Mandy leans back in her chair and sips her Chardonnay. “Well, if we copy Annabella’s pricing, we’ll be fine.”
“But … we want to use more expensive products,” Holly says quietly. “Can we do that and still match their prices?”
“We’ll figure it out!” Mandy says breezily, waving the waiter over for another glass.
“Copying another business without a unique valueproposition is a race to the bottom.” I glance at Becca’s notes in the margin. Mandy snorts.
“Let me guess,” she says, eyes flicking to the book. “Becca wrote that?”
I look up sharply. “Yeah. She knows her shit.”
“Oh, I’m sure she does,” Mandy replies sweetly. “She seems like the type who … loves plans.”
She doesn't mean it as a compliment. I’m about to say something when Rick leans over with a low laugh. “Careful, Sammy. You keep quoting her like scripture and she’s gonna charge you consulting fees.” He grins. "Planning is good. Needed often. But you have to know when you should plan and when you should take action. Opportunity waits for no one."
I swallow hard, his words hitting a raw nerve I didn’t know was showing. If I would have brought her on as a consultant maybe this meeting would have gone smoother. Rick must read that on my face.
“Guys like us,” he adds, swirling his bourbon, “we don’t wait for permission. We take risks. Build things with our name on the door.”
The rest of the lunch is a fiasco. Big ideas are tossed around like confetti, but not a single concrete, actionable plan lands on the table. Until Rick drops a contract in front of us like a mic.
“Just boilerplate,” he says with a grin. “We’re all partners—different percentages, of course. This baby’s gonna take off. Think: fancy lunches and bottle service for years.”
“Or,” I say flatly, “maybe years of late nights and weekends grinding to turn a profit.”
They barely hear me. Mandy is already reaching for a pen. Holly, wide-eyed and eager, follows suit.
I slap my hand over Holly’s copy.
“We’re not signing anything until a lawyer looks this over.”
Rick’s grin tightens. “Sure, sure. Gotta make sure Daddy approves, right?” he taunts.
I don’t rise to the bait. Before my fight with Becca and her advice on not signing a contract, I would have let that comment needle me. Now, I only nod, calm on the outside, fury boiling underneath.
On the drive home, my frustration curdles into something deeper, regret maybe. Whatever it is, it isn't going away. I pull into the garage and stare into the dark cab of my truck.
Then I head to the shop behind the house where my heavy bag hangs. I crank the volume on the speakers and go at it hard, round after round. But the more I hit, the worse it gets. No release, only a mounting pressure that won’t quit.
“HEY!”
I turn, startled. Phoenix is standing in the doorway, leather tote slung across her shoulder.
“Sorry,” she says, raising a hand. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Music was a little … aggressive.”
“Yeah, sorry. You need something? Becca isn't here.”
She steps forward, pulling out a manila folder. “I know. These are from Becca.”
My stomach drops. For a second, I can’t breathe. I remember what Phi does for a living. Attorney.
“Are these …?” She must read my question on my face.
“No,” she cuts in. “Not divorce papers. A postnuptial agreement.”
I exhale hard, then frown. “A what?”
“It’s like a prenup, only after marriage. It protects each party in case of separation of assets. Common with businesses, investments, and property."
