Page 50 of Timeless: Encore

The Next Month

Ifeellikecryingfrom joy.

The buildout is complete. It’s spectacular. Each detail is exactly how I pictured.

I’ll be fully staffed up next month. Followed by two months of training.

Training. Training. Training.

Icannotbelieve I’m less than 90 days away from opening my own restaurant. And the new Mission.

God, my dad would be so proud.

My mom? I haven’t heard from her in months. Not a fucking peep. The correlation between my mental well-being and not having her toxicity in my life isn’t hard to see. I’m confident. In control. I don’t second-guess myself quite as much.

Like letting my executive team do screening interviews with staff from around the country for the non-leadership positions. The positions are highly competitive, so to ensure Gus attracts the best candidates, I’m offering nearly fifty percent above market rate for all wages with health care, generous PTO, 401K benefits, and performance bonuses to sweeten the deal.

I’ll fly those that make the cut to Seattle in a couple weeks so I can make the final decision. Then it’sgotime.

My goal is to create a workplace where a core staff stay for at least three years, if not longer. Consistency of food quality and service is crucial to attract and earn a Michelin Star. If I pay top dollar to retain the best team in the world, it will streamline my timeline significantly.

This approach is most definitelynotsomething I learned in my business classes at culinary school. Quite the opposite.

I’m not stupid. I’m sure some critics will assume Zane’s backing the restaurant even though I’m investing every penny of my settlement money from Corey into this venture.

Social media is up and running. We have a great initial following, so there’s a buzz. The PR push hasn’t even begun yet, though interviews and articles are scheduled.

We’re moving in the right direction.

Far more exciting is my new hire—a remarkable pastry chef.

Wolf Woodrow, whose tasting menu is—was—the most coveted seat in the world, is joining me at Gus. A month ago, Zane and I took Carter’s jet to Berlin to meet with him. Luckily, his sister is a huge fan of LTZ, so he made room for us that night last minute, even if he was only peripherally aware of the band.

Wolf’s dessert philosophy is revolutionary—in his mind, it’s more than just a final course. In fact, many of his dishes are not even all that sweet. Using simple techniques, he prepares fresh chocolate by hand every day incorporating natural ingredients. Same with jellies. Pastries. Pies. He eschews refined sugar. Scoffs at artificial flavor.

Every single element is executed with flawless technical skill.

By thegrumpiestman I’ve ever met.

After the meal, I knew I had to have him, though. No question. When I proposed a partnership, Wolf laughed at me. Actually laughed. He was so rude, I thought my nonviolent husband would beat the shit out of him.

But, no. Zane stayed out of it. He has so much faith in me, he let me handle my own business and went back to the hotel while I pitched Wolf. He and I sat at his tiny four-seat bar and drank artisan whisky. Talked food philosophy for hours. Shared stories of our respective culinary journeys.

It was nice. We opened up to each other in a way you can do when you’re strangers and have nothing to lose. As it turned out, Wolf endured his own special brand of hellish heartbreak. He also confessed that the stress of keeping his unique conceptual dessert-themed restaurant staffed was slowly crushing his soul.

That night, we realized we were kindred gastronomic spirits. Wolf’s entire gruff demeanor softened. He was interested in joining forces, becoming an investor and partner in Gus. We finalized our partnership agreement and are in the process of fast-tracking his E2 Investor visa. We’ll be cutting it close with respect to Gus’s opening, but it will be worth it.

By the time I get home, I’ve had a twelve-hour workday, factoring in a two-hour visit from Alex and Zoey sandwiched in between. I’m fried. No sooner than I walk through the door, Mia rushes down the stairs and says in hushed voice,” Mommy. Mommy. Grandma’s here.”

“Oh yeah? Is LeeLee with your dad?” My brain cells are not firing on all cylinders. I can’t even think. I drop my tote bag and kick off my shoes. All I want to do is hang out with Mia and Zane for an hour or so, then go to bed.

Mia shakes her head. “No,yourmom.”

Instant. Tension.

“Oh, how nice. Where is she?” I try to keep my annoyance out of my tone. Why is shehere? She didn’t even call. Or text. A drop in? Kinda rude, in my opinion. I hear voices coming from the conservatory. Gah. The tone of my mother’s voice. I pinch my nose with my thumb and forefinger. “Mia …”

My daughter is so fucking intuitive it scares me and breaks my heart. “Iknow. Adult stuff. I’ll be in my room. Daddy told me to stay there, but I was listening for you.”

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