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 cookingdinner. 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'vealwaysrun 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 caremoreabout 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 myapproach, 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."
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.