“I was hoping to steal that chocolate and chili tart you’ve been experimenting with.”
Eli’s eyes light up. “Yes. Absolutely. I can pipe the chocolate higher, make it look more elegant for a party. I’ll infuse the cream with ancho chili instead of cayenne—gives it a smokier depth.”
“Perfect. That settles the food.” I stand up, walking over to the window that looks out into the kitchen.
Amber is out there, wiping down the prep tables.
“Eli,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “We’ll need front-of-house support for this. Fifteen people is a lot for a standard Friday night service, especially if we want to give them the private dining experience Ruth wants. Fallon will be buried in the prep for the fish, and I’ll be on the line.”
Eli follows my gaze. “You want me to serve?”
“No. You have the pastry prep. I was thinking… Amber.”
Eli pauses. He looks at me, then back at her. “Amber? She’s helping out in the kitchen, but serving? That’s different.”
“She has a way with people,” I say. “It makes sense to have a familiar face managing the room, pouring the wine, keeping the flow.”
I turn to Eli. “Can you ask her? See if she’s available Friday night?”
Eli frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you ask her? You’re the boss, Knox.”
I stiffen slightly. I don’t want to examine why I’m asking him to be the intermediary. I tell myself it’s because I’m busy. Because I’m focused on the logistics.
“I don’t want to overstep,” I say, which isn’t a lie, exactly. “She’s new. I don’t want her to feel like I’m pulling rank ordemanding extra duties outside her job description. She might respond better to you. Tell her we will compensate her for it.”
Eli studies me for a long moment. He’s perceptive, sometimes annoyingly so. He knows I’m holding something back, but he decides not to push it.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ll ask her. I’m sure she’ll say yes. She needs the hours.”
“Good. Let me know.”
Just as I turn back to my desk to finalize the numbers, the phone on the corner rings. The shrill sound cuts through the calm of the office. I glance at the caller ID.
William.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My brother. The brilliant economist.L’enfant chéri.The golden child.
I pick up the receiver. “Allô, William.”
“Knox. Good, I caught you.” His voice is crisp, clear, and tinged with that familiar superior lilt. “I have a limited window between lectures.”
“I’m working,” I say. “Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?What do you need?”
“I’m calling about the investment opportunity I mentioned last week. The Whistler development.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “William, I told you. I’m not interested in a timeshare.”
“It’s not just a timeshare, Knox. It’s a stake in the property. The market analysis shows a twelve percent annual return. It’s a solid hedge against inflation.”
“I run a restaurant,” I reply, keeping my voice level. “I don’t have liquid capital to throw at real estate developments in Canada. My money is tied up in the business.”
“That’s exactly my point. You’re tying up your capital in a low-yield service industry.” I can hear the rustle of papers in the background—he’s probably looking at a graph. “If you liquidated even a portion of your assets in that restaurant, you coulddiversify.Maman et Papaare worried you’re not preparing for the future.”
“I am preparing for the future,” I counter, my grip tightening on the pen. “Blade & Butter is growing. We’re expanding. That is my investment.”
“A restaurant in a small town in Oregon is not a growth strategy, Knox.C’est un passe-temps.It’s a hobby.” He sighs, the sound heavy with judgment. “Look, I know you wanted to… explore your culinary interests. But you’re a Sterling. You have a mind for economics, for strategy. You’re wasting it chopping vegetables.”
“I’m not chopping vegetables,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m building something. And I’m not liquidating anything. I have a mortgage on the building we live in, equipment loans, payroll. I can’t just pull money out of thin air.”
