I should be cautious. Yet when I open my mouth to answer Juliette, the words that emerge aren’t the ones I should utter. “Call them,” I tell her. “Let’s see what the offers are.”
I turn away from her and raise my glass to the room. Tomorrow, the phones will start ringing, with all of New York clamoring to eat at Michelin’s newest two-star restaurant. We will be sold out every single night. In a halo effect, Seb II will be busy as well, and Ben’s going to have to raise his game significantly in the face of that attention. Helen’s ready for the challenge, I know. Is Ben? I’m not sure.
So much work to be done, and this franchise idea could be a fatal distraction. I wonder what Daniel would think of it. I should really consult with him before I make too many commitments.
Yet when I turn back to Juliette to tell her to tread lightly, she’s not there anymore. She’s all the way in the far corner of the room, her attention on the glowing screen in front of her, her fingers typing out a message.
Already, things are in motion. I shelve the unease I feel, and I throw the champagne down my throat and demand a refill. No regrets. Today will be a day of celebration.
3
Daniel
He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
There are many places I want to be on a Friday afternoon, but this windowless Kansas City boardroom, with its taupe walls and its faded grey chairs, is at the bottom of the list.
“Mr. Hartman,” the blonde assistant slides in, looking apologetic. “Mr. Ryan’s been delayed in another meeting. He’ll be with you momentarily, as will the rest of the board.”
Fuck this shit. Keeping us waiting is Wayne Ryan’s version of a power play, but he’s missing one important point. As much as Hartman & Company would like to acquire Ryan Communications, we can afford to walk away from this deal and they cannot. Their stock price has dropped thirty percent in the last quarter and the only thing that has kept it from free-falling even more is the rumor that we are interested in buying them.
“Ms. Parker.” I eye Ryan’s assistant pointedly, and my voice is icy. “My flight leaves in three hours. I intend to be on it whether I’ve met Mr. Ryan or not. Perhaps you can pass that message on to him.”
Her face pales and she hurries out, no doubt to tell Ryan that I’m getting restive. Next to me, my Uncle Cyrus makes a disapproving sound. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Things between Cyrus and me have always been tense. My best friend Sebastian, who never minces his words, has called our relationship the most fucked up thing he’s seen. Cyrus has worked at Hartman & Company all his life. I can’t deny that he’s given me some helpful advice since I became the CEO, though his condescending and lecturing tone always grates at me. “Why not?”
“This isn’t New York, Daniel,” Cyrus replies, frustration in his tone. “We are in Kansas. Here, deals are done over a game of golf or at a neighborhood barbecue. You have to learn to play the game. Act like you are one of them.”
This is the one area that Cyrus and I cannot agree on. My uncle is old-school. He hires his friends and he does business with his golf-club buddies. Me? I’m more direct. I have absolutely no patience with small-minded, judgmental assholes like Wayne Ryan and the rest of his board. Last year, Wayne Ryan divorced his wife after thirty years of marriage, and married the twenty-one year old woman who babysat his kids. At the same time, Ryan Communications fired three employees for ‘behavior unbecoming to the company,’ which was a codeword for being gay.
“I’m not here to be Wayne Ryan’s buddy,” I respond. “I’m here to buy his company. We’ve made them a fair offer. They’ll be fools to turn us down.”
Cyrus shakes his head. “There’s so much about the world that you don’t understand. Not everyone is motivated by logic. To make a deal here, you’ll have to learn to belong. Fit in. Live their values.”
I’ve run Hartman for seven years, Cyrus, I want to retort. I’ve doubled our profitability in that time. I don’t need you to tell me how to run my business.
Before I can open my mouth to snap at him, Wayne Ryan hurries in. “Sorry, sorry,” he blusters. “Another meeting ran over. You know how it is.”
I’m not in a good mood. I hate being kept waiting and Cyrus’ attitude has pissed me off. My voice reflects my ill-humor. “Let’s get going, shall we?” I say curtly. “Like I told your assistant, I have a plane to catch. Was the rest of your board planning to join us today?”
The meeting proceeds very much as I anticipate. There’s some posturing about the financial terms, but Ryan’s not a complete fool and he knows the amount we’ve offered is more than fair. There’s some hinting around what our plans are for the management - Ryan’s way of asking if he’ll still have a job once Hartman buys his company. Not if I have anything to do with it, I think to myself, and I avoid answering the question.
As we talk, I get the sense that Ryan Communications’ board has reservations about this deal, and I’m somewhat at a loss to understand why. Without us, Ryan Communications will declare bankruptcy this year. The board isn’t composed of idiots. They have to know they are out of options.
On the way to the airport, I lean back in the seat and close my eyes. “What did you think?” I ask Cyrus. As much as he irritates me, he is the Chief Operating Officer of Hartman, and he’s been the primary driver of this deal.
“This is by no means a done deal,” he replies. “There was a lot of hesitation in that room.”
“Why? I don’t get it. Without us, they are going to go under.”
“It’s not that simple, Daniel,” he says. “These guys do business with people they are comfortable with. Wayne Ryan has known the members on his board his entire life. They worship at the same church. They went to the same private school. They were in the same fraternity. Brant Hollister was even Wayne’s best man.”
I snort. “For which marriage? The first one, or the one where he married the woman who is thirty years younger than him?”
Cyrus waves aside my snark. “That’s not the point. You, Daniel, are about as different from them as it gets. You,” he continues with a disapproving glare, “live your life in the spotlight. You date models and socialites. Your photo is in the tabloids more often than not. They can’t relate to your lifestyle, and if they can’t understand you, these guys will not listen to a word you have to say.”
There might be some merit in what Cyrus is saying. “What do you suggest we do?”
“Let me continue to negotiate with them,” he says. “And while we are doing this deal, you stay out of the spotlight.”
I’m tempted to walk away from this deal. Cyrus is making it sound like I’m manwhoring my way around New York, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Yeah sure, I date. But my work comes first, and my personal life is a distant second. Everyone I go out with knows the score.
Yet I bite my tongue, because it’s become a habit for me to place Hartman & Company ahead of my own happiness. The acquisition will be good for us. It’ll give us access to markets in Kansas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Mississippi and Alabama. It should increase our revenue by twenty percent over the next five years. The money is nothing to sneeze at.
“Fine,” I say finally. “Let’s do it your way.”
“Remember,” Cyrus warns. “No scandals. I can’t convince them that Hartman is exactly what they need if the CEO keeps appearing in the tabloid press with women draped all over him.”
Cyrus should stop talking when he’s ahead. “I said okay,” I snap. “Stop pushing it, Cyrus. I’ll toe the line.”
4
Bailey
Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Trevor thinks that I’m going to be begging him to take me back? He couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not alone. I have my best friends to lean on, the five women that make up the Thursday Night Drinking Pack.
There’s calm a
nd stable Katie, who is married with twin two-year old daughters. She lives in Chappaqua with her husband Adam. Miki moved away to Houston two years ago, but we Skype her in every time we get together and valiantly pretend it’s the same as hanging out in person.
There’s Gabby, who is going through a justifiable man-hating phase. Wendy, despite being a barracuda divorce lawyer, still believes in love. And last but not least, is my former roommate Piper, who, five months ago, inherited a restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen.
It’s Piper I call right after I leave our apartment. Not our apartment anymore, I correct myself. Trevor’s apartment.
She picks up on the first ring. “Bailey? Is everything okay?” she asks into the phone, before even waiting for my hello. The concern in her voice is obvious, and hearing it, I choke up for the first time this evening.
“I left Trevor.” It sounds so stark when I hear it. “I was wondering if I could crash at your place tonight?”
“Of course Bails,” she says instantly. “Always.”
“What happened?”
I’m holding a cup of hot chocolate and sitting on Piper’s couch. Her cat is curled up in my lap. Though I haven’t lived in this apartment for five months, it still feels like home in a way that my place with Trevor never did. “Jasper’s missed having you around,” she adds.
“I missed him too,” I admit, stroking the ginger cat’s head. “However, I think that as far as Jasper is concerned, human laps are interchangeable.”
“There is that.” She hesitates before broaching the topic that’s on both of our minds. “I don’t have to know what happened with you and Trevor, if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“No, it’s okay.” I fill her in on my evening.
“You have to be kidding,” she interrupts loudly, when I get to the part where he was being a dick at the pool table. “He said what?”
“I’m hopeless.” I repeat those hurtful words. “Still, he’s right, isn’t he? I am hopeless. I’ve never had any hand-eye coordination, and I wilt under pressure.”
“You,” she glares at me, “are the furthest thing from hopeless.” She holds up her hand. “One,” she counts, “you spent six months in Indonesia, studying remote tribes, and you spent how long in Siberia?”
“A year.”
“Exactly. Wilting under pressure, my ass. Trevor’s dick wilts under pressure.”
There’s enough truth in that statement that I bite my tongue to keep from laughing aloud. I’d never mentioned Trevor’s problems to my girls, because he was my boyfriend and that would have seemed disloyal. After the breakup, I feel perfectly justified giggling a little.
“Second, you were the youngest hire ever in your department in NYU, weren’t you?”
I nod. I should miniaturize Piper and carry her around in my pocket everywhere to be my own personal cheerleader. She’s fantastic for my ego.
“Third,” she says. “I’ve seen Trevor trying to teach you how to play. He’s mean and he yells at you. He’s a horrible teacher.”
“He is that,” I agree. “I had a teacher like that in high school for French.”
“And do you speak French?” she asks pointedly.
I shake my head. “She put me off the language forever,” I confess.
“Exactly.” I’ve made Piper’s point for her. “So, can we agree that Trevor’s a terrible human being, and you would be excellent at pool if you were taught by someone even the slightest bit encouraging?”
“The former point, I concede.” I laugh. “The jury’s out on the latter. Incidentally, you sound like a trial lawyer. Taking lessons from Wendy?”
She grimaces. “I’ve inherited the kitchen staff from hell, so I need to channel my favorite shark in order to get people to fear me.” She sips at her cocoa and we are both silent for a while, submerged in our own problems. “Listen Bailey,” she says finally. “Would you like to be my roommate again? I could use a hand with the rent, and you need a place to stay.”
“Are you sure?” Piper had just inherited her restaurant when Trevor had asked me to move in, and it seemed like we were both getting what we wanted. I was living my fairy tale, and Piper was getting some space. Five months later, it seems that we are both back to square one. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to offer. I can find something else…”
“The money will help,” she admits, refusing to meet my eyes. “Business isn’t good.”
Piper’s situation is very strange. Her eccentric aunt left her a restaurant in her will, but she only inherits it free and clear if she can make the place survive for three years. But the place is run down, and the staff is surly and unprofessional. In New York’s hyper-competitive restaurant market, it’s a recipe for disaster.
I don’t know what to say, so I keep it simple. Piper doesn’t like to get mushy anyway. “That sucks ass.”
She smiles wanly. “Look at us,” she mocks. “The Tragic Two.” She shakes her head. “You know what we need? A drink, something stronger than hot chocolate. We need to celebrate that you finally left Trevor, and I need to remember that life could be so much worse. I have friends and I have my health.”
Things must be worse than I think at the restaurant if Piper needs cheering up. “Let’s do it. I’d get up and help you, but…”
“We don’t want to annoy Jasper.” She gazes fondly at her cat, before she goes into her kitchen and comes out with a bottle of red wine. I take the glass she hands me without displacing the purring bundle of fur on my lap.
“You know he had the nerve to imply I’d come crawling back?”
“He did what?” Piper’s voice rises in anger. “I don’t know why you put up with him for as long as you did. You deserve to be with someone who is kind to you, Bailey. Who thinks the sun rises because of you, and who sees stars when they look in your eyes.”
Piper has a poetic, romantic streak in her that even New York can't kill. I sip at my wine and think about her words. Why did I stay with Trevor once he revealed his true colors? “I guess part of me,” I answer slowly, “was hoping that he was just going through a rough patch. I thought it was because we’d just moved in together, and that can be stressful.”
“You made too many allowances for him.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Jasper purrs in satisfaction as I pet him, and his warm body is very therapeutic. Some company will make a fortune one day by packaging up kittens and wine as part of a gift basket for women that have just broken up with their boyfriends. “I think part of me was preparing for the break up. I mean, I applied to go work in Argentina for six months. Surely that was a sign.”
She shrugs. “Normal healthy relationships can survive a six month absence.”
I’m still thinking about why I stayed with Trevor. “Dating is hard in New York,” I muse. “It seems like there are two women to every guy. And I’m not skinny. Guys prefer women who look like models.”
Piper rolls her eyes. “Two failed relationships does not qualify you to talk about what guys prefer. If all guys wanted skinny blonde women, I wouldn’t be sitting here on Friday night with my cat and my best friend for company.”
We sit in the living room for a long time, listening to the street noise outside. People walk about, partying and celebrating, and I feel removed from it all. Finally, Piper yawns. “Bed?” she asks. “My mom always used to tell me that everything looks better after a good night’s sleep.”
“Bed,” I agree. Nothing has gone according to plan today but I’m too tired and too numb to figure out what to do. I dislodge Jasper from my lap, enduring his indignant yowl as punishment. I brush my teeth, using the dentist-issued toothbrush that resides in my travel bag, since my electric one is still at Trevor’s place. I’m asleep the instant my head hits the pillow, and though I don't expect it, I sleep deeply and without dreams.
Though we call ourselves the Thursday Night Drinking Pack, we’ve recently taken to hanging out on Monday nights, because Piper is too busy running a restaurant to drink on a Thursday with he
r girlfriends.
When I get back to Piper’s apartment after work Monday night, Katie, Gabby and Wendy are crammed together in the small living room, and Jasper’s purring happily on Katie’s lap. Traitor. “The time for an intervention has passed,” I quip. “I left him.”
A bottle of rum, several cans of Coke, and a tray heaped with sandwiches jostle for room on the coffee table. Gabby must have brought the food. She’s told me that her mother’s response to every crisis is a plate filled with egg salad sandwiches. It’s a habit that’s stuck.
“This isn’t an intervention,” Gabby retorts, handing me a rum and coke. “This is a celebration. Since you’ve ended things with him and I don’t have to bite my tongue anymore, can I tell you how much I hated Trevor?”
“Fuck yes,” Piper agrees from her spot on the floor. Her words are slightly slurred. “Patronizing asshole.” She holds up a FedEx envelope to me. “This came for you, by the way.”
I frown at it. I’m not expecting anything. “Was he really that bad?” I ask as I rip the package open.
“Yes,” they all answer in unison, but I’m not looking at them. I’m reading the letter that was in the envelope, and I’m starting to see red. Blood red.
“Bailey?” Katie asks me. “Is everything alright?”
“No.” I take a big gulp of the drink in my hand. “You guys, listen to this.” I wave the sheet of paper at them. “This is from Trevor’s lawyer. The fucker’s demanding that I pay ninety days of rent, since I didn’t give him adequate notice before moving out.”
“What the…” Gabby exclaims.
“He can’t do that, can he?” Piper cuts in. “That’s not fair.”
We all turn toward Wendy. She’s a divorce lawyer, and while rents and tenancy aren’t really her area of expertise, she’ll know more than any of us.
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 3
