He looks at me with cold certainty. "Entirely."
I shake my head, letting out a laugh that has no humor in it. "You came all the way out here to Dark River, to my restaurant, in the rain, to tell me to stay away from your daughter? You're something else, Jean-Pierre."
He rolls his eyes. "I had business in Seattle. This is merely a detour. I don't know what game you think you're playing with Isabelle. Maybe it was about money at first, maybe now it's about connections or industry positioning, or maybe now you're just trying to screw me over since I pissed you off by pulling the Seattle deal. But I'm warning you, do not hurt my daughter. Do not use her for whatever scheme you're running."
I stare at him, completely floored by the audacity. "I don't know how to make it any clearer to you, but I'm not with your daughter for any ulterior motive. I'm inlovewith your daughter. I would do anything for her. And if you want to talk about who's hurting Isabelle, look in the fucking mirror."
He looks shocked for half a second, and I roll my eyes. Part of me recognizes that I should maybe be sucking up right now, trying to smooth this over, playing the political game to salvage what I can.
But I have no patience for his manipulative bullshit today, no energy left to play nice. I lean back in my chair, looking out at the water and taking another long drink of my beer, letting the silence stretch.
"I'm not going to dignify that with a response," he says finally, recovering his composure. "But I came here with an offer. A business proposition, if you will. I want you to break up with her."
I turn to stare at him. "I'm not doing that, so you can go fuck off now."
He bristles, his hands tightening on the arms of the chair. "You really are a selfish piece of shit, aren't you. You'd rather destroy her future, keep her from the career she was meant to have, just so you can have what you want."
"You're the one destroying her future by controlling every aspect of her life," I say, anger rising hot in my chest. "You don't even know what she actually wants because you've never bothered to ask her. You just decided what her life should look like and expected her to fall in line."
He waves his hand dismissively, like my words are flies he's swatting away. "I know my daughter better than you ever will. And I know she'll come to her senses eventually, which is why I've already taken steps to ensure it. I actually asked her to break up with you," he says. "Just a few days ago."
I feel surprise flicker through me, cold and unwelcome. Isabelle didn't mention that.Why wouldn't she tell me her father tried to get her to break up with me?Some part of me wonders if she's considering it, if maybe that's why she didn't mention it. Is she mulling it over in New York right now? Thinking of taking back the life she had planned, the New York restaurant, the path her father laid out for her?
I work hard to keep my expression neutral. "Oh?" I say casually.
"Yes, but I'm unsure if that will stick. My daughter isstubborn and always has been. So I've decided to better my odds with a different approach." He leans forward slightly, his eyes calculating. "I want my daughter back in New York, working for my restaurant as it was always planned she would. I want you, the parasite that you are, off of her, no longer turning her against me and poisoning her future. So I'm willing to make it happen through other means."
"You already threatened me with everything you could think of. I'm not breaking up with her," I say. "So you can take your fucking psychotic threat and go to hell."
He smiles. "I'm not threatening you this time, Alex. I'mofferingyou something. What was it you told me during one of our talks in Napa? That people respond better to support than threats? Well, this is maybe not support exactly, but an incentive I think you'll find compelling."
I stare at him across the small table, rain drumming against the awning above us, the sound filling the silence between his words. "What are you talking about?"
"Two point five million dollars." He says it flatly, watching my face for a reaction.
I sit there speechless, the words not making sense for a long moment. Around us, Harbor & Ash continues its evening service. I can hear the distant sound of voices from inside, laughter and the clatter of plates, the ambient noise of a successful Friday night that suddenly feels very far away. The rain continues to fall beyond the awning, steady and relentless.
He continues, that shark-like smile still on his face. "See, Iknewyou were about the money ultimately. But I'm not angry about that anymore. In fact, I think it's useful. Because now I think we can both get what we want."
I manage to find my voice. "What are youtalkingabout?"
"I will give you two point five million dollars. Not the Seattle deal—that's over, dead and buried. I never want to fucking see you again or have any business relationship with you. But youcan start your own place, and I won't even try to stop it. The money will be wired to you, clean and simple, more than enough for the kind of restaurant you're hoping to build." He leans back, looking pleased with himself. "All you have to do is walk away from my daughter."
I shake my head, unable to process what I'm hearing. "You're not serious."
His expression doesn't change. "I'm deadly serious. My daughter is worth more to me thananything. You break up with her, tell her you never loved her, admit you were using her, then stay out of her life completely. I can eventually talk her back to New York, repair what's been damaged, but not with your claws in her. I want you todisappear. You tell me you'll do this, and the money is yours within twenty-four hours."
I sit there, the offer settling over me like a weight. Two point five million dollars. Enough to build the restaurant I've been dreaming about for years, with enough left over to grow it over time. All I have to do is walk away from Isabelle.
His smile widens, reading something in my silence. "Iknewyou'd waver. You're practical, Alex. Ambitious. I can respect that."
"I'm not saying yes," I say. "I'm not even fucking wavering."
"You're not saying no either," he says. "Think about it. The money to build whatever you want, or staying with my daughter and watching every opportunity dry up as I make sure no one in this industry will touch you. Your choice."
Jean-Pierre looks so satisfied with himself, so certain he's found the angle that will work.
This is what I've always wanted. The restaurant, the freedom, the chance to prove myself on my own terms. And he's handing it to me on a silver platter. All I have to do is walk away from the woman I love.