Page 2 of The Arrogant One
“It can’t be mid-construction,” Beck countered. “Because it’s been under construction for the last four months and it opens in six weeks.”
The Beverly Hills development of Toro—our seafood and raw bar—was one of the most expensive projects we’d ever taken on. Part of that was due to the space we’d chosen and having to frame a kitchen from scratch, the existing structure not having one. The other part was that even though this concept, along with the clubs, was new and we were still learning as we were going, Beverly Hills was projected to be one of our largest locations. With every square inch, more time was needed, and that meant more money.
And as the chief marketing officer of our entire brand, I knew we were far over budget.
“It’ll be done,” Walker assured him.
Beck—more of a silent partner since hockey took up much of his year, but he personally financed many of our build-outs—looked at Colson, our chief operating officer, andsaid, “Do you agree?”
Colson rested his arms behind his head. “Our contractor always gets it done whenever we put the pressure on him.”
“Have we put that pressure on him?” Beck asked.
The room turned silent.
“And do you know how much pressure it’s going to take to have that restaurant up and running by opening night?” Beck continued.
I could hear a fucking pin drop in here.
Which wasn’t a surprise. We were all nervous as hell that six weeks wasn’t enough time to get the restaurant in the kind of shape that our clientele expected.
Our brand had a reputation. If we didn’t deliver, that could destroy us.
Beck tapped his hand on the table. “There’s only one person who will give me a straight, honest-to-God answer in this room. And that’s you.” He directed his statement at Eden.
Eden stared at him, the tip of her short thumbnail in her mouth. “It’s going to be tough. It’s going to be tight.” Her thumb dropped. “Is it impossible? No. Is it going to take every bit of manpower? Yes. And we’re going to be down to the wire.”
“We’ve set an opening night, and we’ve made that date known to the public,” Beck said. “But we don’t know if it’s a deadline we can actually hit. So, what I’m hearing is … we’re fucked.”
“We’ll hit the deadline,” I assured him. “Toro will be ready for opening night.”
Beck’s brows rose high. “How?”
“Because we’re Westons.” I clamped my hands together. “And when we give a date, we uphold it—because our word is our fucking bond.”
ONE
Hart
Out of all the sounds I’d ever heard in my life, her laugh was easily the sexiest. It filled my ears after we reached for the door at the same time, our hands linked by accident.
“Sorry about that,” she said, her giggle dying out.
“No reason to be sorry.”
Especially when it came to touching—and a woman this beautiful could touch me all she wanted.
My fingers stayed on hers for a second longer than they probably should, squeezing her and the metal handle at the same time. And as we both pulled the restaurant door open, I took her in even more.
Hair that appeared black in the dimly lit entrance and eyes that were radiant and a vibrant blue. Lips that were thick and sparkled with gloss. Tits that were tucked inside a dress and then covered with an unzipped jacket, which also concealed most of her body, but the little I could see was perfect.
More than perfect.
It was enticing.
And that was just her body. Her face was fucking stunning.
As her fingers pulled away from the metal—and me—and hung at her side, she stood frozen in the entryway, as though she were waiting for instruction.
