Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [48]
“We’re listening,” Ethan says, rubbing his jaw with his hand, leaving a thin sheen of powdered sugar across one of his chins.
“No more quibbling about price. My client will set the present value of the restaurant and four-year payment terms. Mr. Shaw gets to decide whether he wants to buy her share or sell his share at half the total restaurant value. The purchasing party also assumes one hundred percent of the existing assets, mortgage, and other debt.”
Jerry, who delivers this small missile with a “let’s go” attitude, picks up his pen and leans forward. His expectant gaze this time is fixed on Jake, who, I note with pleasure, looks totally flummoxed by Jerry’s suggestion. Jake swivels to look at Ethan, who ignores him. So focused is Ethan on Jerry that he slowly puts down his latest donut, which he had been about to take a bite of, and stares at Jerry with a furrowed brow. It takes him several seconds before the idea fully registers.
“An interesting idea.” Ethan sounds genuinely surprised by Jerry’s offer and cannot quite manage to keep the admiration out of his voice. At least he recognizes a creative offer when he hears one. “Ms. Rinaldi sets the price and payout terms, and Mr. Shaw decides to buy out or sell?” Ethan says this speculatively, weighing each word, moving slowly so that Jake might take it in. Jake, who has now leaned in toward Ethan, is gesturing with the yellow legal pad, on which he’s scribbled something. Ethan turns toward Jake, and the two of them exchange a couple of words. “Okay, we’re in,” he says with a smile, before continuing. “And have you and Ms. Rinaldi, by chance, developed a price and a payout proposal we might consider?” It is clear from the way Ethan says this that he knows we have, and he now turns his gaze from Jerry to me. This time there’s no trace of condescension, only a speculative gleam in his eyes. It’s apparent in the attention with which he holds my gaze that he understands he has underestimated my resolve. I toss a small smile in his direction that I hope he finds unnerving.
“As a matter of fact, gentlemen, she has. After careful consideration, the value of Grappa is set at $2.5 million.”
chapter 11
Whatever I would have expected to feel at this moment, excitement, sadness, anger, frustration, exhilaration, is suddenly obscured by a sudden and almost uncontrollable urge for a bowl of escarole soup. Rich chicken stock, bitter escarole, the freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano. Lots of black pepper. Some crusty warm bread and a glass of red wine. A big one. I look over at Jake, wondering if this is a natural foodie reaction, but one look tells me that Jake isn’t thinking about food. Unless, perhaps it’s me, roasting on a spit. From across the table I can see the vein in his forehead pulsating, and he’s rubbing it like it hurts. Rubbing it with his burned, scarred, and calloused hands. Hands I loved.
Following the dropping of this latest bomb, and Jerry’s explanation of the payment timing, the meeting is over quickly. Ethan promises to be in touch once they have had time to fully digest our proposal. The four of us stand, and Ethan and Jerry shake hands. Ethan offers me his hand, and I shake it as well, though I don’t want to. Jerry and Jake shake, leaving Jake and me to stand there, with our arms dangling awkwardly by our sides, looking like the emotionally stunted fools we undoubtedly are.
Jerry detains me on the way out. “It couldn’t have gone better, Mira. We’ve got them squirming. Something tells me we’ll be hearing from them soon.” Jerry’s secretary waylays him on the way out of the conference room and hands him a sheaf of pink message slips. As Jerry flips through them, she calls over her shoulder, “You’re late for your eleven o’clock conference call.” Jerry says a hasty good-bye and hurries off, promising to call me as soon as he hears from Ethan.
I glance at my watch. Lunch starts in less than an hour, barely enough time for me to make it back down to Lower Manhattan and change my clothes. I call