Chapter 1 - Laurel #2
We got back to work, Chance in the kitchen overseeing the shelving, and me in my tiny office connected to what was going to be a perfect little wine cellar behind the bar that had just been constructed the day before.
Everything was unpainted and bare bones, but I could envision it because I’d been included in the planning.
Nik and Emerson wanted me to feel like it was my domain, and trusted me, which meant a lot.
The only thing I really ever felt confident in was wine, and I knew full well what a miracle it was that I wasn’t back to being on the serving staff with that big hole in my resumé.
It took what little I was able to walk away with to move down here; there was nothing in reserve to get back to Virginia if this didn’t work out.
Go back to my old job in Napa Valley? Not an option, not even on the coldest day in hell.
The very idea would make me break out in hives, and that wouldn’t be a good first impression with my new boss.
Oh God, I really didn’t want a new boss, or any kind of upheaval, when I still wasn’t over the last upheaval.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” I muttered under my breath before I hyperventilated.
I managed to get lost in an order, having a very nice conversation with someone who worked at a winery in Laguna Canyon. Nik and Emerson were all in on keeping things as local as possible, so I’d branched out to places down south so I could keep avoiding my old stomping grounds in Napa.
Chase’s assistant stuck his head in my little cave and told me it was time to line up.
“Like for a firing squad,” Chase said when I met him in the hall leading to the main dining area, still mostly swathed in drop cloths and strewn with tools and ladders.
“Like the help meeting visiting aristocracy on the front steps,” the sous chef said.
Nobody was happy; no one liked change, and I felt a stab of guilt again. We had no idea what was going to happen, but that was no reason for this poor guy to face a row of scowls. I was about to muster some sort of pep talk when Chase whistled under his breath.
“Well, hello, new boss,” he said, turning to grin at me.
I peeked around him and had to stifle a gasp, or I would have never heard the end of it. Mikhail Fokin was a real-life Adonis, standing with the confidence of a god in the middle of all the construction chaos.
A suit even my country bumpkin butt recognized as high-end and completely tailored, molded to his tall, muscular frame.
There should have been no way to know this guy was ripped while wearing a suit, but that was just how perfectly it fit every inch of him.
And there were a lot of inches. I was a little shorter than average, so I often had to look up at people, but not that far up.
His dark blond hair was swept off a smooth brow, only slightly furrowed as he looked over the place as if he didn’t yet notice us as we gathered in a huddle by the newly built bar. He turned to the side, looking up at the ceiling, where large, ornate tiles had just been installed.
I could only see his chiseled bone structure, the way his hair brushed against his crisp suit collar. Somehow, that slightly long hair made me breathe a bit easier. If he skipped regular haircuts, maybe he wasn’t as much of a perfectionist as the suit signaled.
“Your type?” Chase whispered, catching me staring. Actually leaning forward to see what color those assessing eyes were.
Exactly my type, as if I’d taken a description of the perfect man to Central Casting here in the city of movies and make-believe, and ordered him to be brought to life.
But attraction wasn’t something I had time for, even if I hadn’t sworn off those dangerous kinds of feelings. Really, it was more like they had been snuffed out, and it was shocking to feel the slightest tremor, no matter how damn gorgeous he was.
‘Everyone, this is Mikhail,” Emerson said. He gave her a quick side hug, finally casting his eyes over at us. “Mik, I’m sure you can let everyone introduce themselves.”
With that, she waved at us and took off to her blissful vacation.
“Who’s on construction?” he asked, instead of coming over to shake our hands or ask our names.
The two crew members who were present that day raised their hands, and Mikhail pointed to the bar.
“That’s got to go.” His finger swiveled to where the bandstand was currently slated to be built.
“We’re putting it there.” Next, his finger pointed straight up at the ceiling tiles. “And those have to come down.”
One of the builders cleared his throat. “Those are from a historical mansion in Santa Barbara.”
A terrifying brow raised on that handsome face, somehow making him all the more handsome. “And that would work if we were moving forward with the original theme. But we’re not.”
He slid forward, finally reaching out his hand to the sous chef. “Andre Slovak?” he asked.
Oh my God, oh my God, he didn’t even research who his chef was. Terri’s face flooded with color when she explained that Andre wasn’t in that day.
“Call him in,” the tyrant commanded. “We need to discuss the menu. At least I think that’s important.”
Chase and I exchanged looks. He had gone pale under his spray-on tan, and I must have looked similarly hopeless. But I was also getting a little hot under the collar.
“Excuse me, Mr. Fokin,” I said, pleased my voice didn’t waver much.
“My friends call me Mik,” he said, nearly knocking me down with the force of a smile.
“Well, Mr. Fokin,” I said, making Chase snicker. “We only learned about the change of ownership this morning.”
He was suddenly too close, towering over me. His eyes were blue, not that it mattered, but I couldn’t help noticing, as they were staring down at me. “And you are?”
“Laurel Harris, sommelier.”
“Well, Laurel Harris, we also have a lot to discuss.” He snapped his fingers and ordered the builders to either start dismantling the bar or take down the ceiling tiles. The sous chef took off to call Andre in, and Chase and his assistant melted away before they came under fire.
“Start with the tiles, please,” I said to the builders, and Mikhail’s eyebrow shot up again.
“A sommelier manages the wines, correct?” he said, not bothering to wait for my answer. “You don’t also manage the construction staff, do you?”
Of course, the restaurant manager wasn’t there that day, either, but I had other reasons for begging for them to leave my bar alone. All I could do was give a half shrug before he asked me to follow him to his office. Except it wasn’t really a question.
Once inside, it was a very different atmosphere than when either Nik or Emerson were sitting in there. He sat down and steepled his fingers against his chin, staring at me expectantly.
“I didn’t mean to give anyone directions that were beyond the bounds of my station,” I said, feeling sick.
He rolled his eyes. “But?” he prompted.
“But everything was set up in a very specific way.”
A way that made it easy for the bartenders to reach the wine cellar with minimal fuss, kept the wines at optimal temperatures as long as possible before serving, and was convenient for me since my office was right next to the cellar.
I explained all of that and how the plans I helped with had already been approved.
“Yes, when my cousins were the owners,” he said. He kept looking at me, waiting.
“But?” I finally asked when the silence stretched too long.
“But now I’m the owner,” he said. “And everything is going to change.”
“But—” I started, heat flooding my cheeks when he shook his head.
“No, we’re done with that little game.”
He held his hand toward the door, dismissing me without saying another word.
Nik already owned a very successful, high-end restaurant in Beverly Hills.
he knew what he was doing. This guy ran a brewery in a totally different country.
Not just a different style, but a different demographic.
This place was destined for greatness, and I was going to be part of it.
Now I had no idea what I was a part of. Just when the ground was starting to feel sturdy under my feet again, everything was crumbling down again.
My cheeks flashed hot and cold at the same time at his dismissal, but all I could do was meekly nod and hurry out, furious and fearful, if I wanted to keep my job.
Now that I understood what kind of man I’d be working for, I wasn’t sure I did.