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Twenty
Archer
A phone rang in Wilson’s office, and I jolted myself out of my trance. My screen had gone blank. How long had I spaced out?
I tapped into the financial report I was looking at. Malik had talked to the bank, and he and his rodeo star were ready to move. I had to admit that on paper, he and his wife seemed like good candidates. I wasn’t the one who needed to approve them, but it eased my conscience.
Mrs. Malik had said she wanted to keep it going just like it was. She and Rogers had not only grown up on a farm and ranch, but she had also gone to school for agricultural business, and she currently owned her own financial firm that catered to agricultural industries. I suspected she was the one driving the sale; she’d bring her expertise, and Rogers would add the tech side. They’d be well-rounded owners.
I checked the time. The Maliks weren’t going to arrive for another hour yet.
Fuuuuuck.
I had taken my suit coat off and loosened my tie. I’d get myself together before the couple arrived.
Briony was in Wilson’s office. The Maliks would meet here, we’d go over the specifications of the sale, answer questions, and then go out for a late lunch. Another client meal. Briony would give the impression we were a family business and add to the charm that would make the Maliks sign on with us.
It was manipulative, as Delaney had pointed out.
Mr. Truitt strode in. His large office was across from mine and Wilson’s, and he’d been in all day. The size of this sale must put him on edge. Either that or he wanted to evaluate how I handled pressure. He should know by now, but Mr. Truitt prided himself on his standards.
“Archer, a word.” He tossed some papers on the desk.
“What’s this?” I notched my tie tighter and straightened it. I read through the top sheet. My name was scattered across it, along with requirements for my job. My world slowed to a stop as the meaning behind the words unfolded. “I don’t understand.”
He waved a hand. “Oh, it’s legal mumbo jumbo. The fine print for a broker in this firm working on a deal the size of Sheridan Nine.”
We hadn’t discussed the deal. We didn’t even know if the Sheridan Nine owners would sell to the Maliks or to Mr. Hollywood.
The burn in my stomach that began when I first read the document morphed into a steady flame. Only this wasn’t anxiety. It was something stronger. More visceral.
“What exactly does the fine print say?” Did he expect me to sign without asking questions? I’d comb over the document and then find a lawyer who wasn’t associated with the Truitts before I considered getting a pen near this thing.
“It’s a noncompete clause of sorts.” He spoke as if it was nothing, but the look in his eye was all savvy businessman. A look I used to admire, but now I had the urge to smear it across the floor. “With the size of your commission, you could do a lot.”
“Like strike out on my own?”
Norville should be begging you to be partner.
I had thought it was a compliment. But Delaney had seen what I hadn’t. They hadn’t begged me. The partnership was the carrot they dangled in front of me to keep me at the agency. To keep me from brushing off my suit and hanging out my own shingle in this industry.
“Exactly. You understand, of course.”
It wasn’t the most cutthroat move I’d witnessed from him. It was his agency. He could afford expensive, knowledgeable lawyers. It gave him a lot of leeway to do what others might consider wrong.
I tapped the middle of the top sheet. “What about the part where I have to agree to stay on for three years in the Dallas office after the deal is complete?”
“Brokering a sale the size of Sheridan Nine will only increase business. We’ll be higher profile; we might even have to add staff. It makes sense to have my head guy around.”
“Especially if I’m partner.”
His expression shuttered. “Especially if you’re partner.”
I leaned my elbows on the top of my desk. “But if I’m partner, wouldn’t that negate the noncompete clause and the three-year term? I mean, my vested interest would be NT Land Agency.”
“If you’re partner, yes.”
“If,” I echoed. There it was. Manipulation. Dangling a carrot he didn’t plan to feed me. I let out a humorless laugh.
