She felt him getting hard. She loved how much he wanted her and debated putting her idea on hold. He kissed her jaw, nipped at her neck, and her thoughts started to blur. She forced herself to say, “Wait, Aid. Your idea will make me forget mine, so maybe I should go first.”
“Fair enough. As long as I don’t have to let you go.”
“Sounds like a win-win for me.” But his kisses turned to sucking on her neck, and her whole body ignited. “Wait, wait, wait.” She leaned back far enough to see his wolfish grin. “You can’t do that. It’s too hard for me to concentrate.”
“I’ll have to remember that the next time you’re putting me in my place. What’s your idea, beautiful? Whatever it is, I bet it’s not nearly as fun as mine.”
“I don’t know about that. You seemed to get off on spreadsheets yesterday.”
When she was studying the spreadsheets in the office of the Bistro yesterday afternoon, trying to figure out another way to approach the restaurant, Aiden had come up behind her and distracted her with kisses on the back of her neck. Kisses had led to caresses and titillating taunts that had her begging for more. He’d guided her hands to the edge of the desk, stripped her pants down, and made love to her from behind right there in the office, hitting that secret spot inside her as if he were using a heat-guided missile, and oh, how she’d loved it!
“No, babe. I got off on you.”
Great. Now she was thinking about him taking her from behind. Her body thrummed with desire. He must have sensed it because his hand moved down her butt to between her legs.
He brushed his lips over hers and said, “Seems like you get off on me, too.”
“Aiden,” she said breathily. “Just give me three minutes to tell you my idea before I forget. Then you can have me.” The grin that earned made her want to forgo the next three minutes, but this was too important. “I think I know how to cut down on overhead costs. What I loved about the Bistro was the feel of the place. I think I can put my own twist on that without losing anything. Let’s say we’re open from twelve to ten to serve lunch and dinner, but instead of sit-down lunches, we run window orders only. It would be easy to put an ordering window on the side of the building for walk-ups, and we can serve a lot more people per hour at a walk-up window than in a sit-down restaurant, where people linger and chat. During the summers, the beach is packed. I bet we could serve three times as many people an hour with enough staff. More if the lunch menu is standard beach fare—burgers, fries, fish tacos, shrimp quesadillas, and something that’s easy but specifically made for our customers. Customers can still eat at the tables in the restaurant and enjoy the environment, or they can eat on the patio, or take it to go. But they’d clear their own tables and throw away the trash, alleviating the need for waiters and full-time bussers. Then we can close from four to five to clean the floor, wipe the tables, and reopen for sit-down dinners with more elaborate meals. For the first season, I’d start with only twelve to fifteen tables for dinner instead of twenty-five. That way we’ll only need a few waitresses, bussers, and kitchen help. Dinners would sell for around twenty-five bucks a plate, plus we can serve liquor, which has a high profit margin. I was thinking about the menu, too. I could make special dishes on certain nights, Parisian fare, using my dad’s recipes, and charge more for them. I have to run the numbers, but I think I could get away with much less capital doing it this way. What do you think?”
He looked awestruck, his brow furrowed, jaw slack, eyes sharp. “It sounds brilliant and makes a lot of sense for a beachfront restaurant. But based on the information I’ve gleaned about this area, I think you’ll probably see far more people on an hourly basis for lunch than you anticipate, which could mean needing more kitchen staff. But that’s a good thing, as long as you won’t lose the aspects of the restaurant that you were so excited about. Those magical elements you were hoping to bring back to life.”
“I love that you remembered that. I won’t lose them. I can still decorate with the same romantic, bohemian vibe, visit with customers like my dad did during the dinner hours, and create a warm, friendly environment but without as much overhead. It’s the best of both worlds. A new twist on an old type of magic. I was also mulling over what you said about making sure I still had time to enjoy life and not work myself to death, and I appreciate you bringing that up. I’ll want to be at the restaurant most of the time, at least the first season or two, but I also want to enjoy living on the island again and spending time with friends, so I’ll definitely need another chef.”
“Good. That’s important, Abby. You have a zest for life, and it would be a shame to miss out on that.”
She lowered her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t sound clingy, and said, “Last night you said you’d come back to visit after you leave the island. Did you mean that? Assuming we’re still together?”
“Absolutely.” He kissed her and said, “I’ve got to come back and see my bike.”
“And pay your storage fee,” she said, and he kissed her again. “I want to have time to spend with you when you visit.”
“Abigail de Messiéres, are you putting expectations on me?”
“No. I don’t mean it like—”
Her words were lost to the hard press of his lips.
“I’m kidding, Abs. Of course I want to spend time with you, but this is your business, and despite the man I am while I’m here on vacation, I really am a workaholic. You need to know that I will understand if you have to work every day. You should do whatever you want or need to do, and we’ll figure the rest out.”
“I appreciate that. But I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and if we keep seeing each other after you leave the island, I’ll have plenty of time to work in between visits. I want to run the numbers and see what the bottom line is.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Get that sexy ass out of bed.” He gave her a chaste kiss and swatted her butt. “But you’d better put panties and a shirt on, because right now the only number I’m thinking about is sixty-nine.”
She threw off the covers and scrambled on top of him. “My numbers can wait.”
Much later that morning, after pleasuring each other senseless and getting ready for the day, they ran the numbers for several scenarios and sat at the kitchen table hammering out a plan in which she would need only an additional seventy-five thousand dollars of capital.
“Do you feel better about this?” Aiden asked.
“Yes. This feels much more manageable. It’s also terrifying, but as you said, it’s an investment in my future and in making my dreams come true.” She was still nervous, but mostly because she still had to run the idea of changing the restaurant into a window service during the day and a sit-down restaurant at night by her sisters. She didn’t know what she would do if they weren’t on board with the idea, but she’d deal with that when and if the time came. She also wanted to see Shelley and discuss the ins and outs of what she and the others had done for their family, but first things first.
Aiden pulled up a word processing program on his laptop and said, “Okay, let’s get started on defining a pitch for the angel investor.”