With No Reservations

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#uc058528e-df7d-5147-8ac4-738b40217515)

A STICK OF Irish butter, cubed into tiny uniform squares. Half-cup portions of white sugar, brown sugar, glittering in the light. And the star of the show, a mixture of chocolate chips and crumbled homemade toffee that was good enough to eat with a spoon. All showcased in sherbet-colored ceramic pinch pots and bowls from the flea market.

The mise en place, as the French said, was complete. Everything was in place.

Sloane Bradley found a calming satisfaction in the certainty that, when these proportions were mixed and baked, they’d turn out the most perfect toffee-chocolate chip cookies in existence. Gooey with just the right amount of crisp.

She was dialing up a crystal clear focus on the ingredients through her DSLR’s viewfinder when her cell phone buzzed against the kitchen table.

Dana—VisibilityNet.

Her account supervisor was early by a full six minutes, which couldn’t be a good thing. She was usually late.

“Dana. Hi.” Any enthusiasm Sloane tried to muster fell flat.

“Sorry, Sloane.” Dana didn’t miss a beat. “I know we’re ahead of schedule, but we had to move some things around today. Kathryn needs to start the meeting early.”

“Kathryn?”

Dana sighed. “Yes. She asked to be on the call.”

Okay, something was definitely up. Why else would the founder of VisibilityNet—the one who was usually just a signature on the checks—need to be in on this call? In the span of a breath, the parts of Sloane’s job she treasured most shuttered through her mind. The subconscious rhythm of arranging ingredients and capturing the finished masterpieces. Her ability to conduct business calls from the comfort of yoga pants. Even the multitiered, color-coded spreadsheets.

Maybe especially the multitiered, color-coded spreadsheets.

Sloane nodded even though her supervisor couldn’t see her and swallowed hard. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Questions zipped through her mind as she smoothed her tailored blazer over her shoulders and sank into the cream-colored, leather dining room chair opposite her laptop. Could her job be in jeopardy?

Certainly not. Sloane was one of the ad network’s most successful accounts. Her blog traffic was higher than ever. Brands paid a pretty penny to work with her. Clicks for third-party ads were on the rise. Email subscriptions were through the roof after her rustic herb pizza crust had gone viral on Pinterest earlier in the week. She liked it much better when VisibilityNet sent her kitchen gadgets to review and left her alone to do what she did best.

Blog.

But there was no time to figure things out now, no time to panic. Just the fizz in her midsection as her computer beeped to announce the incoming call. The video chat screen split in half as it connected. Two contrasting images swam into focus—barely postgrad Dana with her flawless milky skin, auburn topknot, and hipster glasses, and Kathryn with her signature silver-streaked black hair, pillowy lips, and catlike eyeliner tips.

“Good morning, Miss Bradley.” Kathryn’s puffy, plastic lips were slightly out of sync with the audio of her heavy New England accent. “Excuse me for skipping the formalities, but we really need to get to business quickly.”

Sloane nodded, willing her clenched throat to relax. “Good morning.”

“This is a very new deal, so please don’t make this public yet.” Kathryn filled her lungs for effect. “Is it correct that you volunteer for the City on a Hill Foundation?”

“I’ve been volunteering at their headquarters for a few years now.” Sloane was intimately familiar with the organization and did everything she could to promote their efforts to educate low-income families about smart, sustainable cooking and grocery shopping.

“Then you know it’s headed up by the Marian Cooper of J. Marian Restaurants. Well, it’s her ex-husband’s company now.”

J. Marian Restaurants? With the sleazeball CEO who paraded around Dallas like he owned the place? He’d made a fortune selling fast-casual restaurant templates. Make-and-take pizza parlors. Noodle buffets. Cupcake and doughnut boutiques. He could feed a third-world country for a year by selling one of his custom suits—or denying one of his wife du jour’s plastic surgery whims. Marian used to be married to that guy?

Relieved that this conference call was just a preemptive announcement, Sloane zoned out as Kathryn went on about “strategic partnerships” and “trend forecasts.” All Sloane could focus on was her overwhelming urge to reach through the computer screen and adjust Dana’s glasses, which were tilted a few degrees lower on her right eye.

When she heard the words national network spokesperson, however, Sloane’s attention snapped to the nasal, authoritative voice of the VisibilityNet founder.