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, Ithinkhe 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 awaynothing. 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 appearsbeside 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 theSeattle Timescalls 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."
"Atleasta 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 notleaving. 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."
"Shedoeslove 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 thelastthing 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. "Youcan'tfire 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'mmorethan 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.