Page 63 of Neap & Spring

“The full picture is ugly,” he says quietly.

“I know. But we don’t have time to make it pretty. We just need to make it presentable.”

He holds my gaze for another second longer, then nods before moving to the filing cabinet. He yanks open the drawer and pulls out a folder that’s noticeably thicker than the others.

“Current profit and loss statement of the last three months.” He hands it to me, his fingers slowly letting go. “It’s bad.”

I flip it open and scan the numbers.

He’s right. It’s bad.

Revenue is steady but not growing. Expenses are climbing. Food costs up, labor costs up, utilities up. The loan payments are massive, eating up almost fifty percent of gross revenue. There’s barely anything left over.

“How are you surviving?” I whisper, not looking up from the pages.

“I’m not.” His voice is flat. “I’ve been paying myself last. Sometimes not at all. I used my personal savings to cover payroll twice in the last three months.”

My head snaps up. “Callum.”

“I know! I know. But what was I supposed to do? Let my staff go unpaid?” He drags a hand through his hair. “I’ve got maybe two more months before I’m completely tapped out. After that, I don’t know.”

I close the folder. “Okay. We’re going to fix this.”

“In ninety minutes?”

“We’re going to present a plan that buys us more time to fix this.” I’m already moving toward the door. “I need my laptop. You need to print out your current financials. Clean copies, nothing handwritten. Can you do that?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Meet me at my table in five minutes. Bring coffee.”

“Vivienne —”

I pause at the door, hand on the handle, and look back at him.

He looks exhausted and scared, even though he’s trying to hide it. He looks like a man who’s been drowning for so long he’s forgotten what it feels like to breathe.

“We can do this,” I declare. “Trust me on this, please.”

He takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay.”

I push out of the office and back into the kitchen. Roman looks up from his station, eyebrows raised in question, but I just shake my head.

I’m already running through the presentation in my head. What to emphasize and what to downplay. How to frame the problems as opportunities. And how to make three finance bros believe that this restaurant, this beautiful, struggling, deeply in-debt restaurant, is worth saving.

I grab my laptop and my notebook full of observations from my table.

Callum appears a minute later with two cups of coffee — mine made exactly right, his black — and a manila folder stuffed with papers.

“Financials,” he states, setting everything down.

“Good.” I’m already opening my laptop and pulling up spreadsheets. “Okay. Social media strategy first. I’m thinking we position it as low-cost, high-impact. Maybe two hundred dollars a month for a student photographer from the local college to come in once a week and take professional shots of the food. Frannie can manage the actual posting. She’s been dying to do it anyway.”

Callum sits down across from me, pulling the folder open. “Two hundred a month. Okay. I can do that.”

“Website redesign. I have a contact who does restaurant websites. He owes me a favor. I can probably get it done for five thousand, maybe less.”

“Five thousand.” Callum winces but writes it down.