by Desiree Span
“Claire, honey!” Brandon’s voice barked through the office. “This is Oliver Blake.”
She looked up from the papers and examined me, slightly lifting a perfectly arched eyebrow. Her green eyes studied me thoroughly before she took my hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said.
“I’ve heard much about you, Mr. Blake,” she said with the same southern accent as her father.
“Please. Call me Oliver.” I smiled, but instead of returning it she looked at me coldly. With piercing eyes she bluntly said, “So tell me, Oliver, why is it that you think you can steal my father’s life work?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, startled by her hostile reaction.
“Now Claire, we have talked about this,” Brandon grunted sternly.
“No, you have talked about this. I am barely getting started,” she said, interrupting him and tossing the papers on his desk. To my surprise I saw Brandon almost literally tug his tail between his legs and scurry off behind his desk. He sat down and looked up at us, as if preparing himself to be the spectator of the next presidential debate.
“What I mean,” she said turning to me again, “is that I find the price you are counter-offering for our company an insult.”
“Well, it’s certainly not my intention to insult. But if that is the case, then on behalf of the whole company I sincerely apologize, miss,” I said with slight sarcasm to disguise how off guard she had caught me. “But your father seems to disagree, for he has accepted our counter-offer.”
My remark had the desired effect, for I could see her expression change. Apparently Brandon hadn’t brought her up to date yet. But she recovered instantaneously and hid her surprise, lifting one eyebrow again and looking me straight in the eye. “Dad?” she inquired, still watching me. She then turned slowly toward him, putting her hands on her hips, demanding an explanation.
Brandon looked as if he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Look, honey, the Blake family and I have done business for as long as I can remember, and I know we’ve had better offers, but this company is my legacy and I want it to be in the hands of people I know and trust. We already discussed this, Claire,” he said.
“And I still disagree! This is preposterous, Dad! They are clearly misusing your trust and you are willingly letting them swindle you out of your money,” she said.
“Swindle?!” I interrupted and crossed my arms, frowning. I was insulted by her comment but also slightly amused by the dynamic between these two. One could see from a mile away that this was one gutsy young woman. She had spirit and was clearly in charge. I found her conceited and vain, but at the same time her self-assurance and boldness kind of intrigued me.
“Dad, you are going about this as if these people are doing you a favor,” she continued, ignoring my interruption.
“That is not what this is about,” he said.
“Then what is this? Since when are you in the charity business?” she answered.
“It’s not about money, Claire. It’s about passing the baton to worthy people,” he said calmly.
She looked at him for a second and then at me and was about to say something but then changed her mind. Instead she snatched the papers back from where she had tossed them on the oak desk.
“This is not over, Mr. Blake,” she said and looked at me with defiance. She then grabbed her Gucci attaché case and walked out of the office in a firm pace, leaving her father and me behind.
“Should I be worried?” I asked Brandon.
“Of course not,” he said with a thunderous laugh. “Selling my company to your father is the best decision I will ever make.”
* * *
The next day I was eating breakfast in my hotel room when I received a call from Brandon. He was canceling the meeting at which we were supposed to confirm our acquisition of his company. He was reconsidering and needed more time. I asked him what had changed since our meeting the day before and he told me that Claire was very upset about him making this decision.
“Oliver, I know what this must look like to you, but in the end family comes first. She is my baby girl, and I really don’t feel like arguing with her anymore. She threatened to not speak to me ever again if I signed the papers!”
“She is manipulating you, Brandon,” I said.
“She sure as hell is! But, I am glad to give you her phone number and you can give it a try. Call her. Maybe you can change her mind,” he said with a sigh.
So in a nutshell it came down to this. If I could convince Claire that this was the right move for her father, then he would be happy to sign as soon as possible.
Damn! Everything had been going smoothly until she showed up.
I wanted to keep this professional so I called the office and had Susan, our secretary, make an appointment with her for me as soon as possible. I loved Susan; she talked too much, was nosy, and since I was a kid she would always pinch me painfully in both cheeks, but when she walked into a room she filled it up with her sunny presence, and when she laughed her fluffy reddish hair would bounce around happily. Most of all, you could count on her for absolutely anything.
About three hours later Susan called me back.
“Hi, sweetie! Well, at first I couldn’t reach her and I left like a thousand messages, but then she finally called me back. I told her you needed to speak to her and she was reluctant at first, but you know me.” I could envision her smiling on the other end. “I kind of had to beg her, but, you know, in a very professional way. And after a while she gave in!”
I could see her beaming with pride now.
“She’s willing to meet you. But she was very busy during the day, so I suggested dinner, because I thought that would be the perfect setting; first a delicious meal and then during dessert you throw in your charms and good-looks, and maybe... who knows, she simply won’t be able to resist-”
“Susan,” I interrupted her rambling.
“-uhm, yes... well she agreed and named a really good restaurant, which appears to have a Michelin star. So, I looked it up and it’s actually quite something. The reviews said—”
“Susan!” I interrupted her again. “What time is the dinner?”
“Okay, okay,” she said, feigning to be offended.
“She said she would meet you at... let me see... it’s the Au Revoir restaurant. She said, and I quote, ‘If he is not there at exactly eight o’clock I am suing him for... uhm, fraud.’”
She took a deep breath. “Olly. Who the heck is this woman?” she asked, slightly concerned.
“Don’t worry Suzy. I’ve got it under control,” I said, encouraging myself more than her.
I arrived ten minutes early, just in case. The restaurant was indeed very fancy, and when I mentioned my name the host parked me at the bar with a complimentary drink, for “Ms. Frey has not arrived yet,” he had said with a dubious French accent.
From the bar I was in the perfect position to keep an eye on the entrance while observing the rest of the buzzing crowd. The place was packed, but I figured Claire Frey was well enough connected to be able to get reservations for a table on such late notice.
I seemed to be somewhat underdressed, for all the men were dressed up in their business attire, which made my tieless shirt under a navy blue blazer and jeans appear very informal. But I was rarely one to be embarrassed or bothered by such trivialities, so I discarded the thought immediately. Besides, I hated wearing suits and wasn’t going to wear one unless absolutely necessary.
At exactly eight o’clock I spotted Claire walking into the restaurant. She must have gone home from the office to change, for she was wearing a dark green halter cocktail dress, which agreed beautifully with her red hair and matched her cat-colored eyes. She looked amazing. Her dress was fastened at the nape of her neck, baring her athletic, lean shoulders, from where two thick straps of the cloth crossed to the front, hugging her breasts, then coiled around her slender waist and hips up to her well-formed calves. The
woman surely knew how to dress and for a fraction of a second I felt slightly self-conscious about my too-casual dress code. I remediated it by tucking my shirt in.
The host led her toward where I was sitting and asked her if we would like to share another drink before being seated. We simultaneously declined and were brought to our table. Claire ordered a vegetarian salad, but I was actually quite hungry and asked for a steak, medium well, with a baked potato decorated with some fancy sauce.
After we ordered I decided to get straight to the point.
“Listen, I figure you have convinced your father to change his mind about us taking over his company. But if you read the documentation you will find that there is nothing out of the ordinary in our agreement. Our lawyer has run it over thoroughly with your father’s lawyer and there is absolutely no reason for you to be suspicious. I mean you have read the documentation, right?”
“I have,” she stated.
“Well, then what is the problem?” I wanted to know.
“The problem is that I would hate to see my father regret selling it for two bucks when we both know it is worth four, or even more than that,” she replied matter-of-factly.
I couldn’t decide if she was just being difficult, a moneygrubbing bitch or if she was actually looking out for her father’s best interests. Either way her stubbornness was getting somewhat on my nerves.
“As your father has said before, this is not only about the money. Our fathers have done business with each other since you were born. My father made him an honest offer and yours asked if it was the best he could do. We then laid out our financial situation, open and transparent, and made a counteroffer that both felt was fair. Now... your father feels comfortable with our proposal, and more importantly he feels assured by the fact that his company will be run by people he knows, people that share his values and that will make his company part of their family business. It won’t be swallowed up by some big corporation, with an anonymous face.” I paused to take a breath. “So as you can see, all parties involved are willing, able, and happy. It is just and only you that is not on board here.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she said with fiery eyes.
“Claire, I’m just stating the facts,” I said and took a sip of water.
At that moment our waiter brought our food. I dug right in, while Claire mainly moved the salad around a bit on her plate. I could see that she was sulking.
“Okay,” she suddenly said, as if making up her mind. “But before my father signs anything I want to get a feel of your company. I want to see it with my own eyes.”
I looked up from my food plate and smiled. I was getting through to her.
She had moved her plate aside and had folded her arms, waiting for my response.
“Fine,” I said. “If that is what it takes to make you feel at ease, it will be my pleasure to give you the VIP tour around our premises.”
“Perfect. When are we leaving?” she wanted to know.
“As soon as possible. I will have my secretary book you a plane ticket and she will give you all the information needed.”
I guess she was satisfied with our deal for I saw her serious look soften a bit and she seemed to even relax a little and managed to finish her salad—after having sifted out the croutons.
As soon as I left the restaurant I contacted my father and gave him an update of the situation. He wasn’t worried. In fact, he was confident I could handle it, or better said, handle her and he would make sure the whole place was spic and span and that everyone was ready to receive her with a warm welcome.
So much fuss to comply with a stuck-up, obstinate woman’s wish, I thought.
The next day we were at the airport and she immediately protested for our seats were booked in Economy and not in Business Class.
“Claire, I assure you all the people on the plane will be heading in the same direction and arriving at the same time. So Economy or Business Class, it doesn’t matter.”
She looked at me and rose that one eyebrow, a now familiar sign of her disapproval, but didn’t even bother defending her case or reprimanding me for belittling her again. Instead she walked straight passed me to the counter and bought two Business Class tickets.
“There,” she said, waving the tickets. “Now we will all be heading in the same direction and arriving at the same time, but at least we are doing it comfortably.”
I sighed. This was going to be hell. I was already regretting having agreed to this visit and we hadn’t even left Texas yet.
During the flight she got into a dispute with a stewardess because she had ordered a vegetarian meal but the side salad had Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese on it. When the stewardess gave her a clueless look, she took it upon herself to educate the poor woman by explaining that Parmigiano-Reggiano is made with rennet; actually, Parmigiano-Reggiano is required by law to be made with rennet. And rennet, for your information, is nothing other than enzymes from an animal’s stomach. “Do you get it now, sweetie? How this meal cannot be vegetarian at all?” she said condescendingly.
I decided it was best for me to take a nap, for if not I would end up strangling her.
Some hours later we finally arrived at Philadelphia International Airport from where our connecting flight was leaving. And then we had a problem. The propeller aircraft that was supposed to take us to our final destination, Tweed New Haven Airport, seemed to have technical problems and the flight was delayed until... well, further notice.
“So what are we going to do now?” Claire wanted to know as we walked out of the airport.
“We’re going to eat,” I said with a smile and headed to the Taxi Service booth with a sturdy pace.
“What? Where?” she asked, trying to keep up in her high heels.
“At the place on earth that serves the best baby-back ribs I’ve ever tasted,” I replied. “Come, let’s have a proper, hearty meal.”
Claire looked at me perplexed. “I’m a vegetarian!”
“Well, then I guess you’ll be having a salad again, Ms. Frey,” I replied, while walking away.
About forty-five minutes later I was sinking my teeth in tender, sweet, sticky meat that fell off the bone and practically melted on my tongue. On the other side of my table was Claire, with a glass of sparkling water in front of her, observing me with disgust.
“That was delicious,” I said, wiping my mouth and provoking her on purpose.
“Are you mocking me?” She squinted her eyes and crossed her arms.
“Of course not,” I replied and tried to hide a smile. “This whole undertaking rests in your hands. Besides, you are my guest on this trip, and what kind of host would I be if I made fun of you?” I couldn’t help myself. Her buttons were very easy to push; it was quite entertaining. She could wind herself up over nothing and everything. Why was she so uptight?
“Stop treating me like an idiot,” she said coldly, then took a last sip of her water, put the glass down with a thud, and stood up and made her way toward the door.
Dammit! I had to be careful now because, all joking aside, the reality was that if Claire didn’t like what she saw we might lose this business opportunity and in the worst case would have to look for another supplier.
I quickly paid and followed after her, but when I stepped outside I found her sitting on the sidewalk. She was holding her abdomen and her face looked very pale.
“What’s wrong?” I hurried toward her and kneeled beside her.
“I... I don’t know. Just... this, sudden, very sharp pain,” she said, catching her breath. She then took off her shoes and tried to stand up.
I took her arm and helped her pull herself up, but at that moment it was like someone stabbed her with a knife, for she bent over in agonizing pain, which was immediately followed by her vomiting.
She looked at me apologetically and I could see she had broken out in sweat. “I’m so sorry,” she tried to say weakly as she continued to hold onto me.
“Claire, where is the pain exactly?�
� I interrupted her.
She put her hand on the lower, right-hand side of her abdomen.
Was it her appendix? I thought. “Can you walk?” I asked.
She shook her head negatively. Then she closed her eyes and cringed as another pang of pain shot through her.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” I stated and fished my cell phone out of my back pocket while I supported Claire with my arm and shoulder.
* * *
I went with her in the ambulance as they took her to the hospital. It seemed indeed to be her appendix and it was very serious, for they were certain it had ruptured.
The paramedics administered her with supplemental oxygen and placed an intravenous line. We were on our way to the hospital and she was lying on the stretcher with her legs drawn in. Her eyes were closed and from time to time I saw her flinch with pain. I felt compelled to take her hand and so I did. She opened her eyes and gave me a weak smile, then she closed her eyes again. Gone was the cocky young woman from just before. Now she was this vulnerable girl, squeezing my hand with every stab of pain she felt.
As she was rushed into surgery I made the necessary phone calls informing Brandon and my father of what had happened. Brandon was very upset and asked me to stick by her while he was on his way. I promised him I wouldn’t leave her side until he got there.
While she was in the recovery room, someone of the staff came out to inform me that the operation had gone well and she was beginning to wake up from anesthesia. They explained that the rupture spreads infection throughout the abdomen and that it had been wise to quickly call for an ambulance, for this condition can possibly be life-threatening and requires immediate surgery in order to remove the appendix and clean the abdominal cavity.
