The Usual Family Mayhem

Chapter Eighteen

Meet me at the hotel.

Five words you never want to hear from your boss. Apparently when Micah said he and Brock were coming to town he meant on the first plane with available seats. They provided two days of lead time before their arrival, which was far too fast. They took an early morning flight and cut my prep time even more.

There would be no reprieve. No way to hold them off. No time to plan or fix my mess.

I’d barely finished a muffin this morning when Micah texted over the details of where he and Brock were staying. The whole scene would have been bad enough without Brock. His presence guaranteed a bloodbath.

They’d checked into the historic Graylyn Estate, minutes from downtown. No bargain hotel for these two. They shot right for the top and snagged two suites because of course they did.

The estate included numerous buildings and acres of beautiful grounds with a stone mansion at the center. Talk about a flawless pedigree. The manor house had been built and owned by a tobacco millionaire. Though, to be fair, those words described many places in Winston-Salem.

I’d been there on a few occasions to help Gram and Celia with deliveries and itched to get upstairs and look around. Now that I might have my chance I didn’t want to go anywhere near the place.

When Micah texted a second time, I raced to get to him. He expected that reaction to his presence. He opened his mouth and people scurried about to make him happy. Me included.

I met them at a table under an umbrella on an outside patio. They both drank wine, the perfect beverage for eleven in the morning. Micah looked at home here, surrounded by waitstaff and expensive furnishings.

We quickly moved through the welcome chat. Micah made sure to mention that he was staying in the same suite Oprah had used on visits to Maya Angelou when she taught at nearby Wake Forest University. Micah’s name-dropping hit expert levels with that one. I didn’t have much to offer after that revelation, so I waited to see what verbal grenade Brock would launch in my direction.

He didn’t wait more than three minutes to throw it. “You’ve failed to keep us informed of your activities and progress.”

Micah signaled the waiter for more wine before focusing on Brock. “Progress?”

I hadn’t missed Micah’s question thing at all.

Brock continued. “I’m not sure where we are. She hasn’t returned my calls.”

“I told her she had two weeks to get the company under contract, so she’s still within the time frame.”

Micah switched conversation targets without taking a breath. “Where are we, Kasey?”

Absolutely nowhere. “It’s taking some time, as you would expect. These women are savvy and don’t trust everyone who promises to make them rich.”

Brock’s satisfied grin telegraphed incoming trouble. “When I didn’t hear from you, I did a little investigating about the company and the women who own it. You forgot to tell us you were related to these ladies. That’s pertinent information we should have been privy to up front.”

Micah waited for the wine refill before chiming in. “Was that an oversight?”

I really didn’t have an answer to any of these questions. I bought myself a few seconds by drinking water, but the glass was almost empty.

“Business is business.”

Nothing about the sentence made sense in the context of the conversation. Hell, it wasn’t even a sentence. I didn’t have anything more productive to say but the phrase made Brock’s jaw clench, so mission accomplished.

Micah nodded. “True. To be successful you need to keep your heart out of these decisions.”

Is that what I said?

Brock looked like he wanted to roll his eyes at Micah’s nonsense. “I’ve known about your conflict for days. You should have disclosed the information when you made your pitch. You know that. It’s a pretty basic business principle.”

“Conflicts?”

If Micah kept asking insipid questions this talk would either take all day or he’d burn himself out and I could escape. Not sure which way we were leaning, but I hoped the latter.

“Her grandmother. Magnolia Nottingham.”

Brock gestured in my direction as if we didn’t all know who he was talking about. “I have to wonder if you treated us to an actual business pitch or if you launched a desperate Hail Mary.”

That Yale education of his had paid off. He was right on target here.

“Well, actually”—Micah enjoyed a good well, actually and fit one in here—“I’ve thought about this since you filled me in, Brock. The familial relationship should make it more likely for the women to agree to sign on and eventually sell. Doing so would guarantee the owner’s granddaughter’s happiness and financial future. A clear win.”

Wrong. Nothing about this would sit well with Gram. Even ignoring the business deal, she would hate Brock and find Micah ridiculous. She might even tell him that. Would probably use that word because “ridiculous”

was one of her favorites.

“But we don’t have an agreement, tentative or otherwise. We don’t even have a statement of interest.”

Brock’s fingers wrapped around the stem of his wineglass. Much tighter and the crystal would shatter. “That’s why we’re here. To prevent this deal from exploding.”

It’s cute he thought there was a deal to blow up.

“The ladies have been unavailable due to their workload.”

The only truth in that sentence was the part about Gram and Celia having a workload. Everything else was meant to shore up my stall. I needed these two satisfied enough to leave. Up and gone.

No way could they talk to Gram before I could get a handle on the poison issue. If she heard the pitch and didn’t agree, and I hoped she didn’t, it was time for a new job. Those law school loans weren’t going to pay themselves.

“We’ll need to see the business assets. Equipment. Buildings. We’ll also need to review the financials. Sales records. Loan documents, if any. Profit and loss statements, corporate documents, and those are just to start.”

Micah nodded, clearly satisfied with his assessment.

No way was any of that going to happen. Ever. My only option might be to come up with another pitch, this time with a business I had no relationship to and turn Micah’s attention there.

Sure, no problem.

“I’d like to tour the bakery tomorrow,”

Brock said.

This just got worse and worse. “Tomorrow is a problem because of a large order they have to produce and package.”

“A large order?”

Micah looked entirely too happy. “Then we could watch them work.”

Yeah, no. “I can arrange for another day, but it might be more efficient if you went back to DC then returned once everything is set up.”

Even I was impressed with that suggestion. I worked in a variation of one of Micah’s buzzwords—“efficiency.”

“I’m not leaving town.”

Brock’s smug expression suggested he knew he had the upper hand.

Micah looked at his watch. “You two work this out. I have a call on the Simpson project.”

I had no idea what that was, but I secretly thanked this Simpson person or business for the distraction. “I don’t want to keep either of you. I can text with more information once I have it.”

Micah nodded, clearly no longer paying attention to anything except the message on his watch. He got up and left without saying anything else.

Unfortunately, Brock stayed.

“I know this is a ruse,” he said.

Yes. Totally. “Of course not.”

“Then I’ll expect a written status report tomorrow. The two of us will go over it together, before approaching Micah. If you’re lying, and I think you are, there will be consequences.”

He stood up. “Enjoy your day. You’ll be busy.”

He had no idea.