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A server passes, and Lauren waves her over. Soon, fresh champagne fills our glasses and enough desserts to feed twice as many people cover the table. By the end of the night, we’re sharing bites, stealing each other’s drinks, and laughing loud enough to earn looks from the next booth.

13

ERIC

I’ve been at the office since six this morning, and the day has already gone to hell. The reopening of our Chicago hotel has been pushed back three weeks, a property owner in Boston is threatening to walk away from a deal we’ve spent six months negotiating, and two board members want an update on Hartwell Boulevard before I’ve finished my second coffee.

Now I’m sitting in a meeting room with Simon, three engineers, two project managers, Tom, and enough paper to cover the entire table. The original hotel plans are spread out in front of me, with the revised design beside them.

It’s almost the same as the rough version Simon sent me last week. Several days of engineering work, cost reports, and highly paid people staring at drawings have failed to produce a miracle.

Simon points to the eastern edge of the revised plan. “We can build our own service lane here, but we’ll lose a large part of the ground floor.”

I lean over the table for a closer look. The new lane would run beside the Hartwell’s, giving us two strips of asphalt side by side. The design works.

I still hate it.

“Construction costs will increase by three million,” Simon says. “We’re also looking at a delay of at least nine weeks.”

I look up. “Nine weeks for a strip of asphalt?”

One of the engineers clears his throat. “It isn’t only the lane. We need to move drainage and utility lines, change the loading area…redo the ground-floor engineering.”

I rub the spot between my eyebrows.

“Will the city approve the revised design?”

“We don’t expect any problems,” Simon says. “It meets all the requirements.” He rests his hands on the table and waits for my decision. “Do you want us to move ahead?”

I study the two plans again. “I don’t know.”

Tom closes the cost report in front of him. “Well, this is historic.”

I look across the table. “What is?”

“Mr. Decision has spent days staring at plans and still can’t make a decision.”

Several people around the table suddenly become very interested in their laptops.

“I don’t call myself Mr. Decision.”

“No. Other people do because you usually decide before they’ve finished explaining the problem.” Tom leans back in his chair. “What’s holding you up?”

“I was trying to get access to the Hartwell’s service lane. So far, I haven’t been successful.”

“No, you certainly haven’t.”

“Thank you for that useful contribution.”

He smiles. “Anytime.”

I look down at the plans again. He’s right. I’ve delayed this decision even though there isn’t much left to decide. The revised hotel will still make money, and it’ll still be one of the best in Alton Hills. But it isn’t the hotel I promised the board, and I don’t like giving up the original design.

Wanting it doesn’t change the facts. Rachel isn’t holding out for more money. If she were, we would’ve settled this by now. She believes sharing the lane could harm the Hartwell, and she won’t risk her hotel to improve mine.

I wouldn’t either.

I sit back and look at Simon. “Approve the revised plans.”