I already knew it was ten till eleven and that Cash was itching to get back into the kitchen to make sure everything was under control for lunch. I also knew without checking that it was. His kitchen staff was on top of things. They had to be, otherwise Chef Cash could morph into a stereotypical temperamental tyrant right before their very eyes.

I raised my brows at Seth to encourage him to get on with it. We all had shit to do.

As Seth met my gaze, there was a flash of something in his eyes that put me on alert. Told me I wasn’t going to like whatever his “last thing” was.

“Spit it out,” I said, leaning my elbows on table nineteen of Henry’s Restaurant.

This was our meeting spot every Monday at ten a.m., strategically located to avoid pissing matches over whose office we met in, Seth’s or Cash’s. My office was the bar, but when we’d tried meeting there, they’d accused me of paying more attention to the behind-the-bar tasks than the agenda.

“The Bergman lot,” Seth said, tapping the eraser of his mechanical pencil on his handy-dandy notebook.

My jaw clenched before I could check that reaction.

“It’s time to do something with it,” Seth continued as my body tensed. “I’m going to call Darius Weber this week to get his take on what we might be able to get out of it.”

Cash’s response was a single nod.

I was just opening my mouth to give my opinion on calling the real estate agent when Seth jumped back in.

“It’s not good business to let a lakefront lot sit there and do nothing for us. You know that.”

I did know that, but it did nothing to lower my frustration.

“Another month,” I bit out. “Give Kemp and me another month to reorganize, see what our next move is.”

“We’re not putting it on the market yet. Just gathering info,” Seth said in that tone intended to make peace and reassure. Shocking to no one who met the three of us, Seth was the middle brother and was often a buffer between Cash and me—and Hayden, our little sister, and me as well.

“We’ve held on to it for years for this brewery pipe dream,” Cash said. “That’s not paying the bills.”

I snapped, “You got your pipe dream with your oversized kitchen for your oversized ego—”

“Guys, reel it in,” Seth broke in. “You can beat the hell out of each other later, but this is a business meeting. Quit provoking him,” he said to Cash. “Stop taking his fucking bait,” he directed at me.

“Can’t have a restaurant without a functional kitchen,” Cash said.

“Dammit, Cash. No one’s debating that,” Seth said, his voice entirely under control even though my oldest brother and I knocked skulls regularly and aggravated the hell out of him.