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What else needed to be said?
Chapter Twenty-Three
SHANIA
I was totally shocked—as shocked as the first time it’d happened.
Maybe even more.
“You’re telling me there’s no way,” I said. “No way to rent me the spot.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Simms,” came the dispassionate, almost bored voice of the woman on the other line. “It’s not possible right now.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “I’ve got the money for rent, and I’m ready to move my business in right away.”
“I understand that, and appreciate it,” she said. “But we’re looking for a different sort of tenant for that particular storefront, preferably someone with a little more history running a successful business.”
“But I can pay for the year up front,” I said. “What difference does it make if my business fails if you have the money?”
“A year’s a year,” she said. “And there are clients looking to rent that spot for even longer—clients who are already running profitable businesses and looking to expand. Surely you can appreciate why we’d prefer to work with a client of that nature.”
I let out a long, frustrated sigh.
“Might I suggest you look outside of the immediate Los Angeles area?” she asked. “I know of some great places in East LA that might be a little more…suitable for what you’re looking for.”
“No thank you,” I said. “But thanks for the suggestion.”
“Very well, Miss Simms. Now, if there’s anything else—”
“There’s nothing I can do?” I asked. “What if I paid extra, what if…”
I trailed off, realizing how ridiculous I sounded. Paying extra? Why the hell would I do a thing like that? Not to mention the money was a loan, not like Sean had opened his piggy bank and let me plunder whatever I wanted.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But at the moment, there’s nothing we can do. Good luck, Miss Simms.”
Dejected, I thanked her and hung up. What else could I do? Scream at the woman until she approved the lease?
Before I had a chance to do anything else, my phone buzzed in my hand—a text from Sean.
“How goes the store hunt?”
I paced back and forth in my tiny apartment, the early evening light breaking in through the cracks in the blinds. I almost didn’t want to break the news. I mean, how many times could I tell him I’d been rejected for a place before he started to wonder if he’d made a dumb decision in backing me on this?
“Just got off the phone,” I typed. “Same story.”
His reply was almost instant. “This is starting to get weird…I’m about to head to Dinosaur Coffee to grab something. Meet me there?”
As soon as I fired off the text, a knot formed in my gut. What if this had been the last straw, and he was taking this as a sign that me doing this thing wasn’t a good use of his time or money?
God knows I was starting to feel that way.
Nothing else to do, though. I grabbed my keys and headed out, and minutes later I was there at Dinosaur Coffee. Sean was already waiting for me, concern in his eyes.
“I got you the drip with a little cream and sugar,” he said. “How you like.”
I offered a smile in spite of myself—the man remembered the small things.
I sat down, and he regarded me for a long moment.
“So,” he said finally. “What’s the deal? You’re not showing up to these meetings with the property owners in your pajama pants, are you?” He smiled, and as always it put me at ease.
“No,” I said. “As comfy as that sounds.”
“What’d this one say?” he asked.
“Just a spin on the now-usual spiel—going with other clients, not wanting to rent to someone who has no record of business, competitive spaces, yadda yadda.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What difference does it make if you can pay up front?”
“That’s what I said!” I said it loud enough to attract some attention from the tables nearby. “What do they care?”
“This is weird,” he said. “Really weird. Stores don’t care as long as you can pay. Hell, I had a friend in one of the bands who toured with me blow his merch money on a freaking gummy bear shop in Silver Lake. He showed up with the money, signed the contract, and he had it.”
“And what happened?” I asked. “Did it go out of business?”
“You know of a gummy bear shop in Silver Lake?” he asked.
“Ah,” I said.
“Turns out when you’re a stoner it’s not a good idea to open a shop that specializes in candy. A habit like that ends up eating into the profit margins—literally.”
“Then what the hell is wrong with me?” I asked. “I’ve got years of experience, money to rent, and I’ve sure as hell got a more solid business plan than a stoner opening a gummy bear shop.”
