"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 wouldabsolutelysay that. "You'rethorough."
"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 toAlexagain. "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-hourdrive 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."
Jean-Pierre shifts into a different mode instantly, warm and gracious and charming in a way that feels practiced but not insincere. "Caroline, how lovely. Thank you, we're very pleased with how it's come together. Have you met Alex Midnight? He runs Harbor & Ash in Dark River with his brother, Theo."
Caroline turns to me and her face lights up. "Harbor & Ash? I ate there last fall. The tasting menu was one of the best meals I've had on the West Coast. Rustic, yet refined. The scallop course alone..." She puts her hand on her chest.
"That's incredibly kind of you," I say. "The scallops are from a guy in the San Juans who's been diving for us for about six years. I'll tell him he has a fan."
She squeezes my hand and turns back to Jean-Pierre, tellinghim about some chef she thinks he should meet, and I wait patiently because this has been happening all night. The man can't walk ten feet without someone stopping him to pay respects.
As I watch them, part of me still feels like I'm shaking hands with a shark. Jean-Pierre is aggressive, opinionated, and not someone you want to cross. But I'd called a few of the chefs he backs, quietly, on my own.
They all said the same thing: he's intense and he has opinions about everything. But he delivers on every promise he makes, lets them run the show, and their restaurants are thriving. That's good enough for me.
"Merci, merci," Jean-Pierre says to Caroline, clasping her hand in both of his. She gives me a parting nod, and then it's just us again, and Jean-Pierre's face resets to business like a switch being flipped.
"As I was saying." He settles back into position by the window. "I've made my decision, and I'm ready to move forward with you opening a place in Seattle. Local sourcing, Pacific Northwest cuisine, elevated to a national stage. But there is one additional component to the arrangement, and I'd like to discuss it before we go further."
"A catch?” I ask.
"Acondition. You remember when I asked about your time at Solstice Estates?"
I nod. He'd been oddly specific about it during our last dinner, asking detailed questions about my trips to Napa Valley, the wine country connections I'd made over the years. I'd chalked it up to Jean-Pierre being thorough, but I'm starting to think I should have been paying closer attention.
"I'd been asking because my daughter, Isabelle, is launching a six-week-long pop-up residency at Solstice," he says, and there's unmistakable pride in his voice when he says her name. "Three weeks from now. She organized the entire thing herself, and it'salready nearly sold out. Food writers, wine industry people, a few names you'd recognize. There's significant buzz."
Isabelle Beaumont.The name pulls up a half-memory of a profile I'd skimmed inFood & Winea while back, or maybe it wasBon Appétit. A few years younger than me, French-trained, and being groomed to take over one of her father's restaurants. I remember thinking she was incredibly attractive in the photos, which is a detail I decide to keep to myself given present company.