My throat tightened with emotion.
"You do not want to be more like me," he said dryly. "I've spent my entire adult life playing it safe, coloring within the lines, planning, and using structure to guide my every step. All to minimize risk. What do I have to show for it? Sure, I have a successful career, but maybe if I had taken more risks, I could be farther along, in a higher position. My marriage failed, and my son forced me to take dance lessons because I'm so stiff and rigid."
I touched his knee. "You're being too hard on yourself."
"And so are you." His hand covered mine, threading his fingers between my fingers. "I know we're different, but being different doesn't mean one of us is right and the other is wrong. We can balance each other out."
"Is that what we're doing? Balancing each other?" I held my breath as I waited for his answer, fully aware I was asking about more than the work on the computer.
"I believe so. If you'll let me," he replied quietly.
I examined our intertwined fingers—his large and pale, mine smaller, dark, and decorated with rings. We were different in so many ways, yet we fit together.
He squeezed my fingers and lifted the back of my hand to his lips. "You're going to be fine. I'm going to do everything I can to make sure of it, starting with this excellent PowerPoint presentation." He smiled.
I smiled back. "If Ochoa doesn't like it, I'll be fine," I said, my confidence slowly returning.
"Exactly. Now, I have another idea..."
We spent the next thirty minutes discussing lease terms and current turnover costs and all kinds of things I had never considered or heard about.
I valued Jamison's suggestions.
I trusted him.
Not only with this business presentation but with my heart. Going with the flow had seen me through some tough periods in my life, but I was starting to see the value in stopping, thinking, and using a measured approach.
Jamison made me realize I was hanging onto some of the negative comments my ex-husband had made in the past. His assessment had lingered in the back of my mind, but Jamison's comments helped me see my strengths were as valuable as anyone else's.
I sat back in the chair, enjoying the simple pleasure of watching him work. He was loving this, and I loved this feeling of being part of a team for the first time in a long time. This feeling of not having to figure out everything alone.
Maybe a rigid tightwad wasn't so bad after all. As long as his name was Jamison Harris.
Chapter 26
Jamison
Too flighty. Too idealistic.
I couldn't believe Tallulah's ex-husband actually said those words to her. What an idiot.
Pissed me off watching her doubt herself because of him. She was confident in other areas of her life: running the center, sharing her herbal knowledge to help clients—and non-clients like me—and raising her daughter. Yet the possibility of losing Simply Well had caused her confidence to crumble, making me want to find her ex and have a man-to-man talk about the lasting damage of his careless words.
More than ever, I wanted to make damn sure she won over Ochoa.
I glanced at the spreadsheet on the second monitor. "I think we're done here. We covered the benefits of long-term leases, stable tenants, et cetera..." My voice faded as I clicked a tab to look at other numbers. "We've done a good job of showing the financial benefits Freedom Capital Real Estate gains from keeping the current roster of tenants."
Tallulah pulled her chair closer to see the spreadsheet better, and I caught a whiff of her.
I focused on the numbers instead of her closeness. "When you talk to him, spend time on this slide, drilling home the point that when a tenant leaves, they don't only lose rent during a vacancy period. Potentially, this is what it could cost them."
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"Sometimes more, depending on the space and the market," I added.
Tallulah was quiet for a moment. "I understand what the landlord has to lose, but what if we offered an incentive to keep us? Something extra to make the whole plaza more valuable."
I sat back. "I'm listening."
