Chapter 14 #2
I nod, not quite able to believe this is actually happening. My mind is already racing ahead, sketching out possibilities. The menu, the feel of the space, finding an apartment in Seattle, which markets I'll hit for ingredients, new vendor relationships to build, how to structure the kitchen team.
It's everything I fucking love about this industry. The creative problem-solving, the challenge of building something from nothing, the chance to put my own stamp on every detail.
And then there's another part of it, the competitive ego in me.
Theo and I built Harbor & Ash into something beloved.
But Dark River is small, tucked away. Seattle is bigger, louder, more competitive.
A restaurant there wouldn't just be a destination for people willing to make the drive.
It would be in the middle of everything, part of the conversation, visible in a way Harbor & Ash never could be.
A destination restaurant. Michelin stars even.
I smile at Jean-Pierre. "I really appreciate this, sir. More than I can say."
I walk along the stone path that winds through Solstice's grounds, vineyard views stretching out to my left in neat rows.
The afternoon sun is warm on my shoulders and I'm mulling over Jean-Pierre's words, trying to process the fact that Seattle is actually happening, when I see Olivier leaning against a decorative pillar up ahead, phone pressed to his ear, gesturing with his free hand like whoever's on the other end can see him.
For fuck's sake.
I didn't even realize he was still in town, and it’s just my luck to run into him randomly on the side of the building. The kind of luck that makes you wonder what wrongs you did in a past life to deserve it.
"—yes, yes, fine. I'll call you about it later," he hangs up and glances at me. His face does this thing where he clearly recognizes me but can't quite place me for a second, and then it clicks. "Midnight, right?"
I nod and don't stop walking. "Yep."
He pushes off the pillar and falls into step beside me, which is the opposite of what I was hoping would happen. "Heading to the kitchen?"
"It is in this direction, isn't it?" I say, not looking at him.
He laughs. "Well, how's our girl doing in there?"
I stop walking and turn to look at him. "Excuse me?"
"Isabelle." He says her name with a casual familiarity that sets every one of my teeth on edge.
"Jean-Pierre's been keeping me updated, obviously.
Sounds like the pop-up is exceeding expectations.
We're flying back to New York tomorrow, but I'm hoping to steal her away for a bit tonight.
Celebrate before we head back. But she's really proving herself, isn't she? "
I swallow the first three things that come to mind, which all involve telling him exactly where he can put his celebration plans.
She's not "our girl." She's not his girl.
She's not mine either, technically, and she hasn't exactly been consulting me on her social calendar.
But hearing this guy talk about her like she's a dinner reservation he's looking forward to makes something hot and tight settle behind my ribs.
I look at him properly for the first time.
Expensive loafers, tailored pants, a polo shirt, one of those watches that says my family's money has its own money.
So this is what Jean-Pierre Beaumont picks out for his daughter.
Cal Hockley in the flesh, minus the ocean liner.
I resist the urge to say anything that would get me thrown out of Napa Valley.
"She's doing great," I say instead, starting to walk again.
Olivier keeps pace, apparently immune to social cues.
"She's something else, isn't she? Jean-Pierre and I were talking last night about the New York transition.
He's got big plans for her. I'm thinking about getting involved on the investment side, actually.
The culinary world in New York is ripe for disruption and Isabelle's brand has real potential. "
Isabelle's brand. Like she's a product to be marketed instead of a chef with her own vision.
"You should talk to Isabelle about that," I say, working hard to keep my voice neutral. "She's pretty clear about her own plans."
"Oh, I intend to." He has this smile that makes me want to push him into the nearest fountain.
"We have a lot to discuss. Jean-Pierre's been very encouraging about the two of us spending more time together.
Getting to know each other better. He thinks we'd be a good fit. Professionally and otherwise."
I stop again and look at him directly. I'm taller than he is by a few inches, and right now I'm glad of it. "Does Isabelle think you'd be a good fit?"
His smile slips for half a second before sliding back into place. "I think she's still figuring that out. But I'm patient. And I have Jean-Pierre's endorsement, which counts for a lot in this world."
"Right," I say. "Well, good luck with that."
I start walking again, and mercifully he doesn't follow. I can feel him watching me though, and can practically hear the wheels turning in his finance-bro brain.