Fuck.
He looks up and sees me, surprise flickering across his face. I force myself to smile and walk over casually, like this is completely normal and I have a perfectly reasonable explanation.
"Evening, sir," I say, keeping my voice relaxed and friendly.
He sets down his phone "Alex, what are you doing on this side of the hotel? Your room is in the west wing, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is," I say, thinking fast. "But I hadn't actually seen this side of the building properly, and you mentioned earlier that you liked the bar over here, so I thought I'd check it out. I couldn't sleep yet. I keep thinking about all the restaurant planning details we discussed, and my mind won't shut off." Somehow my voice comes out sounding perfectly calm, maybe even a little bored.
Jean-Pierre nods slowly, seeming to accept the explanation. "Well, perfect timing then. You can join me for a drink. I came down here to do some work. I have that full office setup in my suite, but sometimes it's nice to be around people, you know? I find I think better with a little ambient noise, some people-watching, a good drink. Sit, please."
He motions to the leather chair opposite him, a twin to his own, separated by a small marble-topped table.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
All I can think about is Isabelle right now, waiting for me, using a vibrator, wearing some kind of see-through nightgown, and this might be the closest thing to actual torture I've ever experienced. But I sit down in the chair.
"I'd love that," I say through barely gritted teeth, forcing a smile.
Jean-Pierre smiles warmly and raises his hand to flag downan employee walking past with a cleaning cart. "A whisky for my colleague here. The same as mine, the Macallan 18."
I resist the urge to point out that the person he just flagged down is clearly housekeeping staff, not restaurant or bar staff, based on the cart full of cleaning supplies. I flash an apologetic expression at him before he scurries off anyway to fulfill the request.
"So," Jean-Pierre says, settling back in his chair and swirling his whisky. "The restaurant. I'm very pleased with how everything is coming together. I'm glad we're on the same page about the direction so far. A few minor disagreements here and there, but that's healthy. I like to let the people I invest in make their own creative decisions about their restaurants. And your instincts are good, I'll give you that, Alex. You have a strong vision."
The apologetic housekeeping employee returns surprisingly quickly with my whisky and I accept it with genuine thanks, raising it in a small toast to Jean-Pierre. "I appreciate that, sir. I'm really happy with how everything has progressed so far. The building is perfect."
He nods, taking a sip, savoring it. "Isabelle did quite well observing everything too, I thought. I really want her to see all this business side of things—the negotiations, the inspections, the zoning complications."
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, the leather creaking slightly. I would very much like to be with Isabelle right now, preferably horizontal and naked, which is a deeply uncomfortable thought given that her father is sitting three feet away.
"Yeah, she's always insightful," I say carefully, sipping my drink and letting it burn its way down my throat, willing it to calm my nerves. "She has a really good eye for this kind of stuff."
"And this whole arrangement has worked out so well so far," he continues, warming to his subject. "The reviews for her Napa pop-up have been outstanding. Better than I couldhave hoped, honestly. TheChroniclepiece was glowing. And you two seemed to have worked out whatever initial friction there was, which is nice to see. Professional respect is important."
I could laugh at the spectacular understatement, but instead I smile pleasantly and nod, all the while knowing she is literally waiting for me with a vibrator and lingerie less than a hundred yards away.
"Anyway," he continues, settling deeper into his chair like he's getting comfortable for a long conversation. "I really hope Isabelle learns to trust my judgment more after this experience. She absolutely exploded when she first found out you were going to be at the pop-up, as you know. But it all worked out beautifully."
I tense slightly at that, my fingers gripping the glass a little harder. He's so fucking condescending without even realizing it, so casually dismissive of his daughter's agency and talent, and it didn't work out how he thinks it did at all.
The fact that he still doesn't see that this all succeeded because his daughter is brilliant and talented and worked her ass off, not because of me being there to supervise her like some kind of culinary chaperone, is infuriating.
"Well, I really didn't do much," I say, keeping my voice level. "She managed the entire operation. If anything, I think I picked up some techniques from watching her work. She's exceptionally talented."
He smiles at that, looking pleased. "You're diplomatic, Alex. I appreciate that quality."
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out quickly, angling it away from Jean-Pierre so he can't accidentally glance at who it's from.
"Er, sorry sir," I say, standing slightly as if to show respect. "My brothers—checking in about my visit tomorrow."
He nods easily. "Yes, yes, feel free to reply. I know you'revisiting your family and your restaurant in Dark River tomorrow. Take your time."
I look down at the screen.
Isabelle:What on EARTH is taking you so long???? I'm dying over here.
I type quickly, trying not to smile.