NINETEEN
Max
Don’t react. Keep a straight face. Pretend it’s any other business meeting.
I stare at the proposal and feel the specific frustration of a man who has just been lowballed on something that matters. This conference room smells like recycled air and burnt coffee, stifling and unpleasant.
The offer for the Magnolia Grand — my childhood home, my parents’ dream, the place I adored as a kid — is laughably small. Lowball would be a compliment.
I clear my throat. “Not quite what I had in mind, Richard.”
He and the other men around the table blink, expressionless. My parents have known these men for decades. Business is business, but I’d expected they’d at least cut me a fair deal on my family’s resort.
Apparently I expected too much.
“We’d hoped to offer more, but the economy’s a little soft.” He continues in a grating, nasal voice and I tune him out.
“I’ll take it under advisement with my family and our counsel.” I stand and smile, imagining Tate’s colorful response. “We’ll be in touch.”
Handshakes all around, and within five minutes I’m in the parking lot, sitting in my car, blood considerably hotter than the interior. I swear a few times while stabbing the ignition button.
My phone rings.
“Hey. How’d it go?”
Natalia. “Terrible. Lowball offer.”
She grunts. “You knew all along we’re a weird property. Historic yet quirky. Not huge but not a mom-and-pop either. It’s going to be a tough sell.”
“It's only been a couple of months. I'll work something out.”
There's silence on the line. I watch the interstate unspool ahead of me and think about my office back in New York on the forty-third floor, the clients I've spent fifteen years building relationships with, the particular rhythm of a city that never lets you rest. I've always found comfort in that rhythm.
I’ve been telling myself that all this was temporary. Told myself I'd feel like myself again the moment I landed back at JFK.
I'm not sure I believe that anymore.
“I was thinking about something, actually,” Natalia says.
“Yeah?” I’m glad to focus on something other than my in-traffic existential crisis. Plus, my sister sometimes has the wildest ideas. Also the best ones.
“I’ve had a plan all along and you haven’t taken me seriously. Why don’t you and I run the place ourselves for a while? Send Mom and Dad on that round-the-world cruise she’s always wanted. We continue the renovations, get the numbers up, sell it for what it’s actually worth. Or don’t sell it. Whatever. Tate will help. We’ll press Remy into service when he’s not on the boat.”
“I dunno.” I back out of the space. “It’s not the worst idea.”
“It’s a great idea and you know it. What else do you have in mind? Going back to your business in New York? Boring.”
“A business that’s been humming along by itself for the past several weeks while I’ve been here, and making money.”
“Exactly.” She pauses. “Think about it. You can stay — not at the resort, but maybe at Mom and Dad’s if they go on that cruise — and we work our magic. This way you don’t have to fully commit forever. Just long enough to do it right.” Another pause, and I can hear her getting ready to deploy the real ammunition. “Also, you can keep spending time with your new friend. Who I’m having lunch with tomorrow, by the way.”
The mention of Lauren brings a grin to my face before I can stop it. “Where are you taking her?”
“Probably the Haunted Hearth. She hasn’t had their chicken salad yet.”
As I accelerate onto the interstate, Natalia’s idea takes hold. I’ve got more than enough to send Mom and Dad on a cruise. I could cash out some stocks for the renovation if needed, or secure a loan. Money isn’t the problem. The question is time, and whether staying in Cypress Grove for another six months to a year is something I actually want to do.
Six months ago I’d have said absolutely not.
