Until Our Hearts Collide (The Midnight Men #5)

Chapter 1

Alex

Jean-Pierre Beaumont is standing on the other side of the room, and he's about to change my life.

At least, I think he is. I've spent three weeks trying to get a read on him and I've gotten exactly nowhere. Phone calls, Zoom meetings, and several dinners where he asked me dozens of questions about my restaurant, Harbor & Ash, and answered none of mine.

The legendary restaurant investor gives away nothing. He listens, he evaluates, and he files things away behind an expensive-looking exterior of silver hair, sharp tailoring, and the permanent tan of someone who splits his time between New York and the south of France.

I glance out at the party around me. Downtown Seattle is lit up through floor-to-ceiling windows while inside the lights have gone pink and purple, the bass is thumping, and a room full of chefs, restaurateurs, and food media people are behaving exactly the way you'd expect when you hand them an open bar and a DJ.

Servers are still pushing through with trays of ridiculous food.

Hamachi shots, duck confit on brioche, those little spherified cocktails that look like they belong in a science lab.

Champagne keeps appearing like magic, and the dance floor by the DJ is packed with people who normally wouldn't be caught dead dancing but are four drinks past caring.

I just watched a James Beard Award winner attempt the robot to Daft Punk.

The food industry is a beautiful disaster sometimes.

My brother Theo and I have been here all night, working the room, talking to people, enjoying ourselves. But Jean-Pierre pulled me aside about ten minutes ago to pick up where we left off at dinner last week, and when Jean-Pierre Beaumont wants to talk business, you talk business.

We'd barely gotten started when the event organizer swooped in with a photographer and a request for "just one quick photo for our socials, Mr. Beaumont," which has turned into twenty minutes of posing and handshaking.

And so now I'm standing here by the bar holding a cocktail and watching everyone clamor for him like he's the culinary pope.

Which makes sense, because Jean-Pierre Beaumont is one of the most powerful people in the industry.

He’s a restaurateur, the kind who builds culinary empires the way other men build stock portfolios.

He has his own flagship restaurants in New York and Paris, both Michelin-starred, but the real empire is the network of places he backs for chefs he believes in.

He finds talent, invests, and provides the infrastructure and business machinery to turn a dream into something real.

In return he gets his name attached to their success, a cut of the profit, and another star in his constellation.

His chefs get their dream restaurant with serious money behind it and instant stardom.

Everyone wins, assuming you're comfortable with Jean-Pierre Beaumont having a permanent seat at your table.

"Still waiting on the big man?" My brother Theo appears beside me with a beer in hand, nodding toward Jean-Pierre across the room.

"He had just started getting into it when someone pulled him away." I take a sip of my old fashioned, which is excellent. "The suspense is killing me."

Jean-Pierre approached Theo and me about three weeks ago and the pitch was simple: he wanted to expand his Pacific Northwest portfolio, he'd been watching us for over a year, and he thought I might be the right person to anchor a new restaurant in Seattle.

Theo and I started Harbor & Ash over a decade ago on borrowed money and blind faith, and now the Seattle Times calls it "the crown jewel of Pacific Northwest dining," and people book six weeks in advance just to get a table. Which apparently got Jean-Pierre's attention.

Theo leans against the bar beside me. "He's going to offer you the Seattle deal. There's no way he flew out here and spent three weeks courting you just to say no."

He's probably right. I watch Jean-Pierre shake someone's hand across the room, then turn back to my brother. "And you're really good with all of this? I know we've talked about it, but this might be happening tonight and I want to make sure."

"Alex." Theo sets his beer on the bar and gives me a look.

"I know,” I say. “We've had this conversation a dozen times."

"At least a dozen."

"Still, it's different when it's imminent.

" I swirl my glass. "I mean, I've toyed with starting a sister restaurant on my own over the years, but what Jean-Pierre is offering is in a different league.

This isn't just me opening a second spot with my savings and some bank loans. The entire industry is going to be watching this place from day one. It’ll be reviewed by every critic who matters.

And that means I'm not just branching out. I'm leaving.”

"You're not leaving. You're growing." Theo says it simply. "The restaurant is more successful than we ever dreamed and it's stable. Miranda can cook as well as you and is now nearly as famous, which she reminds me of at every opportunity."

"She does love to remind people of that," I say, smiling at the thought of her.

We hired Miranda as a prep cook back when we first opened the place.

She was a single mom who needed someone to take a chance on her, and it was obvious from the beginning that she was something special, and now she pretty much runs the kitchen as my sous chef, with a reputation in food circles that rivals my own.

"Listen,” Theo says, “I've got Emma, the girls, and a life I love.

Opening another restaurant is the last thing on earth I want.

You've been wanting this for years, and the only reason you haven't pulled the trigger is because you feel guilty about leaving me, which I've told you a hundred times is unnecessary.

" He takes another sip of his beer. "So if he offers and you don't say yes, I'm going to fire you from Harbor & Ash just to force the issue. "

I grin at him. "You can't fire me, I'm a co-owner."

"I'll find a way."

"Okay, okay," I laugh, putting my hands up. "God forbid I make sure my brother is actually fine with a huge decision that's going to massively impact him too."

"I'm more than fine. I'm excited for you." He clinks his beer against my glass. "Now stop asking me about it or I'm going to start charging you a therapy fee." His eyes flick past me toward the crowd. "And it looks like your moment has arrived."

I follow his gaze. Jean-Pierre is extracting himself from a cluster of people near the champagne station, straightening his cufflink as he turns and begins making his way toward us through the crowd.

He moves unhurried, unhassled, and the sea of people parts for him without seeming to realize they're doing it.

It's like watching a shark glide through a school of fish.

"Gentlemen," he says, arriving at our corner of the bar. "I apologize for the delay. Shall we?"

I glance at Theo, who raises his beer slightly, and I turn back to Jean-Pierre.

"Lead the way," I say.

I walk with Jean-Pierre toward the windows at the far side of the room. The crowd thins as we get further from the bar, and by the time we reach the glass it's just the two of us and the view, all of downtown Seattle lit up and glittering thirty-two floors below.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. Midnight," Jean-Pierre says thoughtfully, taking a sip of his drink..

"Call me Alex," I say, for the third time tonight. "Mr. Midnight reminds me of my father."

"You've been patient with me," he says. "I appreciate that. I know I'm not the easiest man to do business with."

"I wouldn't say that." Truth is, I would absolutely say that. "You're thorough."

"Thorough." He rolls the word around like he's tasting it.

"Yes, I'll accept thorough. Well, I've held my cards close these past few weeks, but truthfully, the reputation you and your brother have built with Harbor & Ash is outstanding.

Your food speaks for itself. It's rare for someone to surprise me, Mr. Midnight. And you certainly have."

I resist the urge to correct him to Alex again. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you."

"It should. I don't say it often." He looks me dead in the eyes. "I’ve been blown away not only by your food, but your reputation—especially considering your restaurant is in the middle of nowhere.

I resist the urge to defend Dark River, which is a beautiful town and not actually the middle of nowhere, but I get his point. We're not Seattle. We're not Portland. We're a two-hour drive from anything resembling a major city, and we've built something people will make that trip for.

“Now, to get to business,” he says. “I'm ready to move forward. Financing, architects, a timeline. Your vision, my infrastructure."

My own restaurant. Right there, in a sentence, delivered with the same tone he'd use to order a glass of wine. I take a sip of my drink and keep my face relaxed.

"That's great to hear," I say. "I'm ready when you are."

"Good." The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly, barely visible. On anyone else it would be a smile. On Jean-Pierre it's an acknowledgment that you've passed a test you didn't know you were taking. "I think we could build something quite remark—"

"Jean-Pierre!" A woman in a black blazer appears out of the crowd and grabs his arm like they're old friends, which they might be for all I know.

Everyone in this industry seems to know everyone else.

"I've been looking for you all night. I have to tell you, the new place in Tokyo is absolutely stunning.

My team was there last week and they could not stop raving.

The omakase counter alone is worth the flight. "