furrow deep, her eyes flaring.
“ Yeah . Ted Sadler . He opened this place with my dad.” She shakes her head, the cautiousness toward me gone and a bite to her tone.
“ This probably isn’t my place, but if you’re going to buy a family-owned restaurant that’s been open for almost thirty years, maybe do your homework. Perhaps we’d be a little more open to your sudden appearance.”
She walks back behind the bar, not giving me the opportunity to respond.
Which is good, because I’m not sure what to say.
I’m striding toward the office, not allowing my embarrassment to show until I’m sealed in the small room.
“Fuck,” I curse loudly.
She’s right. My family’s business prides itself on integrity, as well as building strong relationships with our employees.
And here I am, knowing nothing about these people.
With frustrated movements, I wrangle my hair on top of my head and go to secure it with the hair tie around my wrist.
The sound of the handle rattling has me spinning around to find a surprised Booth .
As if remembering who I am, deep creases line his forehead, and he sighs tiredly.
“I need the office,” he says matter-of-factly.
With my hair out of the way, I go to drop my arms, but a sharp tug has my head jerking to the left thanks to my tennis bracelet getting caught.
Not wanting to make a fuss, I wiggle my wrist, attempting to free myself.
His smug smile burns into the side of my face.
“ Need some help?”
“No,” I snap.
I struggle some more, and my arm grows heavy.
After a minute, the smirk on his face expands, then he takes a step toward me.
“ Quit being stubborn.”
Admitting defeat, my hand hangs limply against my ear, and I meet his amused gaze.
“ Patrick said I could use the office.”
Booth’s murmured “ Fucker ” is barely audible, and his hands fist at his side.
“ Will you be long? I have actual work to do.”
“And I don’t?” I throw back.
He crosses his arms. “ I imagine your work comprises steamrolling over small businesses and making babies cry.”
I forget my arm is attached to my hair, and I jerk my hand at him in frustration.
“ Skatá .”
Tutting, he ambles over.
“ Stop tugging or you’ll make it worse. Here .”
His large hand grips my elbow, while the other works its way into my mess of curls.
My body goes rigid at his proximity.
His smoky scent hits me.
This time, I pick up notes of paprika, black pepper, and saffron.
I stop breathing.
My eyes remain glued to the center of his chest as he works on freeing me.
“I’ve never seen a woman with so much hair.” He’s exasperated, and I suspect it has nothing to do with my locks.
“ You’ve got yourself in a mess here.”
You can say that again.
“What language did you use before?”
Peering up, I find him staring down at me curiously.
Since meeting Booth , I’ve only witnessed him flirting or pissed.
Now , he seems meditative.
Chocolate strands fall over his brow as his eyes dance around my face.
I finally exhale.
“Greek.” My voice is hushed.
“You’re Greek ?”
“My mother is.”
“I’ve never been to Greece . Or Europe . Have you?” His thumb brushes my jaw, causing me to jump.
Which reminds me of where and who we are.
“Small talk? Don’t tell me you’re trying to butter me up now.”
His head shakes, frustration marring his features, before he steps back.
“ There .”
All the blood rushes back to my fingers as my arm falls to my side.
“ Thank you.”
He drags a hand down his face, scrubbing at the hint of stubble decorating his jaw.
“ I want to apologize.”
“Well, color me surprised. Though , I’d much rather have your cooperation.”
Frowning, his head rears back.
“ No . I won’t be sorry for fighting for my family’s business. I’m sorry I pursued you so hard. It’s clear now why you turned me down. I misread the signs. It won’t happen again.”
I ignore the need to tell him he didn’t misread any signs and concentrate on what he’s not saying.
“So you won’t cooperate? Your words tell me you care, but your actions constantly jeopardize any alliance we could have. Why are you so dead set on making my time here difficult? ”
“Jeopardize?” He spins around, hands clasped behind his head as he laughs.
Despite the humor in his voice, his limbs are rigid.
When he faces me again, he stares at me in disbelief.
“ Do you want me to be thankful for you saving this place? As if I didn’t try for an entire year, only to be shot down and fail. We all tried, hoping to all that is mighty we wouldn’t end up being ripped apart and turned into a chain restaurant. Then you show up, sniffing around for weeks, and rather than introduce yourself, get to know us, and what we’re about, you fire me on the spot. You might see it as jeopardy, but I see it as clinging to the last shreds we have left of the man who built this restaurant from the ground up.”
Blinking at him, I give him the space to slow his breathing.
His outburst is unexpected, and while he’s angry, there’s passion and authenticity in his words.
If his tirade hadn’t been aimed at me, I’d be impressed.
“Do you even know the history of the restaurant? The town?” His arms drop.
“Why does that matter?” I run my palms down the front of my pants, resisting the urge to clench my fists.
I don’t enjoy being the stupidest person in the room, and if he quizzes me on who founded the town, that’s what I’ll become.
“I’m not here to change anything.” I attempt to keep my voice soft.
“ Perhaps I went about it the wrong way, so I apologize.”
His arms fly out to the side.
“ That’s it? You’re sorry?”
“You can’t be annoyed at my lack of involvement one minute and be mad I’m here the next. Pick a lane, Booth .” Irritation blooms. “ What more do you want?”
“I want to know your plans. Where do you see us in three, five, ten years’ time? Why did you buy us? What’s your experience? Who are you?” He paces in front of me, each step adding to the tension in his muscles.
Who are you ?
Great question.
The answer?
I’m not so sure.
And I don’t need Booth Sadler knowing that.
As for his other questions, I tell him the truth, even though I know it’s going to ruffle his feathers further.
“I don’t know what my plans are.”
“Well, isn’t that fucking perfect,” he murmurs, before stomping out, the cracking of wood echoing around the room when the door slams shut.