Chapter 1 - THE MAN WAITING IN MY FATHER'S WORKSHOP
Brian had absolutely no idea who was already waiting there.
Neither did Beatrice.
At six fifteen that morning, while my taxi was crossing downtown Baltimore toward the Grand Plaza Hotel, my father, Samuel Hayes, was already unlocking the side entrance of his woodworking shop.
What Beatrice remembered as “that dusty little place Samantha’s father tinkers around in” had changed dramatically over the years.
My father had spent four decades building custom dining tables, bar counters, wine cabinets, and restaurant interiors for some of the best hospitality groups on the East Coast.
He never bragged.
That was probably why the Millers had never bothered asking.
Waiting inside his workshop that morning was Julian Cross.
Julian was not a carpenter.
He was the managing partner of Cross Meridian Hospitality, the investment group funding the international hotel project I was about to lead.
And he had asked to meet my father for one very specific reason.
The new flagship dining concept needed custom interiors.
My father was on the shortlist.
I learned this only after arriving at the Grand Plaza.
Julian shook my hand in the ballroom before our presentation.
“Your father’s work is extraordinary.”
I blinked.
“You’ve met him?”
“Meeting him now, actually.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
He smiled.
“My design director is at his workshop with him.”
I pulled out my phone.
Three missed calls from Dad.
One text.
Samantha, your former mother-in-law is standing outside with Brian.
I closed my eyes.
Of course they were.
Then another message appeared.
Don’t worry. I’m not alone.
At that exact moment, according to my father later, Beatrice marched into his workshop without waiting to be invited.
“Samuel, call your daughter.”
Dad looked up from a set of architectural drawings.
Brian entered behind her.
“She’s being ridiculous.”
Julian’s design director, Margaret Ellis, sat ten feet away.
So did a representative from Grand Plaza procurement.
Dad calmly removed his glasses.
“Why exactly should I call Samantha?”
Beatrice crossed her arms.
“Because Charles’s birthday dinner is tonight and Samantha is refusing to cook.”
Margaret slowly looked up.
Brian noticed the logo on the folder in front of her.
Grand Plaza Hotel.
His expression changed.
Then Margaret asked one quiet question.
“Are you speaking about Samantha Hayes?”
Beatrice scoffed.
“She hasn’t used that name in ten years.”
Margaret smiled.
“We have.”
Brian went still.
Because beneath Margaret’s hand was a contract.
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And at the top, in bold letters, were the words:
CULINARY CONCEPT CREATED BY SAMANTHA HAYES.
