Life, on the Line by Grant Achatz (book club reads .txt) 📕

some clients who are looking for a building in this area. If it’s convenient could we come in and look around? Is the owner on premises?”

The woman paused a second and looked at the three of us skeptically. “I’m Denise Trammer and I own this building. I’m an attorney, and I lease out space to a number of small businesses—some of them may be moving.” She glanced over her shoulder like she was sharing a secret. “You can come in if you want, just please don’t tell any of the tenants that you’re looking to rent. Some of them may be kicked out, and I don’t want them to know yet.”

The exchange felt really odd. First of all, here was Kim sticking himself in the middle of the situation and cutting me off. Then there was Denise, who was renting her building, but maybe not. We were supposed to pretend like we were clients of hers and talk to no one.

There was a small hallway with drapes that covered some stairs, then we turned left down another hall and saw a small travel agency in the front half and what looked like a computer drafting firm in the back. We walked quickly through the first floor, barely glancing in, and no one gave us any notice. Then we headed up a back stairway to the second floor.

Wow. The second floor was completely empty—just one big open space with a drop ceiling and those awful ceiling tiles like they have in high school. Giant bulbous skylights dotted the ceiling. We walked toward the front of the building where a bunch of computers, each with ten screens, sat on desks. Printouts and papers were strewn all over the place. A huge marlin hung on the wall.

“Trading firm,” Nick said.

“That’s what trading firms look like?” I asked.

“Yep.” Nick peeked at the screens, still on, and smiled.

Ms. Trammer piped in, “They moved out last week, and I believe I have a tenant taking over this floor soon. Their stuff should have been out of here by now.”

“I doubt that,” Nick said. “No way they would leave these fired up and walk out the door, except to go to lunch. According to the P/L line at the bottom of MicroHedge they’re up twenty-two thousand dollars on that position today.” Nick walked casually out of the room and down the front stairs through the curtain. Surprisingly, he kept going, right out the front door. I followed him out, while Kim was left to deal with the owner.

“It’s perfect,” Nick said.

“You know, I was just thinking the same thing. And I have no idea why.”

We grinned at each other, not knowing that the next two months of negotiations would be pure hell.

But we had found Alinea.

“What’s the next step?” I asked Nick as we got back in my car. We had said nothing to Kim about loving the space and had dutifully gone through the next building that was on Armitage right near Trotter’s—we’d forgotten to tell him about the “Not Near Trotter’s” rule.

“I think it’s time that I invite Tom Stringer and Steve Rugo to dinner at Trio,” Nick suggested. “Can you arrange that for next week sometime?”

“Sure. Who are they?”

“They’re the guys who are going to design the place. Steve is an architect. Tom is an interior designer. They do primarily high-end real estate, and I’ve worked with both of them on my home. I like them and trust them. But most of all, they know how to craft a true luxury experience.”

“Wait. That website you sent me to the other day? Those homes looked like they’re for old people. Beautiful, to be sure, but not modern at all,” I said.

“I agree. But when I say they do the luxury home market, what I mean is that I am by far their poorest client. They’re doing work on really high-end stuff. Ten million plus, that kind of thing. They’ll be able to source materials, furniture, and fixtures that Martin wouldn’t even know exist. We can’t design every detail from scratch. Plus, ultimately, if we want to build something remarkable with good flow we’ll need a supremely talented design group, and we can’t afford to hire one. We’ve set the budget super low for what you have in your head. Alinea has to make money, but it has to look like there is no way it can.”

“Agreed. So how can we afford them if all they do is really expensive builds?”

“We’re going to offer them equity ownership in the best restaurant in America in exchange for their services and the ability to purchase goods at wholesale. And it’s your job next week to convince them that that’s possible.”

“Sure. That’s easy. That’s what we do, Nick.”

A week later we were sitting in the lush office conference room—if you could call it that, since it looked more like a fabulous living room—of Tom Stringer Design Partners with Tom and architect Steve Rugo, who came over from his office. They had eaten at Trio two days earlier, and Nick had picked up their check but hadn’t attended. “I am the architect of Henry’s demise,” he had said. “No way I could eat there again.” Nick, like everyone, loved Henry.

As usual, our counterparts were impeccably dressed, while we both looked like we just woke up.

“So tell me, Nick,” Steve said. “I assume you didn’t buy us dinner at Trio because you thought we under-billed you last month.” He laughed heartily, and we all joined him. “No. As you probably guessed, Grant and I are going to build a restaurant together, and we’d like you to be the architect and Tom to do the interior design. This in collaboration with Martin Kastner, the designer who is working on our logos, website, and service pieces. And with us, of course.”

“That sounds like a fantastic opportunity, Nick. We would love to be a part of it,” Tom said immediately.

“Well, there is a catch, Tom,” Nick said playfully. “We can’t afford