13. Vivienne
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Vivienne
Brad Henderson looks exactly like he sounds on the phone.
He’s in his mid-forties and is aggressively fit.
He’s sporting the kind of tan that comes from weekend golf trips and multiple tropical vacations a year.
His suit probably costs more than I make in a month, and he’s got that finance energy that sets my nerves on edge.
Too much confidence. Too little empathy.
And a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Frannie beams and steps forward to welcome them to the restaurant, but Brad walks straight past without a single glance in her direction, like the hostess stand is just an obstacle.
“Vivienne!” He strides toward our table, hand extended. “Great to finally meet in person.”
I stand and shake his hand. His grip is firm almost to the point of aggressive. “Brad. Good to see you.”
“And Chef Reid.” Brad turns to Callum, sizing him up in that way men do. It’s quick and competitive. Brad’s eyes snag on his tattoos and mustache before slowly meeting Callum’s gaze. “Brad Henderson. Long time no see.”
Callum shakes his hand, his expression carefully neutral. “Welcome back to Neap & Spring.”
“Jim Kozlowski.” The second man steps forward. He’s older than Brad, maybe mid-sixties, with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses. There’s something very calculating about him. He shakes both our hands mechanically. “Good to see you again, Chef.”
“And I’m Cameron.” The third guy is much younger.
Late twenties, maybe thirty, with styled hair and a suit that’s trying just a little too hard to fit in with the older men.
He’s got an iPad tucked under one arm and the eager energy of someone who hasn’t been crushed by corporate life yet.
“We’ve never met. I’m newer to the team but super excited to see what you’ve been working on. ”
At least one of them seems human.
“Should we sit?” I gesture to the table where I’ve arranged everything. My laptop is open with the presentation queued up. The printed financials are in neat folders.
We all sit. Callum and I on one side and the three investors across from us. It feels like a negotiation.
Or an interrogation.
Frannie appears almost immediately, three menus in hand and that bright smile she gives everyone. “Hi! Welcome! Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?”
“Just water for now,” Brad says dismissively, barely glancing at her.
“Same,” Jim adds.
Cameron at least looks up and smiles. “Water’s great, thanks.”
“Coming right up.” Frannie’s smile doesn’t falter, but I see the slight tightness around her eyes. She’s dealt with guys like this before. “I’ll bring out some bread and our tapenade while you chat.”
She disappears, and Brad immediately turns his attention back to us.
“I forgot how beautiful this space is.” He’s looking around the dining room. His eyes sweep over the windows, the ocean view, the exposed beams. “It really captures that coastal vibe. Rustic but elevated.”
“Thank you,” Callum responds.
“Though I notice it’s pretty empty for” — Brad checks his watch — “four-thirty on a Tuesday. Don’t you do lunch service?”
“We do,” Callum deadpans, and I can hear the tension creeping into his voice. “Lunch ended at three. Dinner service starts at five-thirty.”
“Ah. So you’ve got that gap.” Brad nods like this is fascinating information. “Ever think about extending hours? Afternoon service could be additional revenue.”
I jump in before Callum can respond. “We’ve discussed various scheduling options, but Chef Reid’s current model allows him to focus on quality over quantity. Every dish that goes out is executed at the highest level.”
“Sure, sure.” Brad leans back in his chair. “But from a revenue perspective —”
“We’re actually here to talk about revenue, aren’t we?” I cut in a little aggressively, but that’s how you have to communicate with men like this. “And the strategic initiatives we’re implementing to increase it significantly over the next quarter.” I continue, gesturing to my laptop.
Jim pulls out a pen and flips open a leather notebook. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”
I take a breath and click to the first slide.
“Over the past five weeks, I’ve conducted a comprehensive analysis of Neap & Spring’s operations, market position, and growth opportunities.
” The slide shows a clean graph. Current revenue versus projected revenue with our initiatives in place in a nice, easy-to-follow chart.
“What I’ve found is a restaurant with an exceptional product and strong local reputation, but significant untapped potential. ”
Cameron is already nodding, his fingers moving across his iPad screen.
Frannie returns with a tray carrying five water glasses, a basket of bread that’s still warm, and a small bowl of dark olive tapenade. She sets everything down quietly and disappears again without interrupting.
“The core issue isn’t the food or the service.
Both are excellent. The issue is visibility and market penetration.
” I click to the next slide. “Neap & Spring is essentially invisible online. No social media presence, outdated website and zero digital marketing. In 2026, that’s leaving money on the table. ”
“How much money?” Jim asks, pen poised.
“Conservatively? We’re estimating a fifteen to twenty percent revenue increase within six months of implementing a comprehensive digital strategy.” I click to the breakdown. “That’s based on industry benchmarks for restaurants of comparable size and quality in similar markets.”
Brad leans forward, studying the numbers. He tears off a piece of bread but doesn’t eat it. “What’s the investment required?”
“Minimal. Two hundred dollars monthly for professional food photography, managed by existing staff. Website redesign is a one-time cost of five thousand dollars.” I can feel Callum tense beside me at that number, but I keep going.
“Total first-year investment? Approximately seven thousand dollars. Projected return? Forty to sixty thousand in additional revenue.”
“That’s a strong ROI,” Cameron interjects while making notes.
“It is. We’re not trying to reinvent the wheel. We’re just making sure people can actually find the wheel.” I click to the next slide. “Which brings me to menu evolution.”
Callum’s leg starts bouncing under the table in a rapid, anxious jiggle that I can feel vibrating through the floor. Under the table, where no one can see, I reach over and place my hand on his knee. Just lightly. A gentle pressure that says I’ve got this. We’ve got this.
The jiggling stops immediately.
He doesn’t pull away this time. In fact, I feel him relax slightly, the tension draining from his leg under my palm, his muscles going from coiled-tight to loose.
So I leave my hand there.
“Chef Reid has built a reputation for exceptional seasonal cuisine. But the menu rotation has been relatively static. Same special dishes for a month at a time. We’re proposing more frequent rotation of specials.
Keeping core menu items but introducing new dishes every two weeks instead of monthly. ”
“Won’t that increase food costs?” Jim asks. “Testing new dishes that often has a lot of potential waste.”
Callum’s leg tenses under my hand. I press down slightly, squeezing his upper thigh, and he makes a sound low in his throat that he covers with a cough before reaching for his water glass.
“Actually, it reduces waste.” His voice comes out steady, thank goodness. “More frequent rotation means I can work with smaller quantities of seasonal ingredients. Use what’s at peak freshness and minimize spoilage.”
“And from a marketing perspective,” I add, “it gives food writers and critics a reason to return. To write about the restaurant more than once. Every new dish is a potential story. And a reason for customers to come back.”
Brad is nodding now, finally eating his bread. “Smart. I like it. Keeps the experience fresh.”
“Exactly.” My hand is still on Callum’s leg.
I click to the next slide, forcing my attention back to the screen and away from the warmth bleeding through the fabric of his chef pants.
“And speaking of experiences, we are planning a signature event. A collaborative dinner with a guest chef. Right now, the idea is five courses with premium pricing and limited seating.”
“When?” Jim asks, his interest piqued.
“Two months out. That gives us time to plan properly, market it correctly, and build anticipation.” I pull up the projected numbers.
“At $150 per person, fifty seats, we’re looking at $7,500 gross revenue for a single night.
And the press coverage alone could be worth ten times that in future business. ”
“Who’s the guest chef?” Brad tosses out.
I feel Callum look at me. His leg shifts under my hand, and I spread my fingers against his thigh, keeping him still. I could probably move my hand by now. The professional justification for it is long gone.
But I don’t move it.
“We’re in talks with several candidates,” I say smoothly. “All with established reputations and social media followings that will bring attention to Neap & Spring.”
It’s not technically a lie. I haven’t made calls yet, but I can.
I will.
I have to.
Cameron looks up from his iPad. “This all sounds great. Really solid initiatives. But what about the elephant in the room?”
The table goes quiet.
Callum’s entire body goes rigid under my hand. I slide my palm an inch higher up — probably farther than I should — and he makes a sound low in his throat that he just barely swallows in time. My thumb presses slow circles into the muscle there. Breathe, I think. Stay calm.
“The debt,” Jim says bluntly. “The loan payments are eating fifty percent of gross revenue. These initiatives will help, sure, but they’re not going to solve the fundamental problem.”
My mouth goes dry. Under the table, Callum’s hand finds mine and presses down, holding it there. I’m not sure which one of us started needing it more
Callum’s other hand is clutching his water glass on the table above, and I can see his knuckles going white.