Page 2 of The Rules of Their Red-Hot Reunion

Establishing St Urban as a boutique hotel was a challenge, but one she was more than up to. Especially since there was the possibility of a promotion at the end of the project.

‘I’m happy to look at your landscapers’ plans,’ Aisha replied as they resumed walking. ‘Are all the building renovations done?’

Ro rocked her hand up and down. ‘The tilers are just finishing up the bathroom in Suite Ten and Suite Five is being painted. The builders have told me they’ll be out by the end of the week.’

Aisha was glad to hear it as she was expecting her decorating team, and the steady stream of furniture, to arrive over the next few weeks and months.

They walked around to the back of the building and Aisha immediately noticed one third of the brick wall was missing and had been replaced with floor-to-ceiling windows. She didn’t recall any alterations to the cellar in the stack of documents she’d been sent.

‘Ro?’

Ro turned to look at her, her stomach leading the way. ‘Mmm?’

‘This is new,’ she stated, stepping up to the wood-and-steel structure. She cupped her hands around her face and peered into the small room through the dusty window, seeing craftsmen sanding the gorgeous yellow wood floor.

‘What’s going on in there?’ Aisha asked her, dropping her hands.

Excitement flashed through Ro’s deep blue eyes. ‘Ah, that’s a bit of a last-minute project.’

‘What’s the project?’ Aisha asked, hoping whatever Ro had planned for the space wasn’t too off the wall and wouldn’t add numerous items to her already mammoth to-do list.

‘I want a high-end, fine-dining restaurant in this space and plan on inviting exciting, interesting chefs to run the place for a limited time.’

A restaurant? For fine dining? What the hell was Ro thinking? And did she know how much work that would involve? Aisha hadn’t planned to open a restaurant, for God’s sake! It wasn’t in the budget either.

Not that money was a problem—thanks to inheriting her biological parents’ massive estate, Ro could easily add another million, or five, to the budget.

‘The restaurant will accommodate up to fifteen people at a time, and I want an innovative, expensive, talk-about-it-for-ever food experience. A place that will be so exclusive, so amazing it will take months, perhaps even years to get a reservation.’

Oh, dear God. This was worse than she’d thought. One of her first solo projects was the establishment of a fine-dining restaurant in Hong Kong and it had been a job from hell. Thanks to that nightmare, she and Miles now had an agreement: she’d work her tail off for Lintel & Lily and Miles kept her away from restaurants and picky, demanding, arrogant chefs.

The Hong-Kong-based chef had reminded her of Pasco: like her ex, he’d been arrogant, pushy, and extraordinarily self-confident.

Aisha placed her hand on her sternum, trying, as she always did, to push away the spike of hurt, the burst of resentment. Her brief marriage—nine months from the time they met to the time they separated, a year until their divorce—wasn’t something she liked to think about. But St Urban was situated in Franschhoek, Pasco’s home town, so she supposed it was natural thoughts of him kept crossing her mind.

Aisha didn’t keep track of him; in fact, she actively avoided articles about him. But she knew he had a restaurant in Franschhoek village and spent most of his time in New York, overseeing his Michelin-starred restaurants in Manhattan.

The young sous chef she’d met in Johannesburg the year after she left school was now a household name, and a multibillionaire thanks to his restaurants, his range of food and kitchen accessories, and his wildly successful travel and cookery show. He was one of the younger, hipper and better-looking celebrity chefs and was regarded to be a rock star in the culinary world.

He’d created the life he wanted, had achieved more than he’d said he would. Aisha couldn’t help wishing he’d put a fraction of his considerable energy and drive into their relationship and marriage. If he’d given her a little of the attention he’d given his career, she wouldn’t have walked out on him with a sliced and diced heart. She’d thought he could fix the wounds her family inflicted, but he’d just deepened them, then poured acid into her bleeding cuts.

To find herself, to become whole, to heal, leaving him had been oh-so-necessary. Ro patted her arm. ‘Miles told me you’d be fine with this, especially since you’ll have help to get the restaurant off the ground.’

What type of help?

‘I have someone who will give input into planning the space, and on what equipment will be needed. He’s an old friend of my husband’s and we trust him implicitly.’

Aisha just managed to hide her wince. Who was this guy and how much did he know about luxe dining restaurants? There was absolutely no point in spending a hundred million plus to establish a hotel for it to be let down by a less than spectacular restaurant.

Establishing an on-site restaurant was an excellent idea, in concept. She could see a tasting restaurant here...small, exclusive, lovely. But the design and the concept had to take inspiration from the hotel, as she explained to Ro.

‘I understand that, I do. But my guy has a huge amount of experience and knows what he is doing.’

Aisha saw the stubborn tilt to Ro’s chin and sighed. She’d come back to the subject of her consultant chef later. ‘Do you have any architect plans? Have you consulted with an interior designer? One of Lintel & Lily’s or anyone else?’

‘No and no.’

Damn.

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