Page 21 of Worth the Wait

“As in the biggest restaurateur backer in the city?” I stumbled over my words as I shielded my eyes with my hand to look at him once more.

I knew exactly who he was, and I mentally kicked myself for not recognizing him immediately. Frederique was the man behind some of the most successful restaurants in Manhattan. Apparently, his MO was his ability to spot talented up-and-coming chefs and financially back them so they could open their own establishment. I’d heard about him over the years, but never once considered that he might seek me out.

“I am one of the biggest, yes. Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Uh, I mean, sure,” I answered as I looked around, wondering where we’d have any privacy.

I couldn’t ask him to return to my workplace with me to have this discussion. Especially if it was heading in the direction I assumed that it might be.

“My car’s right over there. We could chat inside, unless you’re not comfortable with that?” he offered.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot.

I’d never heard anything scary or off-putting about the man, so I assumed it couldn’t hurt to get into his car with him.

“That sounds okay.”

He led me toward where his massive SUV sat idling, and we hopped in the back. Once the doors closed, he launched into a speech that I was sure he’d delivered to other chefs a thousand other times before.

A part of me was still so in shock, not to mention hungover, that I only heard a handful of his words. Things like he’d heard all about me from one of his friends, thought my food was delicious, and seemed convinced that I could be a very successful chef in the city if I had the freedom to do what I wanted. Then, he offered to back me so I could open my own place.

I started choking on literally nothing. “Excuse me?”

He laughed once more, clearly amused by my discomfort. “I said that I’d put up two million to front a restaurant of your choosing. A staff, also of your choosing. Of course, I’d have a say in the final menu, but everything would be your creation.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. My mind spun with possibilities. This was an absolute dream offer—I knew that—but…

“Why me? I haven’t even been doing this for very long. I’m sure there are others who are much more talented than I am,” I said.

I wasn’t trying to sound disparaging about my abilities because I knew I was a good chef, but so were a lot of other people.

“This is what I do, Chef Whitman. I have a keen eye for culinary talent. I back people I believe in. Only three of my restaurants have closed. Three. For reasons that had nothing to do with the food, I assure you.”

“I’m very aware of your reputation in the industry,” I said, hoping that my tone sounded as flattering as I had meant it to be.

He leaned forward and pulled at the pouch in the back of the seat. Reaching inside, he grabbed an all-black business card and handed it to me. The thing was definitely not made from any type of card stock that I was familiar with. It felt more like a credit card. I balanced it in my palm, moving my hand up and down.

“It’s metal.” He grinned, and I enclosed my fingers around it.

“It’s heavy.” I stated the obvious.

“I know.”

I shifted on the leather seat, suddenly wondering if I was sweating through my shirt. How embarrassing would that be? “Can I have some time to think it over?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to make a decision like this over the holidays, but I wanted to present it to you before the new year. I have a location in mind in Hell’s Kitchen that I plan on grabbing before it hits the market.”

I nodded my head like all of this was completely normal. “I really appreciate the offer. I just need some time with it,” I repeated myself, feeling like an idiot for doing so.

He was probably already regretting even making me this offer.

“My number and email are on the back of the card. Reach out with any questions you might have. And let’s reconnect after the first of the year. Sound good?”

Swallowing hard, I nodded my head in agreement. It still pounded, and I regretted the movement.

“Would you like my driver to drop you off at home?”

“Oh, no. Thank you. Uh, I should be going. It was nice to meet you.”

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