“You’re pretty good with technology,” I told her.
“My brother is kind of a big deal in the tech world.”
“Who’s your brother?”
She arched an eyebrow. “My last name is St. Clair. You never connected the dots?”
“St. Clair? As in Beckham St. Clair?”
“Yep, that’s him.”
“Holy shit.”
She nodded but never took her eyes off the tablet. “That’s what everyone says.”
Her previous statement that her brother was “kind of a big deal” was a gross understatement. Beckham St. Clair practically owned Silicon Valley. His recent developments in the tech world were making headlines everywhere, and his new business partner, Ainsley Maxwell, was making waves as well. Last I’d heard, the pair of them were now in a relationship. I couldn’t imagine falling for a colleague and pursuing them. Personal feelings based on emotions and attachments always made things messy and always ended with one party being heartbroken.
I wasn’t signing up for that shit ever again.
“Is it strange having a brother who is so visible in the public eye?” I asked.
She finally looked up at me, her golden eyes narrowed. “Do you mean is it hard having a brother who’s obscenely wealthy while I’m working as your personal assistant?”
Damn, nothing got past her.
I shrugged.
She sighed. “It’s not strange, per se. But it does come with its own set of challenges.”
“Such as?”
She flipped the leather cover of the tablet closed. “I’d rather not discuss it.”
Fair enough.
Lewis pulled up in front of the hollow shell of the future restaurant I intended to invest in. The exterior had yet to be painted, but the structure itself looked good. It had a large patio outside with a glass cover and vine-wrapped pillars. A man in coveralls stood on a ladder, stringing lights from one beam to the next, assisted by a young woman on the ground who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. When we got out of the car, they both waved and smiled.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Cassidy,” the man on the ladder said. I recognized him as the father and the man on the business license, Samuel T. Wilson. “Go on inside. My wife will get you seated, and I’ll be right in so we can sit down and talk.”
“Take your time,” I said.
The young woman, his daughter, I presumed, watched me with rosy cheeks as I opened the door for Gabriella. She stepped inside before me, stopped in her tracks, and sucked in a breath.
“Whoa,” she breathed. “This place is beautiful.”
She wasn’t wrong. The whole ceiling swam with green vines similar to the ones I’d spotted outside. They all appeared to be living, not fake like some of the restaurants I’d seen trying to mimic this aesthetic. From the vines dangled strings of crystals that caught the reflection of the string lights woven throughout the leafy fauna. It made the place feel soft, romantic, and welcoming, and the open floor plan and minimalist table settings made the ceiling the star of the show. In the middle of the restaurant was the bar, which had been done in white with a backlit liquor display.
Gabriella nudged me in the ribs with her elbow like we were old friends. “I’m sure you’ve already thought of this, but this place could double as a special events venue, not just a restaurant. Have they considered that in their branding?”
No, they had not, and neither had I—surprisingly. “We’ll discuss it with them today.”
“I’d get married here,” she whispered. “You could do the ceremony inside or out on the patio. The patio could also double as a great spot for guests to mingle and have appetizers and cocktails while the married couple gets photos done. Speaking of which, there are a lot of great photographer venues within walking distance.”
I smirked. I knew there was a reason I’d given her the promotion.
A tall, slender, black-haired woman strode toward us. She had dark skin, deep brown eyes, and a brilliant white smile. “Hello, Mr. Cassidy.” She held out her hand and I shook it. “Please, come sit. I’ll go yell at my husband to get his behind in here. I’m sure you have many important things on your list today.”
“I’m in no rush,” I assured her.