Chapter 2 - Mikhail
Was it yesterday or almost two months ago that I came to LA for my father’s wedding?
It was hard to keep up. Everyone was there for that somewhat tumultuous but joyous occasion.
Well, everyone except my stubborn twin brothers, Ilia and Oleg, but we were all used to them blowing us off to party or raise hell anywhere but at home.
My brother Lukyan, who was only a year and a half younger than me, decided it might be fun to stay in LA for a while after the wedding, instead of returning to Milan. After all, the war that had erupted between my powerful family here in the United States and the Japanese Yakuza was over, right?
For now, anyway, we were at peace, save for the usual scuffles even I experienced in my staid life as a brewer in Moscow.
I jumped in when necessary, never letting anyone give any shit to my family, who were also a very high-profile crime family in Russia.
But in general, I liked my quiet life of hops and grain, only breaking bones every once in a while.
My somewhat irresponsible father, who liked to bemoan the twins’ behavior as much as any of us, although we all knew exactly where they got it from, had gotten himself into a mess again, this time with a wife.
Yes, he and Tati were already legally married by the time of the wedding, but my female cousins had this thing about filling a space with flowers and making everyone dance to a string quartet while a giant cake stood in the background.
Tati fit right in with our family, not too concerned with the way most of us made our vast fortunes, because she was raised in the Bratva.
At first glance, she was the complete opposite of my father, and my sister Sofiya didn’t love the idea of him marrying someone her age, but seeing the old man so happy brought her around.
That and the fact she was loving LA and decided staying was going to be more fun than pretending to reject our new step-mother.
So, yes, it was almost two months since the wedding, and I somehow found myself owning a mansion that rivaled all my cousins’ places in the hills. If that wasn’t enough, to top it off, I somehow got roped into buying out a restaurant because Nik and Emerson were having another kid.
I wasn’t sure I was qualified. Not something at that scale anyway, since Nik and a couple of my other cousins were well known in the world of fine dining.
Running a brewery was a completely different thing.
I had stayed out of the rat race, working hard to rise up to a level of success in Moscow.
Having to prove myself all over again, to such harsh critics that inhabited this hyper-competitive city, as well as to live up to my cousins, was daunting.
But I was here now, getting accustomed to constant sunshine, and if it really didn’t make me happy, I could always turn it back over to them or sell it off once I got it open and off the ground.
The only way to deal with any lack of confidence was to fake it, and I went in with so much bluster that I almost knocked the newly constructed bar over before the construction team could get to putting it in its proper place.
If I were going to start a new venture, it had to be on my terms. This place was going to be mine, and I wasn’t vibing with the old-world decor or the traditional menu.
We already had a stuffy, fine dining restaurant in the family.
When I looked over the plans and pictures Nik showed me, I was grateful that not much had been done yet and that it wouldn’t be too difficult to start from scratch.
I was expecting pushback, maybe even a few hysterical fits from the diva chef that I was locked into paying an eye-watering amount due to the contract Nik signed with him to get him on board.
What I didn’t expect when I walked into the place was to get blown away by the sommelier. As everyone filed into the dining area from behind a wall I was planning on knocking down to make the space more open, she was the only one attempting to hide her absolute terror.
She wasn’t doing a good job of it, but it was cute that she tried. And she was an absolute goddess. Probably about a foot shorter than me, but with her chin in the air, she exuded the same confidence I was trying to put out there.
Not exactly real, but we both meant to make everyone around us believe it.
There was an instant attraction that went way beyond wanting to tug her blonde hair out of its tie and watch it tumble over her lush breasts.
The oversized top she wore couldn’t hide her curvy hips, either, and I quickly brought my eyes back up to pretend I was scowling at the ceiling.
The scowl was real; those tiles had to go.
And pretty soon, she had one on her pretty face when I said so.
But it turned out, she wasn’t upset on behalf of the tiles, but because of the bar.
She had no idea I was planning to tear out the wall that was currently behind it, but once I had her in my office, she let loose with a diatribe about how it couldn’t go anywhere else.
At the same time, it was pissing me off that she very distinctly refused to call me by my first name, but I loved her passion for what she did. Her reasoning was clearly well thought out, and I was impressed that she had any input in the dining room design at all.
I wanted to tell her it wasn’t a bad design, just not what I was going for. I wanted to smile at her instead of gazing stonily across the desk, watching her struggle to maintain that sexy professionalism. All while trying not to burst into tears.
She was that damn passionate about where her wine cellar needed to be. Maybe she was even bringing me around to her point of view.
Oh fuck.
I had no time to be distracted by a woman, not even Laurel, my goddess of the grapes.
I was a little bit sorry when she finally stopped, assuring me that Nik and Emerson were on board with everything the way it was.
I was enjoying watching how bright her espresso colored eyes got as she made her case for keeping everything the way it was.
Sadly, I couldn’t give this beautiful woman whatever she wanted, not if I was going to make this restaurant my own.
“But I’m the owner now,” I said, keeping my lips from quirking up. The quick intake of her breath did something to me. Maybe I could make time for Laurel.
She left, trying not to huff, never being anything but completely professional, but later on, when Andre deigned to show up to discuss the menu I meant to completely overhaul, I noticed that the ceiling tiles were all down, but no work had started on the bar.
Laurel sat behind it, her laptop open in front of her, and papers strewn over the entire length of the formal white marble.
“Not even if you were handcuffed,” I said.
There was that gasp again that had my cock waking up. “What? I mean, I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“You can’t save the bar, even if you handcuff yourself to it,” I explained, finding it impossible not to grin. However, at this point, it was nearing five, and the construction workers were packing up.
Nik might have viewed this place as a fun hobby to throw money at, but for me, it was a business, and I wasn’t interested in paying overtime to win an argument. I let the builders leave, and pretended I didn’t see Laurel’s look of triumph.
On the way to the kitchen, I handed her a copy of my new menu, hoping to get her on board with the changes, and I was proud of what I came up with.
While it might have been fun to knock heads with my pretty sommelier, I wasn’t there to have fun.
I was there to prove I had what it took to make it in LA.
Andre was surprisingly docile, probably waiting to go over his contract with his lawyer to make sure I couldn’t fire him before going off the rails, and agreed to try my menu. In turn, I told him he could keep a couple of the dishes he’d already created solely for this new place.
I was more surprised that Laurel was still in the restaurant, almost an hour later, and while she was trying to seem preoccupied with her work, she jumped up when I came out of the kitchen.
I strode past her to my office, and she followed on my heels. “Mr. Fokin, can I speak to you?”
“Only if you call me Mik,” I said.
Her full lips disappeared as she pursed them. “Okay, Mik. Thank you.”
She sat down across from me once more and placed my menu on the desk. Her dark eyes flashed up at me before she stabbed her finger into the wine selection. “I thought this was my job.”
“Certainly, I was only creating some pairings I thought would go well with the new menu.”
“If I may be blunt?” she asked, forcing a smile.
“Oh, of course.”
“They don’t go well. They’re…” She shook her head, starting again. If she weren’t so hellbent on being perfectly professional, I would have bet that she was going to call them shit. “You chose this Sauternes for this incredibly heavy pasta dish, for instance.”
“I like Sauternes,” I said.
“Yes, me too, but for a cream sauce like this, you want something a bit more acidic. And…”
She continued down the line, telling me in great detail why every last one of my wine choices was, well, shit.
And then, “Listen, Mik, I get that you’re probably amazing at suggesting what beers go best with a ham sandwich, but unless that’s the direction you want to go with this place, I’d suggest sticking to Andre’s menu. ”
Ouch. My girl’s claws were out with that sudden tone shift and burst of snobbery. No, not my girl. Not at all.
“And your wine selections?” I asked while opening the drawers of my new desk until I found the folder I was looking for.
I pulled Laurel’s resumé out and laid it on the desk, turning it around to face her, all while watching her cheeks turn pinker by the second.
“Less than a year of experience as sommelier at the Five Horses before going on, what? Vacation for a year?” She gulped, opened her mouth, but closed it again. “It looks like you’re far more experienced as a server, so when the time comes to hire the wait staff, would you like to be considered?”
“Mr.—Mik, are you…”
“I’m not firing you,” I said, unable to take the sudden welling of tears despite her getting under my skin. “However, I’m not convinced you actually want this job.”
She knew damn well she was free to leave, but the look on her face told me she wouldn’t.
Good. She might end up being trouble, but something wasn’t going to let me give her up.