“Maybe more than a quiz,” he admitted. “It might require a demonstration. A detailed one.”
“Good news.” She smiled and took his hand. “Turns out I’m an excellent student.”
“You’ll need to be.” He walked her leisurely to the car. “These mating habits I have in mind qualify as advanced study.”
Her lips twitched. “This could take some time.”
It could indeed, Izzy. It could take the rest of our lives.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Look Ms. Marcano—Isabelle—I appreciate that this is a big deal for your client, but you and I both know that in the grand scheme of things, this transaction is minor, straightforward and, to be blunt, extremely favorable to him in a number of key areas. I’m sure both of us have more important matters to focus on. The sooner we can wrap this up, the better for everyone.”
Izzy walked through the mostly empty lobby at the inn, breathing deeply to keep a lid on her temper. Skyline’s attorney’s attempt to pressure her into accepting their accelerated timeline by positioning it as a win-win for both of them struck her as the worst sort of disrespect. While, in theory, they both aimed to bring the deal to fruition, they were not on the same side, and his neither-of-us-have-time-to-waste-on-this-negotiation was nothing but self-serving bullshit.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Davis—Gordon”—she gave his name the same patronizing inflection he’d given hers—“I don’t agree. All my clients, regardless of size, deserve my diligent efforts to ensure they fully understand the terms of the transaction. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your client to think this deal wasn’t a priority for you.” Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, she couldn’t get into a heated debate about it. Davis had called her in response to the email she’d sent first thing Monday morning, indicating they couldn’t commit to a hard and fast timeline of two weeks. He’d caught her on her way downstairs to meet Trace. She had to be careful what she said.
Gordon sputtered a bit over her reply. She ignored the bluster and took a peek out one of the street-facing lobby windows. Yesterday’s sun-streaked evening skies had been replaced by a layer of still, gray clouds as opaque as a flannel blanket. No sign of Trace yet, so she took a seat in one of the deep leather chairs positioned in clusters around the lobby and placed her messenger bag on the small table between her chair and one angled in the other direction.
“I will commit to move things forward as expediently as possible. My client doesn’t want to draw things out. However, we’re not prepared to commit to a timeline other than the amount of time necessary to understand and evaluate the terms. It takes what it takes.”
Gordon’s overly solicitous voice slithered over the line. “Isabelle, I understand what’s really going on here. I’ll let my client know my counterpart is an associate rather than a partner and explain the extra layer of approval that involves. You’re junior. When you encounter business and legal provisions you don’t grasp, you run them past the partner. We’ll have to accept the inherent inefficiency of your learning curve.”
Jesus. What a pompous, contentious bastard. She dug into her messenger bag and pulled out her HH&R water bottle. “I’m a fifth-year associate, Gordon. Hardly junior. But I leave your client’s expectations to you to manage, as they’re not my responsibility. I’ve been forthright regarding our intentions and timeline.”
“I’ll be forthright as well, then. Regarding the outstanding due diligence requests, we’d like to see the tax returns, any safety inspection reports—”
“They’re exempted from Part 139 safety certification, due to location and size.” Learning curve, her ass.
“I’m aware of that, but surely there are other safety inspections. Fire? Insurance? Speaking of which, we need certificates of insurance, and the details of any claims affecting coverage limits currently in place. We also require information concerning any notice of claims you’ve furnished to the carriers or any potential claims you have knowledge of, regardless of whether notice of same has been furnished to the carrier. My client needs to know if he’s buying trouble.”
“All of this is already on my revised list. I’ll be working on it this week.”
“Fine. Don’t expect the revised term sheet or purchase agreement until we’ve had adequate time to review and fully understand the documents you provide to us.”
With that pissy parting shot, the line went dead. Izzy sagged back in her chair, prepared to swallow a big gulp of water.
“Excuse me?”
She nearly choked. Patting her chest, she turned to the chair angled away from hers and met the inquisitive gaze of an older woman with short gray hair and direct hazel eyes. “Um, yes?”
“Sorry to startle you.” She extended a hand. “You must be Trace’s Isabelle. I’m May Hooper, attorney at law. I have an office on Main Street. Most folks around here just call me Hoop.”
“Hello.” She shook the older woman’s hand and quickly re-ran her side of the conversation with Gordon in her head. Nothing terribly revealing, thank goodness. “Most people call me Izzy. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. I was hoping I’d get the chance. I apologize for eavesdropping, but I overheard enough of your call to realize I had an attorney sitting beside me, and that could only be one person.” Pulling her mouth into a grimace, she went on, “Sorry you’re working during your vacation.”
“It comes with the territory. When the deal’s on, the deal’s on.”
“Oh, I know. Before I traded life in the lower forty-eight for a small, general law practice in Captivity, I worked those hours. For just over twenty-five years I was an energy litigation associate, and then partner, in the Los Angeles office of a large firm representing oil and gas sector clients.”
“Wow. That was quite a trade.” A couple weeks ago, she would have battled the urge to ask what possibly could have compelled the woman to give up such a high-flying and lucrative career for life in Captivity, but, strangely, now it didn’t seem so inconceivable.
Hoop laughed. “Yes. Especially since, at the time, I wasn’t aware I was looking for a change.”
Curious, and fairly certain Hoop had opened the door to her curiosity with the remark, she went ahead and asked, “What made you realize you were?”
“Love, of course.” She smiled as she said it, and her face lit up. “When I turned fifty my college girlfriends prevailed on me to join them for a milestone birthday Alaskan adventure. I figured, what the hell. Might as well see something of the state for which I’d spent the better part of a career litigating disputes over the routing of pipelines. There I was, staring down the half-century mark, married to the job, putting in twenty-five hundred billable hours a year and not taking much note of how many antacids and antidepressants I needed to do it.”