Page 82 of From Hate to Date


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I’m all ears. What other choice do we have?

Livvy’s all business. “We need a countermove. Fast.”

“I know we do, but even if we liquidate assets and pool our resources, we can’t outspend the developer. Fuck me, I need a drink,” Owen says, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

I laugh. “It’s not even noon yet, bro.”

He shrugs. “I call it stress management.”

Hell, I wouldn’t mind a drink, either. It’s five o’clock somewhere.

“Guys… and gal… listen up.” Weston says. “We don’t have to buy the block. Which is a good thing, because we can’t. So get this… the legal loophole Livvy found out about at City Hall, the one where we might be okay because our buildings are old, might actually work in our favor.”

“Wait,” I say, “I thought the developers found some way around that? You know, like we couldn’t use it to our benefit or something.”

Weston nods. “They did. But our lawyer let me know that with enough signatures from the community, we can get the city council to consider our case. We know we have neighborhood support. All we need is to get them to sign their names on a petition. We can declare the block a cultural landmark.”

I’m all for turning a sinking ship around, and I’m usually the optimist of the bunch, but this sounds like a bit of a long shot. And yet, what is there to lose, except our business, our pride and joy, our hopes and dreams… and the ability to see Livvy every day?

“You’re saying if we get enough signatures, we can tell the developer to go suck it?” Livvy asks.

Weston laughs but nods slowly. He knows this is not a done deal, just like the rest of us.

“What about the shitty review that douchebag ‘food critic’ wrote?” I ask, using air quotes around food critic.

Livvy clears her throat and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I followed up with Mrs. Perkins. I just had to see whether she was blowing hot air or if her offer to help was sincere. Turns out she has her niece doing a whole story on the developer, his safety violations, his relationship to Bartlett Murray, and his likely bribing of the food writer. She’s also going to talk up both our businesses. She says there’s a big story here.”

Holy crap. For the first time in days, my mood is improving. I might even clean out the grease traps later today.

So, while the tension among the four of us buzzes around like an annoying fly, hope covers everyone’s faces too.

I decide to bombshell them with my idea.

“Guys. What do you think of this? We scramble, pulling all our contacts and resources together for this petition in the next few days. While we’re doing that, I’ll set up a little pop-up on the sidewalk out front, like a mini-street festival. We’ll have a pet parade with prizes, and I’ll have a few select dishes to serve.”

They look at me for a moment, their mouths hanging open.

Yeah, I want to pat myself on the back, but I’m not douchey that way.

Livvy claps her hands together. “That’s brilliant, Enz! We don’t need money, we need signatures. I’ll hit up my Insta following as well as my mailing list. Maybe I can even call the teacher who brought her kids in for a field trip earlier this year. Put them to work for us.”

Fuck yeah. Now we’re cooking with gas.

“I can see it now: Upper East Side restaurant teams with luxury pet store to fight evil developer with pâte and puppy power,” Weston says, rubbing his hands together.

Owen’s been quiet, I suppose taking it all in. “What are the special dishes you’re thinking of, Enzo?” he asks suspiciously.

I’m known for coming up with some crazy shit. Luckily, I have the guys to rein me in.

“Glad you asked, Owe. These are a few of my ideas, which, by the way, we can print up on a little menu card that includes the email addresses of the planning and development board. What do you think of ‘bitter offer bites,’ ‘no deal dumplings,’ ‘failed deal fries,’ and ‘landgrabber lobster rolls?’”

“Don’t forget the dog treats,” Livvy warns.

“I could never forget dog treats,” I say, and throw my arms around her, just because.

The room erupts in laughter and high fives and I am so fucking motivated I bolt out of the office to clean the grease traps before I get started on our pop-up menu items.

50

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