Page 32 of All We Need

The same goes for my current stage of rebellion.Becausethat’s whatI’mcalling thisthinggoing on withBoothSadler.

Only this time,I’mnot rebelling against my parents,I’mrebelling against my sanity.

First,Iallowed myself to get riled up and stormed into the restaurant, guns blazing.

Next,I’mvowing to actually manage him.

I’m not in control of my moods wheneverI’mnear him.Mylimbs are being governed by a puppeteer, and my mind has been taken over by an invisible force.

OurPlaceis not the typical establishmentArgirosEnterprisesinvests in.Restaurants, yes, but on a much larger, grander scale.Notin 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 thatIbecame aware of a family-run restaurant looking to sell.Isaw my in, grabbed it by the horns, and was in contact with the escrow companyLarryworks for the following day.

ByJune,Iwas the proud owner of a quaint seafood restaurant inMaine.

The perfect reason to come toSuttonBay.

I’d planned to reveal myself afterChristmas, but my well-laid-out plans went out the window whenIsaw the menu.Boothhas been a thorn in my side since day one, but that was the final straw.

And he didn’t like that one bit.

WhenImade my identity known, it was time to face the music.Iarranged a meeting with the previous owners,ClaireSadlerandGeorgeThomas, and prepared myself to be challenged, ridiculed, argued with.Itwas nothing like that.

George was serious, but respectful.

Claire, the matriarch of theSadlerfamily, was annoyingly delightful.Herplea for me to not fire her son was amusing, especially when she threatened to ground him.Itwas hard to not reciprocate her friendliness and even harder to decline her offer to show me around town.

They accepted my authority, assured meIwouldn’t meet any blockers in the shape of a dimpled, six-foot-somethingchef, and didn’t ask whyIbought a restaurant hundreds of miles away from home.

Before we said goodbye,Claireinformed me that their “kids” were at the bakery.

I knewIhad to clear the air with the youngestSadlerson, and instead, we both stormed out ofJustBrewIt, seething and ready to draw blood.

Today, however, is a new day.

I started it by informingLarryhis services were no longer required, and any further anonymity regarding ownership was unnecessary.

Next,Ihad a video call withGrahamSadler, whichIfound odd, considering he lives in town.Efficient, and to the point,Ileft the meeting satisfied that he had the finances under control as the restaurant’s accountant.

Now, after a walk-through withJohanna,I’mstanding at the end of the bar, observing her and the team.

I’ve ignored the murmured comments under people’s breaths and disgruntled faces.Iknow what they think—thatIdon’t belong here—but beforeIstarted working for my father,Ipaid 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 whenJohannawanders over. “She’snew.I’vespoken to her twice about her pours.We’llget right on it.”

“Everyone seems new.”Myeyes follow the gangly busboy zipping past us, who has smashed three plates sinceIarrived.

“We had a good team, but they graduated and left for college this summer.We’reworking on a training program, but with the holiday season in full swing, it’s hard to find the time.”Johannanods to the tall brunette, running circles around everyone else. “Julesis our assistant manager.She’sbeen here longer than me and is a huge asset.”

Confused,Iturn to her. “Yourdad said you’ve been working here since you were a teenager.Juleslooks no older than twenty-five.”

---