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Shaking his head, Mister Dalston shifted and lifted a briefcase to the table, popped it, and handed a folder over to me. “Budding rom-com or not, we’ve got business to take care of. Here are the preliminary terms we are ready to start with if we decide to partner with your company.”
I spun the folder open and looked over the temporary contract. What interested me more than the compensation, investments, and worldwide recognition was the long-term business deal, three years to start with, and then seven and beyond that, complete integration into the Tender T’s business manifesto.
“I like this,” I said, spinning the page and scanning the second and third. “But I am more interested in what will come after.”
“Good,” Dalston nodded, “Shall we do a rundown of the terms.”
“Please,” I replied.
An hour later, the men went on their way with samples of our wine with them to take back to Texas, and I returned to my dad's office with the contract and contact card from them. I rounded up the rest of the files I needed and had them in a separate folder; with the Tender T’s folder in hand, I headed back to the house to examine them.
Ryan was not there, and I don’t think he would be home earlier that evening. He might be a bookworm, but when he got around his friends, he was all into them until he worked out the urge to be around people and went back to burying his head in books.
* * *
Guilt, sorrow, and a twist of regret were heavy on my heart as I waited for Mom to come out of their master bedroom. They had just arrived home, and while Dad wasn’t bedridden, the surgery’s effect was still making him drowsy.
I’d barely gotten two words in before Dad had slipped off to sleep again, and I was waiting in the kitchen for Mom to come in. I knew she had to be exhausted and worried, but it was better to get it over with than let it wait. At least now Mom would know that Dad won’t be as stressed as before.
The kettle began whistling, and I poured the hot water into a cup already filled with chamomile teabags and honey.
“Please make me one of those,” Mom said tiredly behind me. “I could really use one.”
I glanced over my shoulder and held back a grimace at how tired and drawn out she looked. At fifty-three, her dark hair was already showing gray streaking through her bob, and the crows’ feet at the corners of her eyes were getting more pronounced. She was petite, five foot nothing, while dad was over six foot. I was somewhere in the middle, at five eight.
“Sure, Mom,” I plucked out a cup, made it, and then handed it to her. When she sat on the high bar stool, I joined. “How’s Dad doing?”
“Well, he just got angioplasty and stenting so that he will be down for a while, and the doctors have said no strenuous work for three to six months before we can go get them removed or replaced,” she said. “But I don’t know how John is going to cope with such a thing. We all know work is his life.”
“That’s why I want to tell you I’ll be taking over,” I said calmly. “I know his work like the back of my hand, and it's why I’ve been studying so hard to make sure Dad could retire comfortably, knowing I have things in hand.”
Catherine, or Cathy for short, didn’t look surprised. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Nine months,” I replied, studying her mom’s expression. “I know you might have some reservations. I’m not a novice in this business. I was here working and learning as Dad’s right hand for so many years. I’m better prepared than you might give me credit for. Matter of fact. I just had a meeting with some people from a Texas beef company who are interested in pairing with our wines.”
“Mia—”
“And even more, I went through Dad’s books, and I found about a hundred ways to make his system better,” I added, the roll of words flurrying through my head, came out in a spiel. “I know Dad likes to keep his things the way he does, but there comes a time and a place to step into the twenty-first century and—”
“Mia,” Mom cut in, her face calm and composed. “Sweetheart, take a breath. We know you’re brilliant, and we know you can handle the company. No one is contesting that. Well, I know I am not. Besides, it’s not me you have to convince. I know you’ll do great at the CEO; it’s your dad who’ll need the finagling. He’s so fussy about how things are done.”
“I know he is,” I sipped my tea. “I just don’t want to do this now. I don’t know what this announcement will do to him. It might send him right back to the hospital, even worse this time. But I cannot just go behind his back and take over.”
She reached over and patted my hand. “We’ll take it one step at a time, Mia. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Just let us let a couple of days go by, and we’ll try to broach the subject with your father, okay?”
Relieved that she had not brushed the situation off or flatly denied me, I nodded, “I can do that.”
“Good.” Cathy finished her tea and then went to rinse it. “I’m going to get some sleep too, Mia. It's been a long few days. When your brother gets in, please remind him not to eat every edible thing in this house and that the rest of us need to eat, too. I simply do not know where he gets that bottomless pit of his from.”
I snort-laughed. “Oh, I’ll tell him.”
When she left, I grabbed a pack of chips from the pantry, then headed to my room, decided to find my laptop, and made another round through Dad’s files to make sure I had not missed anything. On my desk, the contract from the Portman Estate had my heart leaping into my ears—if we got that contract, our brand would become a household name all across the world in a matter of months.
But the chips rested on those three men’s court, and all I could do was hope they would gamble with us.
But what if they choose Vega?
“I’ll find a way to change their minds,” I promised myself.
