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“Oh—my apologies, I—” I paused. “—I didn’t know I was interrupting.”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to see you if I had,” Hunter Portman replied. “My son Liam sleeps like the dead, but he prefers to have me as his pillow instead of his bed.”
Touched at his dedication to being a father, I nodded. “Thank you for seeing me. I need to get straight to the point about the contract your people brokered with me. I had the impression you were interested in Sullivan Wines, too, but it doesn’t seem like any word is coming. I may have jumped the gun, assuming you might not want a partnership with them, but if that is the case, I have to say you would be doing yourself a great disservice. Their wines are wonderful.”
Mr. Portman’s face was unreadable. “So is your mead.”
“I know,” I replied. “But Mia Sullivan has a lot more hanging on this deal than I do. If she gets this deal, she can finally take over the business as she had planned from when she was in diapers.”
“Meaning, if she doesn’t get it, you won’t continue with the one we have together?” Hunter asked knowingly.
“If you have only one deal to give, I want you to give our deal to her,” I said finally, knowing I had just put my heart there on a silver platter.
Hunter stared at me for a long time, his gaze assessing and reassessing before he shifted, reached for a drawer, and pulled something out. He dropped a folder on the table, and through the clear page, I saw “Contract agreement, Twisted Twins Corp, and Sullivan Wines LLC.”
“My lawyers sent this over fifteen minutes ago,” Hunter said. “If you can touch my printer, you’ll probably find it hot. I just printed it off.”
My head spun. “You mean…”
“We want a partnership with both of you,” Hunter replied. “We found that we want to offer diversity with this new campaign; our consumers can choose their pick of wine or mead with their meals.”
“So…” I paused, then rubbed the back of my head. “I came here for nothing then. I did jump the gun.”
“On the business aspect, yes, but not on the moral or ethical standpoint,” Hunter replied. “You just showed me the man you are, Vega, and despite this rivalry I hear you two families have, I am impressed you came to give your chance for her to have it. That honorable.”
I felt encouraged. “Our families are rivals, but Mia and I…aren’t.”
“Oh really,” Hunter’s brow lifted while his son shifted. “You’re together then?”
“I honestly don’t know what we are,” I replied. “We need to get this rivalry bullshit out of the way first—” my eyes landed on the boy who looked barely six years old. “—oh, I’m sorry.”
“He’s out, but thank you,” Hunter replied. “But you don’t need to worry about Miss Sullivan. As a matter of fact, I’ll be in Colorado next week. Do you think you can sort out your rivalry by then because I would love to work with you two jointly?”
“I…I hope we can.” I replied. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Stick around for dinner,” he said, “Please. I’d like to know more about your Meadery and Sullivan wines.”
“I’d be happy to,” I replied.
* * *
I had a Red-Eye back to Colorado, and while waiting for my flight, I meandered through the shops, looking for something, even a trinket, I could carry back for Mia. What would she like? Hell, would she even want to talk to me or accept whatever I got for her? A book, a keychain, liquor?
Then I saw a wrapped package of truffle chocolate, twenty flavors of minibars, and rounds in an artisan package. “This might be a safe bet,” I murmured and went to cash out. I got it wrapped in a gift bag, too, then thanked the lady and headed to my gate.
Plucking my phone out, I texted Benji.You would not imagine what happened when I got here. It's all good, man; I’ll tell you more when I get back.
I then got onto Instagram and scrolled through my feed, checking out the upcoming beer and wine fests that I was going to hijack with my mead and making dates to tell Benji and Jenna later.
It was about eleven p.m., and I checked my messages, unsure of what to do with Mia. Text her, call her? Was she even up, or would I be disturbing her sleep? On the safe side, I texted her.
Do you believe me when I say it’ll be all right?
“We’re about to board,” the attendant at the gate called out. “Please have your boarding passes ready.”
Heavy-heartedly, I shifted to open up my mobile boarding pass and waited until they called us up. Five minutes later, I was buckled in, my head rolling to the window. The flight was mostly empty, and I was glad to have the whole row free. Just before we were instructed to log off all electronic devices, her text came back in.
I want to believe you. Show me why I should believe you.
