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What I knew was that the TV was on inside. I could hear the sound of laughter and cheering filtered through a small speaker, though I couldn’t make out the exact words.
Before I could change my mind, I forced my fist against the door and knocked three times. I was about to turn around and leave when the door didn't open immediately, but I saw a shadow over the peephole. And then there was some whispering from behind the door. Someone was definitely inside.
The door eventually opened, only a crack, though, as the chain was engaged. It wasn’t Sloane on the other end, though. It was Mila, whom I’d met a few times before, but we’d never had a real conversation.
"She doesn't want to see you, Wesley."
"Okay," I said, but I'd made it all the way there. It seemed like a waste to just turn back around when I was so close. “What about you?”
She looked confused for a moment, and I clarified. “Can I talk to you?”
"You want to talk to me?" she asked.
I nodded. She looked back into the room.
“Not here,” she said. "Meet me at the coffee shop on the corner.”
“Okay.”
"I'll be there in ten minutes and, once I get there, I'll give you ten minutes to say whatever you need to.”
"Thirty," I said. This was a negotiation technique — always ask for more than what you need because the other person would try to compromise you down.
"Fifteen," Mila said and I agreed that was fine. That should be enough. Or at least I hoped it would be.
“Go there and get a table," she said. "I'll meet you."
That was a nice way of her telling me to get the hell out of her building. I didn’t want to push my luck any more than I already had, so I headed out without a word.
Naturally, it took her more than ten minutes to get there, but it didn't matter. I had nowhere else to be. An extra few minutes to wait wouldn't make a difference in the scheme of things, especially since I hadn’t figured out what I was going to say to her.
I couldn’t just say the obvious: that I loved Sloane and I wanted her back in my life and I would do anything for her. That would turn our conversation into another negotiation and one in which the other person couldn’t even give me what I wanted no matter what I offered.
There had to be a better approach.
By the time she ordered and sat down across from me, I figured it out.
"How are you doing?" I asked her.
She gave me a bland look, pulled up her wrist and tapped on her watch to remind me that we were on a ticking clock. "Cut to the chase," she said. "Say your piece. Skip the pleasantries."
That was better anyway. "Sure," I said. "I think we both know what this is about."
“You want Sloane back.”
“That’s right.”
She sighed. “You’re wasting your time talking to me, then. Sloane’s going to do what Sloane’s going to do. It doesn’t matter what I tell her.”
I waved the idea away with my hands. “I know that. I’m not here to convince you to convince her. I’m here to ask you for help.”
“Help?” she asked.
Why negotiate with someone else when we could be working on the same team?
“The way I see it,” I said, “we both want the same thing. We both want Sloane to be happy.”
There was a sly smile across Mila’s face. I had her interest.
