“Coffee please,” I said, perching on one of the stools. “And a menu.”
She grabbed a thick ceramic mug from under the counter and filled it from the industrial pot behind her. When she set it down in front of me with a little metal pitcher of cream and a container of sugar packets, I glanced up at her, expecting the menu next. She winked at me and thumbed over her shoulder in the direction of a giant chalkboard with the menu on it. “You’re the one staying over the Bee Tee Dub, right?”
I blinked at her. How the hell could she know that? “Uh, yeah. Well, I was, but apparently there’s been a mix-up and I’ll have to stay over at the Sea Sprite.”
Her face softened. “Ah, no worries. Sawyer will fix you right up. That man’s a sweetheart. Shame about losing his grandparents after already losing his parents as a teen. They were good people. Hell, the whole Gilley clan is good people. But you probably didn’t come here for Precious’s lunchtime opinions, did you? You know what you want to order yet?”
I ordered the patty melt special and tried not to think about Sawyer losing his parents. I’d learned from my research that David and Annette Gilley had died in a sailing accident when Sawyer was in high school. I couldn’t even bear to think about how devastated he’d been, especially if they were good people the way the waitress had claimed.
To distract myself from thoughts of Sawyer, I began scrolling through my phone to check email. There were texts from Richard that I ignored as per usual, and there was a text from my father’s new wife which I also ignored per usual. Everyone wanted something from me. With Richard, it was a second chance, or so he claimed. Richard regularly said he wanted to get back together, but Richard said a lot of things. Like the time he promised he totally wanted to get married. And have kids. And move out to the suburbs. Someday. And hell, maybe that was true, but with Richard, “someday” wasn’t anytime soon, and I’d grown tired of waiting. It had taken me way too long to realize that Richard’s promises weren’t worth shit.
With Dell, it was always money. I had it and they didn’t. Even though my father had never spared an ounce of love for me in his hate-filled life, he still somehow managed to expect me to share the wealth since I’d found financial success as an attorney. As if he was the one who’d worked two jobs to pay for state college and busted his ass to graduate near the top of his class at Yale Law School.
I deleted my way through the messages until I came across one that actually mattered. It was from Greg Gilley.
Greg: Thank you for taking the time to meet with us this morning and for your offer. I won’t beat around the bush, we both know that it’s a generous offer, but we also both know that there’s more at stake here than just financial gain. The Sea Sprite has been in our family for generations, and making the decision to let it go isn’t easy. It would be in all of our best interests if you give us a little more time to get back to you with a formal acceptance — say three business days to respond rather than one? I’m sure you’ll find that it will make the entire process run much more smoothly with all of us on board. Thanks and cheers, Greg Gilley.
I sat for a moment, tapping my fingers against the old Formica counter and considering his request. If I’d wanted to, I could have been a hard-ass and stuck to my original offer. Perhaps if this were a different deal I might have. Certainly that’s what my client would prefer. Except that I could read between the lines, and I knew that what Greg was really asking was time to let the reality of the situation sink in with Sawyer.
Giving the Gilleys more time to respond would mean giving Sawyer more time to convince them to change their minds, which was a definite risk to agreeing to the extension. But, I reasoned, what was the likelihood of that? It was pretty clear from Greg’s text that they intended to accept but just needed time to convince Sawyer. And he had a point that having all four owners on board would make the process run more smoothly. Arguably, that was a point in my client’s interest. That was enough for me to convince myself I wasn’t just letting personal emotions cloud my judgment.
This was business. In the grand scheme of things, three days wouldn’t make much of a difference and might make the process easier in the long run. I typed up a quick response, agreeing to a three-day extension, and hit Send.
Within seconds my phone vibrated with an incoming text. I expected it to be Greg, but instead the screen flashed with Dick Sr.’s name. For a brief moment I felt like a kid who’d just been caught trying to sneak out, as if Dick Sr. was somehow privy to my texts, had seen me grant the extension, and was now about to punish me for being too soft in my negotiations.
I shook my head, reminding myself that I was an adult, I was good at my job, and Dick Sr. was my client, not my father. When it came to negotiating deals, I got to decide the best approach. That’s why he’d hired me.
I swiped open his text.
Dick: Let me know when you’ve gotten the handshake.
He was the kind of man who did business at the club and on the golf course. To him, a gentleman’s agreement was worth something. Not to me. I didn’t plan on telling him we had an agreement until the papers were signed and notarized. Until then, I’d give him the facts as I knew them.
James: They were impressed with the offer. Looks good so far. Should only be a couple more days.
I held my breath, waiting for an irritated response that he wanted it done sooner. But a few minutes ticked by without my phone buzzing which meant he was fine with the timeline or he’d gotten distracted by something else. Either one was fine with me.
I saw the server headed toward me with a plate of food, and I set my phone aside. “Here you go, doll,” she said with a wink. I couldn’t decide if she was being intentionally folksy or if that was her normal way. I shot her an appreciative smile and dug in. The food was good enough to explain how the place had stayed in business so long. By the time I’d cleaned my plate, I felt the onset of a food coma and decided to indulge in a little time at the beach while I tried to figure out where I was going to stay tonight.
I paid the bill, then popped over to the pharmacy side of the store to pick up a few supplies. Armed with a bottle of water, sunscreen, a shockingly pink towel, and an even more shockingly pink pair of swim trunks, I made my way to the car and back to the Sea Sprite.
I parked in the farthest spot away from the lobby entrance and shimmied out of my pants and into the swim trunks before making my way down to the beach. As I settled onto my towel and peeled off my shirt, the sun warmed my skin in a way I hadn’t felt in at least a year. Richard and I had spent a long weekend at Fire Island last summer, but he’d guilted me into staying up late drinking with friends which meant we’d spent most of the sunshine hours sleeping it off. It felt so good to lie back and spread my toes out in the warm sand, I idly wondered why I let so much time pass between vacations. Somehow it was too easy to bury my head in work and forget there were other pleasures in life worth taking time to indulge.
After about twenty minutes, I couldn’t ignore the buzzing of my phone any longer and rolled over to check it in case there was an important message from Dick.
The most recent text was from Oscar.