Love in a Nutshell - Janet Evanovich [12]
Travis’s pierced eyebrow met his unpierced one. “Small point, but you don’t have a restaurant here. Best I can tell, you’ve got nothing north of Keene’s Harbor.”
No shock that Travis wasn’t aware of Matt’s activities. Under the radar was generally his style. Exactly four people on the planet knew about his Tropicana buy, and that he was already corporate angel to another struggling brewpub in this city’s warehouse district: Bart, Ginger, his lawyer, and his accountant. And Matt trusted all of them not to spread news until he was ready to have it spread. What Matt did outside of Depot Brewing was his business and his way of stepping out from under the microscope that could be Keene’s Harbor.
“I’ll have a place for your beer by next Memorial Day,” he said to Travis. Assuming spring actually arrived in April and he could get the footings dug. That was a dicey proposition near the tip of Michigan’s mitten.
“What happens if I can’t pay you back?”
“I’m not through with the conditions yet. You also have to agree to have Bart come up and do a one-week consult with you on your recipes. They’re original, for sure, but rough yet.”
Travis pushed out of his chair. “No way am I consulting with that jerk.”
Matt fought to hide his grin. His reaction would have been the same, back when. “Huh. And yet you wanted to work for him.”
“I was desperate.”
Matt didn’t reply. Travis would do the math and see he was desperate now. To point that out would cut into the guy’s spirit, and Matt liked that spirit, warped as it was.
Travis stalked over to the television set, blocking Matt’s view. No problem. Travis could contemplate wherever he wanted. He drew down his beer and thought about taking the rest of the jalapeño chips. Except, as he recalled, Ginger also usually had some locally made sourdough pretzels in her stash. He leaned over and reached into the appropriate drawer.
Travis swung around and faced Matt when he was halfway through his second pretzel twist.
“For fifteen grand upfront, I can kiss up to Bart,” Travis said.
“Twelve grand.”
While Matt was fair, he wasn’t into giving away money. “And just so you know the final deal points, before you get dime one, you need a business plan. A real one on paper and with financial projections that I have approved. And if you default any principal payment, I get a controlling interest in Horned Owl Brewery.”
Travis went slack-jawed. “So if twelve grand is all you end up lending me, you think that should entitle you to run my life?”
“If you can’t pay me back, maybe you need someone to run your life for a while. And at least I’m giving you a fair shot at making it.”
“The last four years of my life are worth more than twelve grand.”
“I can’t deny that,” Matt said. “But that’s the price of a start-up. Hell, I did the math on what I was earning per hour after my first year and almost crawled under my bed. It was depressing and unfair. But you have to look at it from my side now. If Horned Owl fails—and I don’t think it will—all that money buys me is some recipes, beer names, and label art.”
“So why are you doing it?”
Travis still looked skeptical, and Matt didn’t blame him. This was a big step.
“There’s no scam here and no motive other than to get your beer out there for people to find,” Matt said. “I’m going to have a place for that soon, and you are straight-up the best brewer for the spot. And like I said, you remind me of me.” Minus the tattoos, the piercings, and the attitude. Okay, add back in the attitude. Ten years ago, Matt had been happy to brawl for the sake of brawling, just as Travis was.
Matt gave the idea a final push. “Tell you what, think about it for the rest of the weekend, and if you’re interested, give me a call on Monday. I can have my lawyer draw up the paperwork for you to take a look at. For now, let’s catch the end of the game.”
Travis settled