One Perfect Touch (Very Irresistible Bachelors Book 3) Read online

  One Perfect Touch

  Layla Hagen

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  One Perfect Touch

  Copyright © 2020 Layla Hagen

  Cover: Uplifting Designs

  One Perfect Touch

  Copyright ©2020 Layla Hagen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Rob

  “Do you want me to go with you to see the house today? I can make time,” my sister Anne said as we sat in a nook in our flagship restaurant in lower Manhattan, a neighborhood referred to as Tribeca.

  I was in the process of moving to the city again and needed to find a place to live. My sister and her daughter lived in a suburb, and I was hoping to find a house close to them. After having been back in town for three weeks, I was tired of living in a hotel. Looking out the window at the mix of high-rise buildings and restored factories, I’d realized just how much I missed New York.

  “No, Anne, I’m good on my own. You and Lindsay have things to do.” I ruffled Lindsay’s hair as she squealed in delight. I loved this little kid as if she were my own, and this last year had taken a toll on them both.

  I managed the Dumont chain of restaurants, a business handed down through the family. Over the last ten years, we’d grown into a substantial empire. We had two headquarters: one in New York, one in LA. Anne’s ex-husband had been the CEO of the East Coast restaurants, headquartered in New York. I’d been the CEO of the West Coast branch. After Anne’s ex left not only his family but also the business, I replaced myself in LA and returned to New York. It was good to be back home.

  This location was one of our finest; the inside mirrored that mix of architecture typical for Tribeca. It was a combination of glass, wood, and red brick, each used in a variety of ways. The tabletops were made out of glass, the window arches from red brick, and the lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling were a mix of wood and black metal, giving the restaurant an industrial decor.

  “Uncle Rob, is it true you’re not going back to LA?” Lindsay asked. She was eight and much taller than most kids her age. She was like a mashup of my sister and me. Anne and I didn’t look much alike. My hair was dark, my eyes green. Anne was blonde with blue eyes. Lindsay had green eyes and blonde hair. Fortunately, not many of her father’s genes came into play. That asshole.

  “I’m not, bops. I’m staying here, and I’m looking at houses close to you and your mom.”

  Lindsay smiled from ear to ear. She was my weakness. Since the day she was born, I’d had a soft spot for her, and it had only grown over the years. Even when I lived on a different coast, I’d made time for her. Whether on business trips to the city or weekly FaceTime chats, Lindsay knew she could always count on me.

  She glanced at Anne. “Can I have fries and nuggets?”

  Anne shook her head. “We’re here to taste the new menu, remember?”

  Lindsay pouted before focusing on me. “But I don’t like the menus. They taste funny.”

  I chuckled but didn’t disagree. Our five-course menus were definitely not for children—too many vegetables and spices that didn’t appeal to their palates. It was one reason why we had a kids menu with the standard fare.

  “Fine, you can have fries and nuggets,” Anne said.

  Lindsay squealed. Rising from our table, she went to the edge of the private nook, waving at the waiters excitedly. Someone was impatient for her nuggets.

  With Lindsay out of earshot, Anne leaned in, whispering, “Rob, are you sure you want to move to the suburbs? You love Manhattan. You used to live in a penthouse on Park Avenue. You don’t have to do it for us.” Now that she and Lindsay were on their own, she thought I was trying to take care of them, which I was... but I wasn’t admitting it.

  “I told you, that’s not why I’m doing it.” I put my best give-me-a-break face on, hoping it looked sincere.

  “Uh-huh. Just like you’re not moving back to New York for us?”

  “The LA business is running smoothly. It was time to come back home. As to why I’m moving to the suburbs, it’s not just to be closer to you two. I’ve grown accustomed to having a yard for the last four years. I want that here too, and that’s hard to find in the city.” I winked, hoping to put her at ease.

  Although my arguments were solid, the truth was that I was coming back because Anne had just finalized her divorce two weeks ago, and she and Lindsay were going through a rough time. I wanted to be closer to them to be available to help out in any way I could. I could have just hired someone else here to replace her ex and stayed in LA. It would have been easier, but I never chose the easy way.

  Our parents had moved to the south of France after retiring, and we didn’t have any other family in the area. So yes, I was moving to the suburbs primarily for them. I wanted us to be able to get together spontaneously for meals, and it was easier if we lived in the same suburb. The yard was just a bonus; I could take it or leave it.

  “You’ve been looking for a place forever,” Anne continued as a server approached Lindsay. “I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret in the long run.”

  “What can I say? I’m picky.” Up to this point, I hadn’t found anything I wanted, and besides, I’d been busy. I’d started looking for a place two months ago, when I was still in LA. The transition was taking more time than I’d hoped, and finding a place to live was not high on the list of priorities right now. I’d like to get settled, but there were pressing issues with the business that needed attention too.

  “That you are. With houses and women. You never seem to find the one.”

  I wasn’t looking for the one. Life was perfect just the way it was. But I did need a house.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked. I just hated to see her going through all this because of that asshole she married.

  Anne sighed, looking away. I knew she didn’t like my asking, but I cared about her and Lindsay. “Fine. Just fine.”

  My niece returned to the table the next second, proud for having p
laced her order. I couldn’t question Anne anymore. To my frustration, I never managed to get another answer out of her. I could tell she wasn’t okay though. I usually paid zero attention to details, but even I couldn’t miss that she’d lost a lot of weight and had dark circles under her eyes. She lived her life by the motto When you’re going through hell, just keep going. It was kind of our family’s MO as well.

  My sister was the forgiving type, whereas I wanted to make that cheating bastard pay for hurting her. I was only staying out of it because Anne wanted her daughter to have a good relationship with her father.

  But I wasn’t the forgiving type. It was one of the reasons I had the reputation of being difficult to work with in business circles. As far as I was concerned, that had helped me more than hurt, because I always got what I wanted. Her ex hauling ass and leaving it all without a backward glance didn’t make a good impression on anyone, least of all our financial partners and our employees. It was important to reassure everyone that things were under control.

  I was running only the restaurant part of the Dumont empire—a total of one hundred twenty units spread across the country, as well as fifty in Europe. Anne was running the chain of ninety gourmet supermarkets. Although operating under the same brand, they were two separate companies. Anne and I didn’t see each other often for business purposes, because each was run differently with little crossover.

  Anne sighed in relief when our first course arrived.

  “Let’s focus on all these goodies,” she went on quickly, changing the subject. “They are truly delicious.”

  We were the third generation of Dumonts in charge of fine dining. Every time we changed something on the menu, Anne and I did a tasting—it was just how we did things.

  Lindsay dug into her plate of fries and nuggets, grimacing when she took note of our asparagus with lemon sauce and fish.

  Her enthusiasm was through the roof when it was time to taste the dessert though.

  Right now, we were replacing some key ingredients in our trademark Dumont cake: cream cheese with ricotta, honey with maple syrup.

  “I’d say this is just what the dessert needed,” Anne said, taking a bite of the cake. “And our maple syrup suppliers will be happy we’re finally using their product in a flagship dish.”

  “It’s delicious,” Lindsay said, eyeing my plate. I hadn’t finished my dessert, and my niece seemed overjoyed by it, especially because I pretended not to see that she kept forking the leftovers onto her plate. Anne just smiled, shaking her head.

  “I like the changes too.”

  After a bit more conversation, Anne checked her watch.

  “Lindsay and I have to go. She has ballet, and I’m meeting some new suppliers. When is the showing again?” she asked, grabbing her bag from the desk.

  I checked the calendar on my phone.

  “I’m meeting Skye Winchester at seven o’clock tonight.”

  “Is she a real estate agent?”

  “Not sure. I saw the ad online, and it looked interesting. And it was in your neighborhood”.

  “Okay. Tell me if you change your mind and want me to join you.”

  “I’m good,” I said. Honestly, this house probably wouldn’t work either, and I didn’t want to waste Anne’s time. But it had more potential than others I’d seen, based on the online video that was available, so I wanted to check it out.

  After they left, I finished things up and made my way to the company’s headquarters for a meeting I’d scheduled with my team. The building was in the East Village, next to Tompkins Square Park. After a quick subway ride from Canal Street to Astor Place, I walked the rest of the way, just another few short blocks. As usual, it was full of tourists gaping about and locals shopping. With the Fourth of July weekend behind us, it was business as usual in the city. Having been born and raised here, I’d always wanted to come back. I’d only moved to LA the past four years because the West Coast had needed closer supervision. Since my family was located in New York, the East Coast branch had always outperformed the West Coast one. Now the reverse was true. My ex-brother-in-law hadn’t been just a shitty husband but also only a moderately competent CEO—but we’d wanted to keep things in the family, for him to feel included.

  Dumont Foods was known worldwide. Besides the supermarkets and the restaurants, we also had a massive online platform that had taken on a life of its own. Customers could do everything from finding recipes to ordering gourmet products. The facility that handled the shipping and orders was in LA, and the team that was now managing it all was doing great work. I loved the business. It was in my blood.

  My earliest memories were with my parents, playing in the kitchen in one of the restaurants. They had always carted us to work with them, and as kids we felt privileged to go along. My sister and I were both loyal to the family business.

  Our education had been in the culinary arts and business. In this industry it was important to have knowledge of both. Anne was one year older, and we’d always done things together, except for that one year after college when I went to study in France, at a culinary school in a town where my father’s side of the family came from. She’d gone to a local school in New York, where she also met her then future—now ex—husband. I’d liked him too, I had to admit it. Nothing about him said cheating bastard. But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and Anne and I were going to pick up the pieces together, as usual. I was as close to her at thirty-three as I’d been as a kid.

  Memories of my parents popped up when I entered the building. I chuckled, thinking about those times, but then schooled my features, preparing to meet the team. With my employees, I was a business-all-the-time sort of guy, and everyone knew it and respected it.

  I’d invited chefs, sous-chefs, and the entire management team to this meeting. There were ten restaurants in New York, and I wanted all the staff to be aware of some changes I wanted to implement.

  Everyone was already gathered on the floor of the meeting room, and they stood straighter the second I stepped out of the elevator. I was a hard worker. That was how I gained their respect years ago, working side by side with my father at twenty-six. Since I’d been gone for a while, the team wasn’t used to my constant presence anymore.

  “Let’s start,” I said with a smile and nod. Most of the team was now seated on chairs. “Hi, everyone! Thank you for being here. Anne and I just completed the tasting, and we loved the changes. Great job!”

  The menu would be changed regardless of whether Anne and I liked them, since it was about the customers’ desires, not ours, but it was tradition for us to taste it, and I liked to compliment my team. A few nodded, some shrugged. I tapped the laptop my assistant had set up earlier for me, projecting the content on the screen directly on the wall behind me.

  “As you know, I’m taking over from my brother-in-law. I’ve been in LA for the past few years, where our restaurants are more profitable than on the East Coast. The goal is to raise profitability of this branch too. I’m going to go through the plan I devised, and I’m looking forward to your contributions. It’s July now. By Christmas I want the East Coast to match the West Coast profitability.”

  I surveyed the room carefully, taking in their reactions. I could practically hear them thinking, Yeah, he’s just as difficult as we remember. Or for those who hadn’t worked with me before, He’s just as difficult as we heard.

  I was hungry for success, to make my own mark on the Dumont empire. My standards were high, but I also gave 100 percent to everything I did, and I required perseverance from those who worked for me. I could be a hard-ass... but really, I was just hard to please.

  Chapter Two

  Skye

  “Okay, everything looks ready,” I murmured, checking the time on my phone. Ten minutes until the clients would arrive and I looked a mess, but that couldn’t be helped.

  The future owner would choose the house because they liked it, not me.

  I’d barely made it on time from Lower Manhattan to give the place on
e last sweep. I lived next door, and when my neighbors had moved out, they asked me to handle the selling process. Their youngest daughter got very sick, so they quit their jobs here and moved to Houston, where they were from, so their families could help out. I missed my neighbors, and I hoped they’d be able to recover quickly, building a good life in Houston. The mother had already found a job there, but they were struggling financially. Wanting to help them, I’d said yes. In college, I’d worked part-time at a real estate agency, so I knew the nuts and bolts, and a friend of the family was a lawyer, so he was going to take care of the legalities. My job was to show people the house. It sounded easy, but between running the lingerie store and the commute, I’d been in over my head for the past week.

  So I’d decided this time I’d schedule everyone at once with the hope that one of the buyers would work out. There were two families with kids, one guy, and an elderly couple.

  I was keeping my fingers crossed for one of the couples with kids. I liked having young children next door.

  Five minutes to go.

  I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, combing through my hair with my fingers. My shoulder-length brown hair was in complete disarray. I had a blunt cut, with bangs that almost fell into my eyes. I loved them—they usually looked sophisticated, but now they were a complete mess and a bit curled. My black eyeliner was a little smudged under my blue eyes. I looked unprofessional, which wasn’t like me at all, but I had no time to run over to my place and reapply makeup. I did refresh myself at the sink, though—I drew the line at sweaty armpits.

  At seven o’clock on the dot, the bell rang. Both families arrived at the same time, without their children. The elderly couple arrived a few minutes later.

  “If you want, you can look around on your own, and then I can find you and answer your questions. I’m just waiting for one more. Or you can just wait with me and I’ll give you a tour.”

  “We’ll wait,” one of them said. The rest nodded.

  I was keeping my fingers crossed for the guy not to show up. I already had a good feeling about one of the couples, and fewer people at the viewing meant fewer questions.