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He holds my gaze and then goes for the jugular. “You know, you really oughta think about living it up, Parker. Enjoy being single for a while.”
Even slightly inebriated, he’s a good enough salesman to refer to me by my surname, just as I’d done with him, to breed familiarity. “No thanks.”
He rattles the ice in his glass. “Why not? You could be fun if you worked at it, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think,” I tell him and leave it at that. My business is only his business where this project is concerned.
He nods toward the woman at the bar. “I bet she thinks so.”
“I’m not interested in what she thinks.”
“Come on, now. Don’t be a poor sport.”
“I am, however, interested in what you think about this,” I say, my pointer finger on the contract. It’s resting on line fifty-six, specifically. An intentional shift of focus. You can bet he’s billing me for this hour, and I don’t intend to spend it on meaningless chitchat.
The man on piano catches my attention. He’s begun playing a song I don’t recognize. I bought the apartment twenty-eight floors up specifically because of this restaurant. Because of that piano. Because it’s quiet in here for a place so crowded.
“You really like this place, Parker, no?” He’s good at reading people, Nath
an is. It’s his job.
I nod.
He keeps talking. “It reminds me of the bar in the 80s sitcom Cheers, only fancier. Right?”
I don’t answer. No one here knows anyone’s name. Not really.
“Elliot?”
Talking. Always talking. That’s Nathan Foster for you.
When I look over he’s squinting at the contract. “I think it’s fine,” he concludes. He leans forward so much that the tip of his nose is very nearly touching the paperwork. The restaurant is dimly lit, but still, he’s overdoing it. “Given their new offer, I think a few concessions are to be expected.”
I focus hard on the melody. “I see.”
I don’t see. No one in his or her right mind would sign an agreement giving away that much control.
My attorney shuffles in his seat. “But, hey, if you want me to speak with their counsel, I will.”
“I think that would be a good idea. It’s a gray area, for sure…”
“Every businessman likes gray areas, Parker.”
“I’m not a businessman. I’m a chemist.”
“And you’re about to be a very rich one, at that.”
Nathan catches the blonde’s eye. I clear my throat, and she crosses my mind—not the girl at the bar, but the reason for this meeting, the one that’s behind nearly everything I do. It’s funny the way it happens randomly. I like to think it’s a sign. She’s thinking of me too.
“It’s my formula,” I say to Nathan. “If I’m going to sell it, and I’m not sure I am—because of line fifty-six—then I’m going to make damn sure the deal is in my favor.”
He points to the dollar amount listed on the contract. “If that’s not favor…I don’t know what is.”
No one takes proper meetings these days. Business is no longer handled in the boardroom, or in the office where it should be. Everything now is supposed to be social. Dinner, drinks, golf. It’s all the same to me. That is to say, boring. But according to my attorney, this is how it works.
So, when Nathan texts and asks if he can run up to my apartment after our dinner meeting has concluded, after he’s made the call, after he’s spoken with the other side’s counsel, I don’t think much of it. I’m too interested in what they had to say.
He shouldn’t combine business and alcohol, and if he fucks this up, we’re done.
