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And for getting up before the sun, so I could drive out to my family’s ranch in Farmdale. The freaking tractor tanked again. I keep telling Dad he should buy a new one, but he keeps insisting the one he’s got is fine.
I smacked my head on the axle and jammed my thumb trying to get a lug-nut loose. Then I drove the hour back here to Silver Creek as the sun rose above the ridges. Had to wait in line for coffee at the window down on Market Street for a full twenty minutes, while every diva and mountain-guy wanna-be in town bought themselves some sort of fancy caffeinated beverage.
What’s the big deal about these lattes and cappuccinos, anyway?
What’s wrong with good old, simple, get-the-job-done black coffee?
Nothing.
Nothing’s wrong with black coffee.
I bet half the people in that line didn’t even have jobs to go to today. Seems to me like most people in this town have plenty of time to stand around and trade compliments about whatever purebred dog they’re yanking around, and very little time for actual work.
But I have a business to run.
Might not be ranching, like my dad and brothers expected, but it’s still honest work.
Even if I have a headache ‘cause I stayed out too late keeping Trent company, I’m still gonna do it.
I lean back in my chair and listen to yet another aviation leasing specialist jabber on about what he’s got on offer.
I know he’s trying to upsell me. I’m not interested.
“Mike, man, I hear you,” I tell the guy. “I’m sure that bird’s sweet, but our clients don’t expect leather upholstery. They want to get up into the mountains so they can make powder turns. I’m more interested in that M44 model you told me about yesterday.”
“But—but—Versace leather!” He sighs. I’m a big old disappointment to him, obviously. “You do charge high dollar for your ski tours, right? Thousands of bucks a day? These executive-suite touches will add value—”
“No, man.” I swivel to face Trent and shake my head at him. He knows how much I hate dealing with these salesy types.
Trent wags his head empathetically, though his heart’s not in the gesture.
Poor guy’s gray-faced, with dark smudges under his eyes. He hasn’t touched the breakfast sandwich I brought him again.
“I told you, we’re after functional. Practical. No frills.Safe. Yeah, we charge high dollar, but that’s for getting these people up to the mountains and back in one piece, with a good experience under their belt. I want to know more about the M44.”
“The M44’s cockpit is outdated,” my sales rep friend argues.
“I learned on an old machine. That doesn’t scare me. I don’t need digital. So how about we move past this executive-model crap and get down to it about the basic model. We’d need her for five months, December through April.” He protests some more but eventually agrees to check on availability and pricing. He promises to get back to me and I hang up feeling frustrated.
I cross the company name off my list.
“That should’ve taken me five minutes. Instead, I had to listen to his crap for twenty.”
“Mike again?”
“The guy’s going for salesman of the year or something. I don’t think he’s going to come through on the M44, either. They always get booked up first.”
Trent swears into his coffee cup before taking a sip. Then he goes back to studying his laptop screen. He’s made a good show of working this morning, though I’m not sure he’s actually getting much done. He’s supposed to be reaching out to previous clients, but I’ve barely heard him type a dozen words if that.
He keeps reaching for his phone and then chucking it back on the desk like it bit him.
“Has she called you back yet?” I ask, meaning Maggie.
“No. I’ve left her five messages so far this morning.”
“Sorry, dude. Wish I had some advice for you, but… you know.”
What do I know about women? The woman I’ve been after for a while now, Danielle, turned me down again this morning.
