Chapter Text
A part of Tony couldn’t believe what he had just agreed to. Had he really given Adam free rein to assemble a team and take over his restaurant? Not without conditions of course, but still. He had thought himself to have too much distance now, to have too much responsibility to be lured back that easily under Adam’s realm of influence.
He should call Dr Rosshilde, but perhaps wait until the morning. He also knew that there was someone else he should call, even though Tony really didn’t want to call him. A letter would be more convenient, but take too long. A text would probably be his preferred method, but he knew that Reece wouldn’t appreciate it. So instead he took the only remaining option. He left early after dinner service the following day and arrived outside Reece’s restaurant, just in time for the man to appear through the doors.
“Tony!” Reece greeted with a genuine smile, after waving goodbye to the few remaining members of his staff. “I am sorry, we’re closed.” It was clearly a joke, but Tony couldn’t even bring himself to smile.
“I need to talk to you.” His serious tone made Reece’s smile vanish and he quickly stepped closer to him.
“Has something happened? Is it your father?” Tony shook his head, but felt warmed by the concern.
“He’s ok. It’s something else. I am not sure here is the best . . .” Being is usual patient self, Reece suggested they’d go back to Tony’s, since it was the closest. They walked in silence, Tony answering emails on his phone and Reece going over the night’s service in his head, searching for improvements.
Once they reached Tony’s flat, Reece took of his jacket and then went straight to Tony’s kitchen and poured them two glasses of white wine from the cupboard. Tony was soon with him and took the offered glass. For a moment the silence remained, Reece momentarily distracted by the wine, wanting to check what it was, but then decided one of them had to start the discussion ahead.
“So, I heard a rumour. And judging from your behaviour, I think I know what you want to talk to me about.” Tony was quiet, looking down at his wine glass. “Tony . . . Come on, you wanted to tell me.” Reece’s voice was soft and encouraging, with just the hint of impatience.
“Well, as you clearly already know, Adam’s in London,” Tony answered, staring at the wine. “He turned up at the hotel and it took him two minutes and half a meal to know exactly how things were, and he wasted no time telling me.”
There were anger and embarrassment in his voice. He and Reece hadn’t spoken much about it, but they both knew that the restaurant had for a while now suffered the risk of becoming a proper train wreck. It was a difficult situation. The Langham was a competitor and the best Reece could do was to not try to poach the little talent that was left. He had a few months back tentatively asked Tony if it wouldn’t be better to maybe at least threaten the board to go somewhere else, if only so that they would allow Tony free rein with the changes necessary to save the restaurant. Tony had muttered something about loyalty and his father, and they hadn’t spoken about it since.
“So not dead then.” Not that he’d ever actually believed that Adam was dead. “I assume he charged for his constructive feedback with the meal.”
Tony made an angry huffing sound. “Yes, and a room, can you believe it?” Reece could definitely believe it, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to believe what Tony seemed to be implying, that Adam was staying at the Langham. Tony took a deep breath before he continued.
“Anyway, he said he’s come to London for his third star . . . and he wants to do it at the Langham.” The last part was added with a quick look at Reece.
“He what?” Reece couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Adam was back in London, and the first thing he’d done was to go to Tony and demand a restaurant. “Was he high?”
“No, completely sober, he says he’s been sober for over two years, no drugs, no alcohol, no women.” Tony’s voice had softened somewhat and Reece recognized the caring tone, and a bit of pride Tony always had in store for Adam. It was the same tone Tony had used in Paris whenever Adam had managed to turn it around after a bad streak.
“You are not actually contemplating handing over your restaurant to him?” It was asked the same way he would have asked if Tony had suggested he wanted to set the restaurant on fire and collect the insurance money.
“I told him where to go.” Reece gave him an approving, but apprehensive nod, waiting for the rest of the story. “Then he had Simone Forth come to the restaurant and . . . if I hadn’t let him cook, she would have destroyed us, the final nail in the coffin. And it was great, he still got it, the magic . . . Reece, the Langham needs this, a big relaunch with a two Michelin star chef.”
“There are other chefs out there. He, on the other hand, needs this, desperately from the sound of it.”
“He says he wants to make amends for Paris.”
Reece made a scoffing sound, put his glass away and leaned back on his hands, taking a hard grip of the counter, trying to remain calm. “Tony, you realise what he’s doing? He’s blackmailed and manipulated you, trying to make you hand over your restaurant, making it sound like he’s doing you a favour. He can’t be trusted.”
“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? He’ll have to give blood samples once a week.”
“Oh, God! You have it all figured out, haven’t you? I thought you’d come to tell me Adam’s in London, but you’ve come to tell me you’re thinking about hiring him.” There was a slight accusation in his tone and Tony was ready to match it.
“For months, you’ve told me that I need to do something about the restaurant, or the critics will soon have wrecked us so badly, our only guests will be clueless tourists with too much money and no taste.”
“Once, Tony, once, and all I said was . . .” He had only once, and only after Tony had asked him for advice, told him that they had a problem with the quality in the kitchen and that they couldn’t afford another bad review. He had never mentioned the word tourist trap. “I just don’t understand it. Letting him cook for Forth, fine, but don’t hand over your restaurant.”
“Papa’s getting worse, and . . . I want him to see that I can make the restaurant flourish again . . . I want him to be proud of me.”
Reece eyes widened, because he recognized the emotional arguments, arguments that Tony would normally be too rational to utter out loud. It was so typical Adam, and he remembered Paris when Adam had been drunk and said something about how no one in the world believed in them, but they would prove them all wrong. He pushed himself from the counter and walked over to Tony and took a firm hold of his shoulders.
“Did Adam say he wasn’t?” Tony avoiding his gaze was answer enough and Reece made a deep sigh. “Adam’s met your father, what? Once? Twice? A hundred years ago in Paris, so he doesn’t have a clue. Tony, look at me.” Tony’s eyes shifted and finally looked into Reece’s intense grey eyes. “Adam is a manipulative arse, always has been. Your father is very proud of you, as am I.”
Tony nodded. “I know.” Though sometimes he wondered why, when the restaurant was in the state it was in. “But I still want it to flourish again.” And of course he wasn’t just talking about the restaurant, but about Adam as well.
Reece nodded slowly, doing is best not to overreact. “You do what you have to do. I’ll support you.” Silently he promised himself that if he had the chance, he would have a word with Adam, tell him to back off. “But don’t ask me to support Adam Jones.”
“I won’t,” Tony promised, then placed a kiss on Reece’s cheek. “I wouldn’t do this unless I thought I could handle him. I wouldn’t let some childhood crush ruin my father’s legacy.”
“No . . . but you’re mad if you think he’s doing this for anyone but himself.” Coming to terms with the fact that this was what Tony wanted, Reece decided to let it go. He forced himself to relax and managed a small smile looking down at Tony. “Did he look at you with big serious eyes telling you he has never been so sure about anything his whole life?”
Happy that the hardest part of the conversation was over, Tony smiled back. “Oh, yes, of course, and that it was the only idea that made any sense.”
Reece let out a chuckle, put on the stereo, and the sound of a slow Spanish ballad spread in the flat. “So I assume you’ll let him put together his own team.”
“Of course,” Tony answered, figuring Reece would hear about Max and Michel soon enough, and let himself be led in a slow dance. It had taken him ages to convince Reece that dancing could be fun, and he didn’t feel he got the chance to enjoy it often enough.
“I’ll keep a close watch on my staff then . . . How long before you’ll let me try and poach people from him?” Tony froze for a fraction of a second, and Reece leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Hey, I’m only joking.” They kept dancing. “I understand this will be a busy time for you, busier than normal, and a lot of strategy stuff that I really shouldn’t know anything about.” He made Tony spin and then caught him again. “Just promise me you’ll let me know if things get tough.” He consciously said if instead of when.
“We both know they will, sooner or later,” Tony answered, not stepping into that trap. “I know you’re there for me, and I’m grateful. But yes, probably will be very busy for a while, more so than normal.”
Reece stopped the dancing and leaned in close. “Well, in that case, I’ll just have to take all I can get right now.”