Cherish Hard
Page 30

“This is what I see,” he began.
“Wait,” Ísa said before he could continue. “You’re talking about digging up the existing parking lot. Jacqueline didn’t mention that.”
“It’s the basis for everything else.” Sailor handed her a copy of the quote he’d done for Jacqueline. “There’s no way to get the look the senior Ms. Rain wants for Fast Organic without—”
“I’m the one in charge of this account now,” Ísa said. “You have to sell me your idea.” She shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “And I don’t have a weakness for pretty and charming men.”
This time when Sailor scowled, it was for real. “Don’t you think that’s a little sexist?”
“Excuse me?”
“Ignoring all my skills and bringing me down to being just a pretty man?” Part of him was delighted she saw him that way, but the hard-nosed businessman within was pissed—and irritated. He didn’t want Ísa thinking of him as anything but smart, a worthy opponent.
“Now you know what women feel like in the workplace,” was her tart response. A moment later, she added, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did, especially after I asked you to be professional.”
“So you don’t think I’m pretty and charming?”
An even narrower-eyed glance. “Let’s talk about your plan.” It was an order.
Startled at this unyielding side of her—and turned on as well—Sailor began to go through the finer points of what he intended to. “It’s all about working to create a certain atmosphere from the moment a customer drives in.”
Excitement was a crashing wave inside his body as he laid out his vision. “We’re talking green and healthy, and with this kitchen garden that I’m suggesting”—he tapped it on the map—“your customers will actually be able to see where a little of their food is coming from. Obviously, it’s going to be mostly for show because you won’t be able to grow enough, but you’ll be growing some at least.”
Sailor continued when Ísa didn’t interrupt. “People feel good about buying sustainable products, especially people in your targeted customer base. There’s also the lack of a carbon footprint in taking lettuce from the garden to the kitchen and then to the plate. You can use that in your advertising and customer outreach. I’m betting the garden will also get a lot of play on social media.”
Ísa looked intrigued. “Can we extend that?” she asked. “Fast Organic is going to be fast food, but we won’t be doing huge volumes. Our prices are at the premium end, which means we need to sell at a lower volume to make a profit. The plan is to grow a small but dedicated client base.”
Sailor saw where she was going with this. “You want the kitchen garden big enough that you can actually supply most of the needs of the restaurant?”
Ísa nodded. “Even if it’s only certain items per season,” she said. “For example, if we could say that all the tomatoes in the salad this month come from the Fast Organic gardens.”
Sailor nodded slowly, his blood heating at having a client who was willing to work with him. That it was this woman who made him crave things he’d long pushed to the side, that was just the icing on the cake. “I’ll have to rework the plans, but yeah, we could make that happen.”
He took a pencil from his pocket and began to sketch in a few changes. “You’d then need to have a long-term gardener on contract who could make sure the garden stayed healthy. As it so happens, I know a gardener with excellent rates.” Yes, he preferred to do landscaping, but he wasn’t too proud to take maintenance jobs—it was all cash flow for his bigger dream.
Ísa gave him a look that was pure Rain. “Let’s do this first and see how good you are, Mr. Bishop.”
Sailor wanted to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. Telling himself to focus, that playtime was later, he said, “If we put in a larger kitchen garden, we’re going to have to lose the little seating area here.”
“Not necessarily.” Ísa stared at his plan. “What if we make it so people are welcome to do things in the garden during their lunch break? They can sit there. They can weed if they’re in the mood.”
“Like a community garden?” Sailor drew in a breath, and with it came her scent. “Might work with staff keeping an eye on things. The larger issue is what happens when the restaurant is closed.”
He frowned at the map while Ísa’s scent tangled around him like invisible chains. “I only have sustainable fencing created of hedges in this plan, and I still think that’s the look you should be going for, but if you’re talking about a true kitchen garden, then we have to build in some way to protect the garden at night so folks don’t sneak off with your produce.”
He tapped his pencil on the plan before beginning to draw in a system of strong trellises that would let in light and look beautiful while still acting as protective walls. “One side can open to let people in during the day,” he murmured. “We can train climbers over the rest. Something edible. Beans maybe. Or… will you be using edible flowers in your dishes?”
Ísa was so close now that he could feel her hip brushing against his thigh. “No, I don’t think so. But we should be able to work with that. I’ll talk to the chef who’s finalizing the menu. We can move quickly because Fast Organic will be doing a number of limited-run products across the seasons.”
Sailor continued to alter the plan. Snuggled up next to him in a way she probably didn’t realize and he wasn’t stupid enough to point out, Ísa kept on asking questions, her face alight with interest. He realized that though she’d called him a pretty man, she was dead serious about him and his work.
He also realized she had a brain as dangerous as Jacqueline’s.
His third realization was that he badly, badly wanted to stroke his hand down her back and over the curve of her rear. He’d probably squeeze, because an ass that beautiful deserved nothing else. Then he’d bend down and kiss his way up her spine and to those ears with their fascinating blushing tips.
That was when, out of nowhere, he realized a fourth thing that he’d simply forgotten to factor into his whole pursuit of his redhead: Ísa was rich.
Way out of his league rich.
Even if he got his business off the ground as he wanted and was hoping to achieve, he wouldn’t make any real money until at least two or three years into the future. And that money wouldn’t ever compare to Crafty Corners unless he managed to achieve the biggest dream in his heart.
His fingers tightened around the pencil.
Hard as it was to bear the thought, his spitfire would most probably only ever see him as an amusement. Women as wealthy and as smart and as sexy as Ísa tended to stick within their social and economic class when it came to serious relationships.
Mood suddenly dark even though he had no room in his life for a relationship and the removal of a distraction should’ve made him happy, he began to roll up his plan. “I’ll need to rework the financial end of things in light of these changes. But,” he continued, “I don’t think it should make that much of a difference as we’ll be taking out the seating area to extend the garden.”