Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [47]
Jerry’s hand is on my arm again, but I shrug it off. I will not be reined in this time.
Ethan clears his throat uncomfortably as I continue, my eyes boring into Jake, my voice rising against my will, as I challenge Ethan’s ridiculous interpretation of the events and deliver my own unwavering version of the truth—that Nicola removed those orders in a direct move to sabotage the restaurant. However, it’s obvious that Jake isn’t going to acknowledge what even he must now suspect is true. He sinks into his chair, withdrawing into the too-big collar of his shirt. Jerry stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “May we have a minute, please?” he says to Ethan and Jake.
Ethan picks up his donut as Jerry propels me out into the hallway. He closes the door and leans against it, facing me with his arms folded. “Jesus, Mira. Get a grip. I know this is hard, but use your head. This is posturing, pure and simple. And you have just played into their hands. They make a comment about your emotional volatility and suddenly you turn into the Incredible Hulk.” Jerry takes off his glasses and begins massaging his temples. “How about we listen to their next move and see where it leads. Do you think you can just let me do the talking? I promise not to agree to anything without talking with you about it, okay?” Tight-lipped and abashed, I nod.
Jerry gestures toward the door. “Are you ready, or do you want to take a couple more minutes?”
“He’s a dreadful man, who is taking considerable pleasure in baiting me. I would like to ram that donut down his porcine throat.” I’m muttering, through clenched teeth, to no one in particular, and my breath is coming in quick gusts.
Jerry puts his hand on my shoulder and gives me an incredulous look. “Ethan? Are you talking about Ethan? Mira, don’t be silly. Don’t let him get to you. He’s baiting you because he can. Don’t let him. I’ve seen him do much worse. Take a deep breath or something. Let it go.” Wish it were that simple.
“And what about Nicola? She’s the one who screwed up. That whole thing was her fault, not mine. She’s the one who didn’t deliver those orders.” My voice is strained and rising to an uncomfortable pitch as I threaten Jerry with a pointed finger.
He raises his arms in mock surrender. “Mira, my suggestion is that we stay away from Nicola altogether. It doesn’t matter whose fault it was, okay? Let it go. Do you think you can do that, at least for these negotiations?”
“Fine,” I tell him. I will keep myself quiet and under control even if I have to superglue my lips shut.
Ethan and Jake are in the midst of their own powwow, heads bent together, while Ethan scribbles furiously on the yellow legal pad between them. The table is covered in powdered sugar. When we enter the room, Ethan flips the page to display a blank one, and Jake slides a couple of inches back over to his side of the table.
“Ready?” Ethan chirps innocently.
We are barely ensconced on our side of the table when Ethan continues. “It appears we may have inadvertently hit a hot button. Of course, both Mr. Shaw and Ms. Rinaldi are responsible for Grappa’s success, and although it’s certainly regrettable that the parties can no longer remain married, the fact remains that the present arrangement is not the best possible one for Grappa, on which both parties rely for their livelihood. Income is a significant concern to both our clients. There is, after all, a child concerned.”
“Precisely,” Jerry continues, his tone suddenly impatient. “Both parties apparently want the restaurant, and it’s clear that continuing on as they have been is not good for them or Grappa’s long-term financial health. Okay, one obvious option would be for Mr. Shaw and Ms. Rinaldi to both agree to sell the restaurant to an independent third party. Which does not,” Jerry pauses for a second, looking from Jake to me and noting our stiffened postures at the mere suggestion, “appear to be the preferred option. Therefore, after our own careful review of the financials we have