Free Tempting Donovan Ford by Jennifer McKenzie

and sweaty sex.
    Julia felt her cheeks heat and pushed the thought away. Donovan and her bed were two things that didn’t mix outside her fantasy life.
    “Are we picking colors?” she asked when she reached the group.
    “No. We’re merely getting a feel for the space.” The woman started talking while the two men began gathering up the bolts. Her words were full of terms like “flow” and “maximizing table space.” Whether the new bar should be in dove gray or champagne and questions on whether the accents should be silver or gold. It sounded beautiful but cold and a clear imitation of the Fords’ other bars.
    Julia listened, gathering information and context. When the designers finished extolling their grandiose plans and gathering their materials, they left. Julia waited until the door clicked shut behind them before she looked at Donovan. “I thought we agreed that I would be a part of the design discussions.”
    Donovan pulled out a chair that had been draped with a burnt orange—no, just no—and sat down. Julia sat down, too. “It was unplanned. The designer called this morning with a free block of time, and I took her up on it so we could get things moving.”
    “Why didn’t you call me?”
    “You said last night that you were looking forward to sleeping in today.” He reached out to touch the back of her hand. “Nothing has been decided yet. It was only an initial meeting to get a scope of time and cost. I didn’t think you needed or wanted to be involved in those aspects.”
    “Well, I do.” She wanted to have a say in everything. “The space has to reflect the menu and service. Those are my domains.”
    Donovan nodded. “How do you picture the space?”
    She looked around, picturing her favorite spaces in her mind and superimposing them on the room around her. “Pretty much the same. Just fresher. Maybe some new chairs and stools for the bar, a softer color on the walls.” The white was a bit bland with no other design to highlight, but it was a lot better than burnt orange. “Some updated light fixtures.” She glanced up at the chandelier, which was the one piece she wouldn’t change. It was huge and gorgeous, all crystal and platinum swoops of sparkle. “Maybe a ceiling medallion to highlight the chandelier.”
    “And what about the floors? The bar? The poor use of space?” He squeezed her hand and heat shot through her. “Julia. We have to make changes.” His dark eyes seemed to tilt down at the corners. “We can’t leave it as it is and expect anything else to change.”
    “We could. With the marketing campaign, we’ll gain new business.” All they really needed was for people to remember they were there, to walk through the door and taste the food for themselves.
    “But they won’t come back.” He let go of her hand and sat back. “They’ll take one look at this place and decide it’s not cool or hip or whatever.”
    “This isn’t about being cool or hip or whatever.” La Petite Bouchée was classic and would stand the test of time.
    Donovan ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, it is. We need the social scene to give it the stamp of approval. Once we’ve got that—”
    “But we’re not a bar,” Julia interrupted. She understood where he was coming from. The part of the industry that relied on the young and pretty to fill their tables and their coffers. But a restaurant was different. And she felt as if everything was changing so fast. As if her life was once again in upheaval. “We need the foodies.”
    “Julia, the foodies are the social scene. And right now, you and your food are being wasted.”
    She sat up straighter, stinging from the implication that her food, her staff wouldn’t be good enough on their own. “I think my food speaks for itself.”
    He reached out and caught her hand when she started to stand. “The decor, the layout, even the menu is working against you right now. I want to bring everything in line to work together.”
    His