“Ooooh!” the woman practically coos. “That does sound fun. I can have somebody come out there tomorrow to figure out what type would work, take measurements, and figure out the placement. Just give me the address and your contact information.”
I rattle off the address and my phone number and end the call. One thing to check off the list.
My phone screen barely goes black before the door flies open. A very angry and wet blonde stands in the doorway, her hands fisted at her sides—the chick from the car, with her friend right behind her.
What the hell?
She storms in, eyes blazing and dark T-shirt clinging to her body under the soaked thin jacket she wears over it. Her nipples pebble through her bra, something I doubt she’s even noticed, given how all of her wrath seems to be directed straight at me.
But even the twist of rage on her lips, the hint of mascara running under her eyes, and her hair plastered around her face can’t hide how beautiful she is.
She points back toward the door. “I just had to walk two blocks in the pouring rain because of you.”
I shove off the ledge and meet her halfway across the room, the squish of my wet shoes on the hard floor in my ears. “Sorry.” I shrug. “Not my problem, though.”
The woman clenches her fists at her sides again. “Didn't your mother teach you any manners?”
I snort. “I don't think that includes having to give up a parking spot that I got to first in the middle of a rainstorm.”
She scowls at me, her perfect pink-bow lips twisting up. The move makes her appear far younger than she probably actually is, and while it should be annoying or even make me angry, it’s almost comical to see such a cute woman so angry about something so asinine.
Her eyes dart around the space. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “How is that any of your business?”
She glances back at her friend, who waves her hand, urging the blonde to continue. “Because I'm leasing the space next door.”
Well, hell…
That does make me feel slightly bad about taking the parking spot, but I'm not going to let her know that. This woman is hot as hell when she's pissed off. Changing that would be a real shame.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “And who might you be?”
She glowers at me, looking determined not to give me any information, but her friend steps forward and pushes her way up between us.
The friend flashes me a smile. “Her name is Isabella Baldwin, and she's opening her first restaurant next door.”
“Oh, hell.” I sigh and rub at my jaw. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
The friend shakes her head and opens something rolled in her hand. A magazine…my cover. “And I know who you are…Jameson Fury. Which is why we want to know what you're doing here.”
Isabella narrows her eyes at me. “I sure as hell hope you're not opening a restaurant here.”
Things just got a whole fuck of a lot more complicated for my business plan.
One reason I chose this location was that the immediate neighborhood lacks any restaurants. Bushwick is blowing up and gentrifying at a tremendous rate. Setting up here would have made me unique in an underserved area and in the perfect place when things do explode here. “So what if I am?”
Isabella nudges her friend out of the way with her shoulder. “Well, that's going to create quite a problem for me.”
“Is it?”
Her mouth drops incredulously. “It's a big-shot celebrity chef competing with my restaurant when I have zero name recognition. Of course, it’s a problem!”
I shrug and fight a grin at the fact that she called me a “big-shot celebrity chef.” She definitely didn’t mean it as a compliment the way she said it. The woman does have a point, though. It will be hard for her. But I don’t want to make her day any worse than it already is. “Maybe it won't be so bad after all.”
That’s a lie.
She's right. I have no idea who this chick is, and I've won a prestigious television cooking competition, been on the cover of a major food magazine, and have been named the hottest chef in the city. I’ve worked my way up through some of the best restaurants in the country over the last few years to make sure people know who I am. There’s no way her place is going to be as big of a draw as mine.
I wouldn’t even consider it competition. Not really.
But even if it were, I’ve never been one to back down from a little challenge. That’s the one good thing Bash, Rach, and I inherited from Dad—the drive to succeed at any cost.
Isabella scowls again and grits her teeth. “You’re going to put me out of business before I even open.”
I flash her my best panty-melting grin. The one that always seems to work on the women I meet. “Again. Not my problem.”
The woman growls—actually fucking growls at me. It rumbles low in her chest and slips from her lips. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”
A chuckle bubbles up my throat, and I shake my head. “I've been told that once or twice in my life.”
Her steely emerald gaze holds mine. “I can see why.”
Wow, this chick is full of piss and vinegar.
And the blush spreading across her cheeks with her rage only emphasizes her perfect bone structure. I almost feel bad for her. With my place opening next door, hers doesn't stand a chance.
She glowers at me one more time before she grabs her friend’s arm and drags her from the building out into the rain.
I grin and shake my head as I wander back to my spot by the window to wait for Danny. Things just got a whole lot more interesting.
Chapter Three
JAMESON
“Are you at all worried about this?” Graham’s question from behind me holds the same note of tension I’ve been trying to ease from him since he first arrived and I told him about our new neighbor.
It’s a good thing we had already made plans to meet up tonight; otherwise, I would have had to tell him about it over the phone or request a meeting specifically to fill him in, and that might have made this who conversation a lot harder.
I turn back to the kitchen counter, where he sits nursing a glass of wine and chuckle. “You think I should be? You don't know me very well, then.”
Graham grins and takes a sip of his wine, then holds the glass up toward me. “You're right. I don’t drink much, but this is good. We should definitely have it on the menu.”
“Just wait ‘til you taste it with this.” I motion to the steak in the cast-iron skillet on the stove. “It's amazing with beef. And I’m already on the hunt for a great sommelier to do pairings for us.”
He smiles and chuckles. “You know I love a nice meal as much as the next guy, but I promise to trust you with all menu decisions.”
“As you should.”
The man doesn’t know the first thing about opening or running a restaurant. And while I might be fumbling around like a newborn trying to figure it out myself, at least I’ve worked in them and have done my homework on what we need to ensure everything is absolutely perfect.
“I know my role here.” He points to himself. “I'm just the money guy.”