Page 28 of The Arrogant One

“The opening of Toro is going to give us that answer,” Colson said. “It proved to be true in our first location in Denver, but that’s an unfair assessment because there, it’s a market we dominate. Same with Banff—there’s nothing like it in that part of Alberta. But here, in LA, there are some heavy hitters in the seafood and raw bar space. It’s going to be very telling if the concept is embraced and the feedback is positive.”

“That doesn’t fix what’s happening with Charred,” I countered.

“Nothing is happening with Charred,” Walker shot back.

Eden crossed her arms over her chest. “And who knows what Dear Foodie’s review will be when she eats at Toro?”

“And there’s that,” I replied.

As Walker looked at me, I could see his brain reeling.

“We need her there.”

As the chief marketing officer, one of my many tasks was getting us reviews and ratings, so it was up to me to promise, “She’ll come.”

“How can you be sure of that?” he asked. “She never reviewed Charred.”

I pushed back from the table and crossed my legs. “Because we were established long before she came on the scene. Her focus is on new. And we’re going to be new.” I rubbed my hands over my knee. “Don’t worry, I have some ideas on how to ensure she’s there.”

“Ideas?” Walker asked.

“You know this is where I thrive.” I nodded toward him. “Just trust me.”

“And what if her review of Toro is a repeat of the post she did of the bar at Charred Manhattan?” Eden asked.

Walker groaned, “That would be my worst fucking nightmare,” and covered his face with his hands.

“I could think of worse situations,” Colson chimed in. “But, yeah, that was bad—I can’t lie.”

As we all gazed at each other, we remembered the one and only time Dear Foodie had given us a shout-out.

She had happened to be in Manhattan and stopped at the bar at Charred. Whether she ate there, we didn’t know; her post on Instagram only included a photo of her espresso martini. That was something she did often when she traveled—she shared pictures of food and drinks and all things restaurant-related. They weren’t reviews; they were just teases of her life in photographs. In the one she did for Charred Manhattan, the glassware looked fantastic in her hands, which were wrapped around the thin stem, the coffee beans shaped like a clover as they floated across the dark liquid. Even her caption—My second coffee of the day—was fantastic.

But when one of her viewers asked in the comments how the drink was, she replied,Average.

A response that sent Walker into a spiral.

So, the next day, I had gone into Charred LA and had an espresso martini—a drink I’d normally never get—and, goddamn it, Dear Foodie was right.

The martini was mid—at best.

I had worked with our lead bartender, and we had come up with a whole new recipe that was enforced across the entire company, at every one of our locations.

We listened, we tweaked, we mastered.

I focused on my brother, who was silently losing his shit at the head of the table. “Walker, tell us why this one is fucking you up so badly.”

A question none of us had asked him, and it was long overdue.

“I’ve been doing a little digging, reaching out to my sources, talking to vendors.” He rubbed his hands together. “Horned isn’t just a restaurant. It’s a concept. They’re testing it, and if successful—and it has been—it will be launched nationwide.”

I mashed my lips together. “Who’s they?”

I knew what he was going to say.

I could see it on his fucking face.

“The Gordon family.”