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.”
Graham 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 all it would take would be something to suggest we can make money faster to 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 already mostly built-out and permitted and Graham’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 mixing bowls for Mom 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.
Graham 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 eyelashes 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 Graham's office this afternoon.”
“Perfect.”
She places her hand on my forearm. “So, Mr. Fury, do you know what you're going to call the place?”
I pull my arm away from her and survey the building that will become the home of my first solo venture—well, solo aside from the whole Graham owning fifty-one percent thing.
A thousand different names have bounced around in my head since I first decided to take this step, but only one has stuck.
“I'm going to call it FURY.”
IZZY
There isn’t any use fighting the tears like I’ve had to so many other times. They trickle down my cheeks unrestrained, the salty taste hitting my lips—so familiar after so many wept over my lifetime.
I brush them away as fast as possible, but it isn’t quick enough to keep Rochelle from seeing them and frowning with concern.
Shit.
Not only is this embarrassing, but I fucking hate that look from people. The look of pity. I’m so sick of people seeing me as weak and in need of constant help and support. Grams always knew how strong I am. She understood I would never give up, never stop pushing to ensure I got what I want.
She always said she admired my drive, that it would do me well in life, especially when she was gone and I was on my own. I never believed that day would come, though. Despite witnessing death and knowing it was inevitable for everyone, Grams always seemed so invincible. So full of life and brightness. The kind of person who truly lives forever.
But I shouldn’t be crying right now. Not for her. This is a happy thing. A day I’ve always fantasized about the way most little girls do their wedding. While some imagined white puffy dresses and a man waiting for them at the altar, I was dreaming of gleaming stainless-steel appliances, the smiles of customers I’ve just served delicious food to, and my name listed as executive chef.
And now, it’s all finally coming true despite all the things standing in my way. Years of pain and struggle are finally paying off. But even with my heart full of hope for the future, it can’t mask the hole there left by the fact that Grams isn’t here to share this with me.
She’ll never get to see what the money she left me is going to allow me to do with this space. She won’t see the name of the restaurant on a sign over the door. She won’t be here opening night to celebrate and enjoy the dishes inspired by her recipes. I won’t get to see her eyes light up or that wide smile she always wore when she tasted my cooking.
Rochelle squeezes my arm. “You okay?”
Get it together, Iz. You look like a blubbering idiot.
I nod and swipe under my eyes again to remove the evidence of my meltdown. It’s a good thing I don’t really wear makeup, or I’d look like a drowned hooker right now. “I'm good.”
She dangles a set of keys in front of me. “Here they are. This place is all yours. At least, for the next five years under the lease.”
We share a laugh, and it helps loosen some of the tightness in my chest. Taking the keys from her and clutching them in my fist feels almost surreal. Like this can’t really be happening—not to me.
Things like this don’t happen for me. Nothing is ever easy. I’ve had to make things happen and fight tooth and nail against all the ways life and the world try to beat me down.
And it’s only the beginning. It's going to take a lot of work to turn this place into what I’ve imagined in my head all these years, but I'm not afraid of hard work or a little adversity. Hell, I put myself through culinary school while working two jobs and taking care of Grams despite everything else going on in my own life.
If I can do that, I can do this.
Rochelle pushes me forward. “Let's go in.”
I step up to the door, insert the key into the ancient lock, and twist. It clicks open, and I push the door in to what will hopefully become a beautiful restaurant in the not-too-distant future.
My breath catches in my throat the same way it did the first time I stepped inside this place a week ago. “It's gorgeous.”
The perfect rustic, industrial style I was looking for. With the right furniture and décor, this place will be quaint and homey—exactly how I want it to feel for any customer who steps through the door.
Rochelle’s heels click across the hardwood floors as she makes her way to the center of the massive space. “You're very lucky to get a lease for this place. If you had waited a few more months, our prices probably would've doubled. The whole area is really starting to boom. You can’t even imagine what the owners paid for this space.”
“Oh, I believe it.” I twirl around and take it all in like it’s the first time. “It's beautiful and a great location.”