Chapter 14
Alex
Jean-Pierre wants to meet privately. He's set up in one of the smaller sitting rooms at Solstice, the one that overlooks the east vineyard, and when I walk in he's already seated at a corner table with an espresso and a leather notebook open in front of him.
Isabelle and I got back from San Francisco yesterday morning after grabbing breakfast with Jack, Lark, and Mia before they headed south to LA. She'd been polite in the car on the drive back to Napa, almost formal, which from Isabelle is the equivalent of putting up a barricade.
I don't know if she's pulling back because of the hotel room, because of the dancing, because of whatever she was feeling standing next to me at that club. I don't know if I pushed too far or not far enough, and she's not giving me any clues.
Jean-Pierre was thankfully oblivious to the fact that his daughter spent the night in San Francisco with me. The two of them had some kind of reconciliation yesterday afternoon that Isabelle hasn't told me about and that I haven't asked about because she's barely looked at me since we got back.
I settle into the chair across from him. The room is bright and warm, afternoon sun pouring through tall windows, and through the glass I can see two of the kitchen staff walking between the herb garden and the main building, carrying what looks like crates of fresh basil.
"Ah, some privacy at last," Jean-Pierre says, closing his notebook and folding his hands on top of it. "So, Alex. Thank you for making time."
"Of course," I say, leaning back in my chair. "Have you been enjoying your visit?"
He waves the question away like it's a fly. "Oh, yes, it's fine. I'll be heading back to New York this afternoon. A few days is the longest I can be away from the business without things going sideways. But Isabelle seems to be doing well, which is what I wanted to discuss."
I shift in my chair. The arrangement has always made me uncomfortable, but sitting here talking about Isabelle to her father while she's somewhere in the building makes the discomfort sharper. The only thing that makes it tolerable is that I've been showing her every report before I send it.
"I'd like a more thorough assessment," Jean-Pierre says, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Your written messages have been helpful, but I prefer these things face to face. I’m a bit old school like that. So tell me, how is she doing? Really doing?"
"She's doing really well," I say. "Better than well, actually."
I go into detail, highlighting every moment that's impressed me, and it's not hard to find them because there are dozens. She's a force of nature and the fact that her father needs me to be the one to confirm it makes me want to put my fist through this very nice table.
He nods along, pulling out his phone at one point to tap something into his notes app.
"And when things go wrong?" he asks, setting the phone down.
"When the unexpected happens? Because I know my daughter is organized and creative.
She's gifted and responsible. But all of that is useless if she can't take charge when things go haywire, adapt on the fly, guide her staff through a crisis with a firm hand.
Keep them in line if they're talking too much or slacking. "
I narrow my eyes slightly. Jean-Pierre and I have very different ideas about how kitchens should be run. Theo and I built Harbor & Ash on the same principles our mom used when she ran The Black Lantern, back before she sold it to Maren and before she passed.
Mom believed that people do their best work when they feel valued, not when they're afraid.
She paid better than anyone else, she listened, she remembered the names of everybody's kids, and if you had a bad night she'd pour you a drink after close and ask what was going on at home before she ever talked about what went wrong on the floor.
Theo and I kept that when we opened our own place, along with a lot of other things we learned from watching her and Dad run things. It's the reason Harbor & Ash has almost no staff turnover and a waitlist for people who want to work there. Happy staff, happy restaurant.
I've seen the other model up close. I've worked in those kitchens before Theo and I started our own place. I left every single one of them because life's too short to spend it being screamed at over a sauce.
"She handles the unexpected really well," I say, keeping my voice even.
"Though honestly there hasn't been much because she's so well organized that most problems get solved before they become problems. We had a few small things come up, supplier delays, a broken piece of equipment, and she dealt with them quickly and calmly. I can't imagine anything rattling her."
He nods, waiting for more.
"As far as the staff goes," I continue, "they respect her because she's clear about what she expects and fair about how she gets there.
She's tough when she needs to be, but people want to do a good job for her because they feel supported, not threatened.
For someone who's never led a kitchen of her own before this, the way she's built that team is incredible. "
Jean-Pierre leans back in his chair, considering.
"Supported is all well and good, Alex, but kitchens require discipline.
Structure. A certain level of... healthy fear keeps people sharp.
Keeps them from getting comfortable and sloppy.
I've built my entire business on that principle and it's served me well. "
"I completely disagree," I say. "Restaurants aren't life or death.
We're not performing surgery or defusing bombs.
We're cooking dinner. And I have zero respect for chefs who treat their staff like disposable assets and justify it by calling it standards.
I hope it's clear in our deal that when I open Seattle, I'll be running my kitchen the way I've always run kitchens.
If that's a problem, we should probably talk about it now. "
That might have just screwed everything. But if Jean-Pierre and I can't be honest with each other about how I operate, then there's no deal worth having. He leans back in his chair, studying me like I'm a particularly interesting specimen. Then, to my complete shock, he laughs.
"You know what I appreciate about you, Alex?" he says, shaking his head. "You don't blow smoke. Most people in your position would tell me exactly what they think I want to hear, but you don’t even seem to care. I respect that."
"I do care," I say. "I just care more about being clear on how I operate."
"A fair point," he says, still looking amused.
"And certainly not one you're alone in. I'll admit I'm more old school in my approach, but I don't discount the value in what you're describing.
The results speak for themselves. Your staff retention rates at Harbor & Ash are extremely impressive, and Isabelle's team here clearly responds well to her leadership style. "
I nod, still a bit shocked that this conversation didn't end with him canceling my funding and kicking me out of Napa.
"And I'm glad you're here keeping an eye on things," he continues. "I know she's capable. But I worry about her."
He sighs and turns to look out the window at the vineyard for a moment, his expression shifting into something more introspective, almost soft looking. Wonders never cease.
"You know," he continues, still looking at the vines, "when she was a child she used to insist on coming with me to my business meetings.
I told her she was too young, it would be boring, she wouldn't understand any of it.
But she'd be at the front door with her shoes on, stamping her feet, telling me she was coming whether I liked it or not.
And she would sit in those conference rooms with bankers and investors and listen to every word, then she'd give me her opinion on the deal.”
He shakes his head, laughing quietly, and I can't help but smile because it is so perfectly Isabelle that I can see it like a photograph.
"She sounds like she hasn't changed much," I say.
"Not one bit," Jean-Pierre says. "She was always like that. Always had to be in the room. Always had to have a seat at the table. Even when the table wasn't built for her. Especially then. She's a remarkable young woman."
I nod. "I agree with your assessment completely, sir."
He narrows his eyes slightly but the smile stays in place.
"Well, I didn't just want to talk about Isabelle.
I wanted to tell you that I found a location that I think will be perfect for the Seattle restaurant.
It's not on the market yet, but I have connections with the owner and we can get first look before it's listed. "
My pulse kicks up. "Wow. That's incredible. I wasn't expecting you to move this fast."
"I don't see the point in wasting time when an opportunity presents itself," he says, pulling out his phone.
"It's a stunning space with a view of the water.
I think it fits with the concept you were talking about when we first discussed this.
Elevated but accessible food, Pacific Northwest ingredients with French technique, fresh seasonal menus. "
He turns the phone toward me and I lean forward to look. The space is gorgeous, high ceilings, original brick and with massive windows overlooking the water.
"Anyway," Jean-Pierre continues, pocketing his phone, "I know there's a planned break in the pop-up schedule near the last week.
I think we should fly up to Seattle for a few days, walk the space, meet with the owner, and start talking numbers.
I'll send you the details, but I'm looking forward to seeing what you think in person. "