I press my hands into the counter as my knees weaken. The thought is unbearable but hard to deny. Bas stares intently, and I quickly run through the last words he spoke to me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Two can play his game. “Your kitchen is in one piece, isn’t it?” I arch a brow and try for casual, for our usual easy banter. “Exaggerate much?”
I want this moment to be normal, to enjoy whatever time I have with the man I consider a father. A man I can’t imagine a world without.
“Look, Samson, come clean and save both of us a lot of trouble. I’m not letting it go. You’ve been here nearly three hours now, and from the moment you stepped foot in my house, I’ve known something is bothering you. Is it the new restaurant?”
“Not really. I mean, I still don’t have any investors. Thibault’s interested, but he wants to know the location before he’ll commit, which is understandable. I’m just not sure where I want it to be yet. I’m thinking Toronto or Vancouver.” I float the idea by him.
That should get a rise out of him.
Bastien Villeneuve is as Canadian as they come, but first andforemost, he’s Québécois. I’ve been holding off on mentioning that I might open my next restaurant outside of the province because he’ll call me a fool.
“Daniel Thibault?” He surprises me with his question as his ocean-blue eyes darken. “Find someone else.”
I pause, waiting for further explanation. When it’s clear he doesn’t intend to offer any, I press, “Why?”
He runs his hands through his short, silver hair. That too is thinner than it used to be. His once-formidable jaw now looks sunken, his skin gray and cheeks hollow.
Bas grimaces as he shifts from one foot to the other. The pain deepens the hard lines of his face and tight lips. Still, he pushes off the counter, heading toward the kitchen table.
Without thinking, I reach to help, but he swats my hand away. Two more steps and he lowers himself gingerly into a chair with a smug expression that saysLook, I can do it. I’m not dead yet.
I grin, though there is no real joy behind it. Instead, my worry shrinks under the facade, if only to give him this moment. His pride. He’s earned it, and I’ll let him have it as long as I can.
“Daniel Thibault is a bloodsucking leech. He will invest in your restaurant, then think he owns you. And I hear his daughter—what’s her name?”
“Yasmine.”
“Yes, that’s the one.” He points, nodding. “She’s a chip off the old block. The price of their backing is that you will answer to them. They don’t know the meaning of asilentpartner.”
I run a hand over my scruff. “Hmmm, yeah, I’ve seen some of that.”
He’s just described Yasmine to a T, and sadly, I saw a bit of that manipulation that night at the bar.
This is my top concern and one I will keep in mind. Although I’m not thrilled with potentially having to start from scratch in finding an investor.
Robert Simard and Sabine Boucher have backed my two existing restaurants, and if only the timing was right, they’d be in again. I could wait to open my third and final restaurant, but now is the time.
My name is hot right now. I’m coming off the success of three seasons on the Chef’s Network. They wanted me to sign for another, but I want to get back to cooking. My brand is at an all-time high, and I need to capitalize on that.
Besides, I’m itching to start a new project. There’s nothing like opening a new restaurant, working to see your vision come to life. Bas knows all about this.
“Sam, walk away from them. Let me invest.”
Not this again. From the day I decided to open my first restaurant, he has wanted to invest. As much as I love him, I need to prove to him, and most of all to myself, I can do this on my own. I know he understands. Still, he always offers.
From day one of my career, I’ve faced whispers and rumors that I’m only where I am because of my father. There’s no doubt Bas was and still is a formidable force in my life and without him, it’s true, I might not be where I am today. But he never gave me a leg up. If anything, he was harder on me because I was his son.
“No. If I have to, I’ll find someone else. I’m not saying no to Thibault, right now. I’ll ask around more and feel him out before I sign or walk away.” Rubbing at my temple, I sigh. “Dinner’s ready. Let me dish it out.”
“I’m not hungry.” Elbows on the table, his pensive gaze drops to the grain of the wood. “So, Toronto or Vancouver, eh?”
“Yes.” Here we go. He may be sick, but he’s still sharp. “What do you think?”
His opinion matters to me, even when I may not agree or like it.
“It’s a good idea. Either location will need someone you trust to run it when you can’t be there. And Vancouver may be harder because of the distance.” He voices all the things I’ve been mulling over.
