Chapter 2

I didn't say much. I just held Clark Finch's eyes and asked him one thing, plainly.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Finch tilted his chin up, nose in the air, and scoffed.

"You don't actually think we're bluffing, do you?"

He pointed across the street at a storefront with a lease sign in the window.

"See that place across the road? Three times the size of yours, and it's up for rent right now."

"I already talked to the landlord. Cash in hand, and I can sign the lease any time I want."

"You wouldn't want us as your competition, would you?"

I looked where he was pointing.

That place across the street used to be a hot pot spot. It really was three times the size of mine. But the rent was three times as much too.

Leasing it, then paying to renovate it, would take a serious chunk of money out of Finch and the rest of them.

I looked at him and kept my voice level.

"You're that confident you can make a go of it?"

Finch didn't hesitate.

"Of course."

"We turned your place into a hit. We can do the exact same thing somewhere else."

The other four chefs jumped in behind him.

"Right. Your storefront's small, the location's nothing special, but people line up out the door every single day. You think that's not because of our cooking?"

"We take over that place across the street, all your regulars follow us over. Then what have you got to compete with?"

I smiled.

So they knew the location was bad after all.

This whole block was still under development. Nothing was settled, commercial or residential, and most days the street sat dead quiet.

Every shop that had ever opened here had gone under. No exceptions.

The only reason my place was packed every day was that my father's company sat five hundred meters up the street.

His employees walked over here, ten-odd minutes each way, on purpose, just to get on my good side and bank a little goodwill.

They were never coming for the food.

They were coming for the connection standing behind it.

Already picturing the new place across the street opening its doors and raking it in, Finch turned back to me, gloating.

"Denise Simmons, agree to split the restaurant's profits with us fifty-fifty from now on, and I'll keep the boys here working for you."

"Otherwise, I take them across the street and sign that lease today. New place opens, all your customers come running to me, and you've got no one to blame but yourself."

At that, Aunt Erica couldn't hold back.

"If you really lease the place across the street, isn't that just stealing the boss's business right in front of her?"

"Stealing?"

Finch let out a cold laugh.

"Those customers came for our cooking in the first place. What's any of that got to do with Denise Simmons?"

"If she's actually got what it takes, let her keep her customers. She can't, that just proves she's useless."

With that he ignored Erica entirely, turned to face me, and lifted his chin.

"Denise Simmons, either you hand over the 1.4 million like a good girl, or I go across the street and sign that lease. Your choice."

The place went quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Everyone was staring at me, waiting for my answer.

I gave it almost before he'd finished.

"Then go across the street."

"I wish you good business."

The speed of it stopped Finch and the others cold.

Something like disappointment flickered behind their eyes.

I knew exactly why they'd pulled this today. They were testing where my limit was.

Compared to sinking real money into a place across the street, what they wanted far more was to squeeze me for nothing.

The moment I caved and handed over 1.4 million out of fear they'd quit, they'd run the same play tomorrow and threaten me for a share of the company itself.

Finch stared at me, hard, hunting my face for some crack, some sign I was only putting on a front.

There wasn't one.

I even gave him a little smile.

"Why are you still here? Weren't you dying to go open your new place?"

That seemed to sting him. Finch clenched his jaw and spat it out, furious.

"Fine. Denise Simmons, since you don't know a good thing when you see it, don't blame us for what comes next."

"We've got the skills. We're not worried about business, and we'll make our money. This dump of yours, without us, can just sit here and go under!"

With that, he led the other four chefs toward the door.

But two steps out, he stopped short, turned back to the servers still inside, and spoke with all the confidence in the world.

"Listen, you've all seen it for yourselves. The only reason this place does the business it does is the skill of the few of us in that kitchen."

"Once we walk, this place won't last long before it folds. Stick with Denise Simmons and you'll be living on nothing but air."

He pointed across the street again.

"We're going to go sign that lease with the landlord right now. When the new place opens, we'll be short-staffed for sure. Anyone who wants to come over, I promise you'll earn more than you ever did in Denise Simmons's shop."

"A shot at money like this. You sure you don't want to walk out with us?"