I look forward to your response.
Sincerely Yours,
Jorge
“Anne.”
I look up from my computer to find my father looming in my doorway. He states my name as though he’s not interrupting me. He’d never consider asking if I was in the middle of something. Time stops when Gunter Schlossberg demands your attention.
Without shifting my gaze, I click on the browser tab and close the email.
“Ja, Papa.”
He walks to my desk and crosses his arms as we continue in German.
“Have you spoken to Enrique or Matáis?”
“No. I just received an email from the youngerHerrDiaz.”
“We’re not dealing with someone who storms out in a tantrum. We will only communicate with Enrique or Matáis.”
Now I’m annoyed.
First, Jorge insists I be the only point of contact. Now my father insists I only communicate with Jorge’s uncles. I’ll talk to whoever the fuck I want to.
Who’s having the tantrum?
“Papa, the youngerHerrDiaz agreed to consider working with us again. However, it’s at a lower commission.”
“Lower than one percent?”
“Yes, but not below what’s standard. He’ll agree to half a percent.”
“Ridiculous. And I suppose he wants fifteen percent for the profit share.”
Did he read my email?
It wouldn’t surprise me if my father commanded IT to route all emails to him before going to employees.
“It could be worse. He could’ve suggested ten.”
My father’s left eye narrows. He doesn’t care for my forced pleasant optimism. We both know it doesn’t come naturally.
“No. We aren’t some non-profit charity. We run a business to make money. There will be other clients. Unless you hear those terms from Enrique or Matáis, I refuse.”
I curl my toes in my shoes since I can’t curl my fingers into fists without him seeing. He tries my patience on the best of days.
“Papa, even with the deal changing and the percentages lowering, we stand to make more this quarter than we have in the last three. This is too good a deal to pass up. We’re fortunate the Diazes are even considering returning to the table. They could tell everyone in the finance world what happened. They could blackball us, making it so no one trusts us. No one hires us. Then where would we be?”
“You catastrophize.”
I lean back in my seat and stare at him for a moment before cocking an eyebrow.
“You look likeMuttiwhen you do that.”
He should know. My mother’s been giving him this look for nearly forty years. My father blusters while my mother conveys everything with a single expression.
“Fine.” He concedes and unfolds his arms but shakes his head.
