“Listen, they’re wasting money on rent and shitty buildout,” I said on speaker phone to one of the guys who worked for me. “I need you to go to New York and put pressure on the landlord. Either get us out of the lease or renegotiate, the latter being better. It’s a good location, but we need a better interior and ventilation. Then we need a great manager. Yes, it’s all about the chef, but he’s not a business manager, and he’s running it into the ground.”
“Sounds good,” Bradley said, tapping away at his laptop in the background. He was probably already pulling up reviews of managers we could hire away.
“Hole up at the Soho Club,” I told him. “I’m sure you’ll hear your fair share of trade gossip while you’re there. Call me when you have some solid leads.”
Bottom line, I couldn’t say no to Jamie, but I also didn’t have time to mess with this right now. I was busy assembling new management in my latest acquisition, and thinking about taking an outdoor strip mall for a steal ... in Florida.
My phone dinged as I walked along the windows in my office, and my assistant walked in with a garment bag.
“For tomorrow. You have the awards dinner at the Fairmont. Cocktails at seven. Dinner at eight.”
I nodded, dismissing him. I wanted to go as much as I’d like to go for a dental cleaning. I hated social events.
Looking at my phone, I saw Margo’s text response.
You beat me to the thanks. It was really fun and THANK YOU.
I quickly responded.
All caps. You must’ve had a really good time.
Done with texting, I picked up the phone like the no-nonsense man I was ... a self-professed tough guy.
“Margo,” I said on a sigh when she answered. “How are you?” I asked, noting I hadn’t asked if I could call. I didn’t give a fuck anymore, but I should because it could blow back on her.
“I’m good. Finishing up a coffee and making notes on ideas for upcoming articles.”
“Sounds productive,” I said, leaning back in my desk chair.
“I want to have some pitches ready to go, you know? So I can make some money.”
“Ah, good plan,” I said. She was thinking about getting out, which wasn’t only good for me, but mainly for her.
“Thanks.” Her tone lowered as she said it, and I could tell she was rethinking her words.
“It’s great that you’re thinking ahead,” I said, and I meant it. It was something my mom didn’t do, and I wished she had. “I’d love to see you again,” I blurted, and I also meant that.
The line was quiet for a beat before Margo said, “Me too.”
“I know it’s a lot of negotiating, finding time and space for you to make it work.”
“Maybe tomorrow? If it’s not too soon ...”
“Never,” I said, not mentioning the black tie event I was scheduled for.Fuck it.
“I can text you.”
I wasn’t going to argue. “Perfect,” I told her. “I’ll let you go now.”
“Thanks,” she said before disconnecting.
I didn’t know what Margo was thanking me for—the night before, the call, or letting her go. I decided it was the former two and went back to work.
Margo’s text came in the next day just before three o’clock.
I’m free around 7:30.
Elbow deep in hearing about some restaurant manager I absolutely had to steal from a competitor, I told Bradley, “One sec,” and picked up my phone.
