Five minutes later
Three guys walk into the café. I'm not totally sure if they're our guys. They look younger than I expected.
Not baby young, but not "I run an empire and yell on the phone all day" old either.
Maybe mid-thirties. Old enough to have back pain, young enough to still be annoying. They're dressed like they just came back from a beach party.
Except for one of them. One of them already scares the shit out of me. He's got that vibe. He looks like a cult leader.
I swallow hard. Lorenzo leans in, squinting. "Is that them?" he lowers his voice. "Jesus. The one on the right looks like he owns a boat and a cult."
Gio doesn't even look at him. "Shut the fuck up, Lorenzo."
I step in quickly before Lorenzo can escalate it.
"Good morning. Welcome. Thanks for meeting us up here." They all smile. One of them claps Gio on the shoulder. "Figured it was time for a setting with some air, right?" says the older guy.
"No more stiff, soulless conference rooms. Let's talk like people."
Lorenzo mutters, "Yeah, God forbid we be professional," and Gio elbows him under the table.
We start with some basic stuff about our hotels.
Obviously Lorenzo is lost. Gio is the one carrying the whole thing, again.
I don't get how he hates this job so much but somehow knows everything and is up to date on every detail.
I swear he's lying. Deep down he probably likes it and just doesn't want to admit it. Everything is going fine until one of the guys asks something about his dad, not knowing that he's not alive anymore.
From that moment, Gio's mood doesn't exactly crash, but it's like someone turns his volume down. He talks less. His answers get shorter.
I feel awful. Luckily, he snaps out of it pretty fast once the men start rambling non-stop about business again.
It took them two whole hours to decide if we're good enough to work with. Two hours.
At some point I genuinely wanted to get up, shake all their hands, saythank you, but at this point I don't even know if it's worth it,and leave.
They went over the same points three times. Asked questions Gio had already answered.
Cross-checked things they could've checked in an email. Half of it was just them hearing themselves talk. But in the end, I think we pulled it off.
They really like us.
"You," he says, nodding. "You're sharp. I like how your mind works."
I smile, a little startled but grateful. "Thanks. I like how your budget works, so I'd say we're even."
They laugh. Gio leans back in his chair. "Don't let him fool you, sir," he says, smirking. "He looks smart, but he once emailed a client an attachment called 'Final FINAL please use THIS ONE.pdf.'"
I roll my eyes. "You used that file, though."
"Because I was scared to open any of the other ten."
The older guy turns to Gio. "You, Giovanni... you remind me of my daughter's type. She's always showing me random guys on the street with tattoos, big arms, black hair, and going, 'Dad, get me one of those for Christmas.'"
All three of them burst out laughing.
We don't. We look absolutely terrified. There's no way he just said that so casually.
