Page 2 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

She shrugs. “Who the hell knows. None of my business.”

He turns back to me, his eyes narrowing. “$875,000, Jameson. Just for the building. What's it going to cost me to put in a full kitchen?”

I inwardly cringe at his question but try not to show my concern outwardly. He has no idea how expensive it is to put together a professional kitchen. The range alone will cost around twenty grand.

When he agreed to back my restaurant venture, I told him it would not be cheap, but I held off on giving him specifics, mostly because I couldn't afford to have him back out. He's the only one I know who has this kind of money and the right amount of faith in me. For the amount of cash I could bring to the table compared to what will be needed to get us up and running and in the long-term, any other backer would have demanded far more than the fifty-one percent Grant took.

It wasn’t a great business move, to be honest, and at times, I still wonder how I managed to convince him to take this gamble. But my whole life has felt like one giant risk—ignoring my natural ability, even as a child, in the “family business” and ultimately going to culinary school was viewed by some as a major mistake. And the other investors I approached saw me as way too big a risk to take on.

Grant doesn’t see me that way, though. If I hadn’t met him at that event at the Met, and if he hadn't tasted my food there and loved it, we wouldn't even be here today. I'd still be stuck cooking in someone else's kitchen while they raked in all the dough and got all the publicity.

After winning Prime Chef and getting the magazine cover, this is the time to strike while the iron is hot. We need to leverage my name and Grant’s connections while I’m still on the rise. Before I do something to fuck it all up.

I clear my throat and try to sound casual when laying out the costs he’s going to be looking at when it comes to the kitchen. “You're probably looking at another two hundred grand, at least, to get all the new kitchen equipment and have it installed.”

Whoever saw the potential in this place years ago left behind bits and pieces of low-end stuff I will never be able to use, but at least they did some of the major renovations needed to make this place a functioning restaurant. It will save us a lot of time and money.

He shoves a hand back through his dark hair. “Jesus. Then, we have to add any remodeling and building-out.”

I glance around and grin at him. “That's one of the reasons I like this place. We're not going to have to do a whole lot. Seal the floors. Erect a partition or two. Décor. The only major thing I wonder about would be any issues with the roof or any wood rot.”

Betsy/Barbara steps up to us. “We had the place inspected. As far as we can tell, there isn't any major damage anywhere despite the building's age. And since someone already started building it out as a restaurant years ago before they abandoned the project, the kitchen is already laid out in the back, and some of the permits are already in place. It shouldn't be too much of a project.”

Grant holds his hand over his mouth and brushes his thumb across his lips as he ponders the situation. “Which means we might be able to open sooner than anticipated?”

Ding. Ding. Ding.

It’s no surprise a suggestion we can make money faster would get him on board. The man is nothing if not predictable when it comes to cash.

Opening a restaurant from the ground up can take a year, eighteen months sometimes, but with this location mostly built-out and permitted, and with Grant’s resources, we can fast-track things and hopefully cut it down to a few months.

I wander over to him and elbow him in the side. “What do you think?”

He drops his hand and scowls at me. “I think you're trying to bankrupt me.”

I smirk and shake my head. “You have more money than God. This project isn’t going to bankrupt you. Nice try, though.”

He frowns at me, and his phone rings. He pulls it from his pocket and glances at the screen. “I need to take this. If this is really the place you want, have the papers sent over to my office and I'll get everything taken care of.”

Fuck yes.

It's the first step of many to finally attain the dream I’ve had since I was five and helping Mom in the kitchen back home in Michigan. After all the hard days in culinary school and long nights working in sweltering restaurants under chefs who treated me like a fucking child, I'm going to have a restaurant. A place of my own.

Jameson Fury—owner and executive chef.

It has a nice ring to it.

Grant disappears out the front door, and the blonde turns back to me.

“So, do we have a deal?” That saccharine-sweet smile returns as Betsy/Barbara bats her lashes in a way that makes it look like she has some dust in her eye.

Definitely going to pass, sweetheart.

“We do. When can you get the paperwork together?”

“I can have them over to Grant's office this afternoon.”

“Perfect.”

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