Chapter 3 #3
"Yes, yes, you knew it was a bad idea in your infinite wisdom, and you are a modern, enlightened father who understands basic concepts like respect and autonomy and letting your kids be actual adults.
" I chuckle. "But that is not Jean-Pierre.
He's old school and controlling in a way he genuinely doesn't see as a problem. "
"Well, I hope his daughter gives him hell. I'd want Chloe or Clara to do the same if someone ever pulled that with them." He pauses. "And I hope it goes well for you, of course," he adds hastily.
"Gee, thanks." I smile. "Well, in any case, he won, so I'm here for the seven weeks or so before heading back to Seattle with hopefully a fancy new restaurant deal in my pocket."
"And you're sure you want to go into business with him?" Theo asks. "I mean, he's legendary, but what a messy start."
"I told you, I spoke to the guys at Bellwether who had the same kind of deal with him, minus the weird daughter-spying part.
They said he's a bit of a control freak, but they're thrilled with how it turned out.
Every door open, the prestige of his name behind them, press they never would have gotten on their own.
" I swirl the wine in my glass. "Besides, they said he gives his chefs full creative vision once he trusts their talent.
And he doesn't fund people he doesn't believe in, so… "
The Bellwether team went from a solid regional reputation to one of the most talked-about restaurants on the West Coast within two years of partnering with Jean-Pierre.
Theo and I have done well with Harbor & Ash, the six-week waitlist and the write-ups and all of it.
But it's nothing compared to the global stage Jean-Pierre opens up.
"Yeah, I know," Theo says. "Prestige and ego aren't everything though, you know."
I laugh. "Now see, Theo, that is where you and I differ. I'm only happy when I'm being praised as a culinary genius by thousands of strangers."
"You can't tell, but I'm rolling my eyes right now."
"Good. I'd be worried if you didn't." I laugh and take another sip of wine.
“I hope this whole thing doesn't blow up in everyone's face. It’s a recipe for disaster.”
"Or it's a recipe for an interesting month," I counter. "I'm choosing to be optimistic."
"You're always optimistic. It's honestly kind of annoying."
"One of my many charms." I take another sip of wine. "And hey, speaking of charms, his daughter is insanely attractive. Distractingly attractive. A bit fiery too, which you know I love."
"Oh dear God." Theo groans. "Do not tell me you are going to risk blowing up this entire deal. Alex, do NOT flirt with this woman. Jean-Pierre told you he'd pull the funding if anything happened."
I grin at the vineyard going dark in front of me. "Look, I'm just saying, a little forbidden late summer romance situation could be interesting. Very Dirty Dancing. You know, dad forbids the whole thing, sneaking around at the resort, the tension, the—"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Theo says flatly.
I sit up in my chair, scandalized. "Theo.
You have got to improve your cultural literacy.
Nobody puts Baby in a corner? Dirty Dancing is one of the all-time classics.
This is like you not having seen Casablanca or The Godfather.
It's embarrassing, and frankly another stain on your otherwise respectable reputation. "
"Well, we can't all be movie buffs like you. And you're no Patrick Swayze anyway."
"Ha, so you have seen it."
"Of course I have, everyone has seen Dirty Dancing," Theo says. "Listen, just please, for once in your life, resist flirting with anything that moves. In other words, don't act like yourself."
"You make it sound like I don't have standards," I protest.
"I should go," he says, and I can hear him moving around his kitchen, a cabinet opening and closing. "I'm making a mushroom risotto tonight and I want it ready before Emma gets home from work. Parent-teacher conferences today, so she's probably had a long one."
I smile at that. Theo's love language has always been cooking for the people he loves, making sure they're taken care of, showing up in all the ways that actually matter. And no one gets more of that than Emma and his daughters.
"Go, go. Make your risotto. Tell Emma and the kiddos I said hi. I'll let you know how it goes."
"Alright. And Alex?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't be an idiot and hit on his daughter."
"Sorry, Theo, you're breaking up!" I say, pulling the phone away from my ear. "Can't hear you! Bad signal out here in wine country!"
"Alex, I swear to—"
I hang up laughing, set the phone on the arm of the chair, and finish my wine while the first stars come out over the valley. Theo's right, of course. He's always right. That's the annoying thing about older brothers who have their lives together.
Jean-Pierre's warning echoes in my head. I expect that someone I am doing business with does not in any way pursue her.
But rules have always felt more like suggestions to me, especially when something interesting is on the other side of them.
And Isabelle Beaumont, with her rapid-fire French cursing and her impeccable walk-in organization, and her menu that made me genuinely jealous I had not thought of it first, is very interesting indeed.
And Jean-Pierre is not here. He is back in New York doing whatever it is multi-millionaire restaurateurs do with their evenings. And I am here, in wine country, with the weeks stretching out ahead of me and his very intriguing daughter right next door.