Chapter 8
Fumbling the Negotiations
MITCHELL
Icouldn’t help the grin that spread across my face as Winona’s voice filled my ear. I wrangled it away, so she wouldn’t hear it. “Helluva way to speak to paying customers, Ms. Chalmers.”
“This is my personal cell, Mr. Harrington. When customers bypass my dispatch system—and act like entitled assholes—I speak to them appropriately.”
I knew having Sal dig up her personal number had been a risk. But it was the only way to ensure she’d pick up.
“Anyway, not sorry about your leak,” she continued airily. “But I would recommend calling Miller’s Boiler and Gas.”
“No.”
A beat passed. “No?”
“No,” I confirmed, my voice a low rumble. “I want you.”
There was a pause where I strained my ears, desperate to hear the sound of her swallowing; an intake of breath. Anything to let me know I affected her in some way besides making her angry.
“Miller’s,” she said finally, “does excellent work. In fact, I used to work for them, so you know they’re good.”
I wasn’t used to a woman ignoring my requests. To anyone ignoring me. I think I liked it, irritating as it was.
“I don’t like repeating myself,” I said. “But I will, so I’m clear. I. Want. You, Ms. Chalmers.”
I repeated the ‘Ms.’ with emphasis, waiting for her to correct her title. Would I change my approach if she said Mrs.?
No. You need her as a muse, that’s all.
“I’ll pay you double what I paid last time,” I tacked on, knowing it would piss her off.
“Always about the money. Typical.”
I wonder what she’d think if she knew I actually cared very little about the money?
Sure, it greased wheels in a huge way. Let me sponsor things I cared about.
Was vital, actually, to the work I truly cared about—the medical work I had nothing to do with.
But on a personal level? I’d been happier years ago, when I was dirt poor and forging my own way.
But that was neither here nor there. “What will it take to get you to fix this leak, Ms. Chalmers?”
“Apologize for how you treated me the last time.”
“I’m sorry.”
A long pause stretched out on the phone. I'd called her bluff. She didn’t think people like me apologized for anything. Little did she know I had no shame left. She was right, anyway. I was an ass.
“You didn’t deserve that kind of behavior,” I continued. “I won’t act that way again.”
I stood up, pacing the floor. “So, what time can I expect you tomorrow?”
“Oh, that had nothing to do with coming back.”
I paused in my walking. Clever fucking girl.
“An apology was the baseline," she said airily. "Now that that’s done, I think our business is concluded.”
I held my breath. Saying nothing usually led to something better than trying to fill space. But it was a risk in this instance.
The seconds ticked by. I looked at my screen. The call was still connected. My lips twisted. She was curious. I could almost hear her frustration tick. Just like that, I had footing again.
“Are you still there?” she finally asked.
“Are you finished?”
I heard a sharp intake of breath.
I was being cocky. The last gamble had paid off, but I needed to watch myself. I was still on the weak side of the negotiating stick.
“Am I finished?” I heard that fire in her voice again. I quite liked it. Loved it, actually.
“Mister Mitchell. You’re stunned as me arse.”
Now I grinned fully, but once again struck it from my face and voice. “Fifty thousand.” I began walking again.
“Excuse me?”
I paced the length of the pool. “It’s not always about the money, Ms. Chalmers. But I’m sure you could figure out what to do with fifty thousand dollars.”
A few seconds passed. Finally, she said, “You’re not kidding, are you?” She couldn’t hide the incredulity in her voice.
“Do I sound like I kid?”
She blew a little huff of air out her lips, and for a moment, I could see them. Pillowy pink and cussing me out. Too good.
Not what this call was about.
“Mr. Harrington. Do you have any idea how obnoxious it is for you to even suggest that?”
“Everyone could find something to do with fifty thousand dollars.”
“Even you?”
“Probably.”
She scoffed. “You probably make that much scratching your ass in the morning.”
“To be fair, I only need to think about scratching my ass for those numbers to go up.”
“Unbelievable,” she said.
Was that a breath of laughter I’d heard in her voice?
Maybe. Maybe not. I smiled, though, thinking of it.
Then my eyes drifted up to the pool house.
The smile dropped. This conversation was fun.
Too fun. I reminded myself that playing with her wasn't why I wanted her over.
I switched tacks. This time, to honesty.
“You won’t have to see me at all. But I can’t have anyone else here. I need…” I squatted down, then dropped onto my ass. I lay back on the hard deck and swallowed. “I need you, Winona.”
Did I feel the energy of the call shift? Or was it wishful thinking?
Another long pause. I sensed maybe, hopefully, her tipping in my direction. I suspected she was finely tuned to desperation.
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath.
“Okay, listen,” Winona said finally. “I’ll come and take a look. When I’m there, I’ll tell you what it needs. But I’m not going to do the work for you.”
Holy shit. I’d somehow managed to win her over by being… myself.
“You still there, Mr. Harrington? I don’t know why I’m asking. It would make my life easier if you weren’t.”
I wanted to tell her she was crazy for not jumping at the offer of half of six figures to do a fucking plumbing job.
That I liked that she’d seen right through that.
That she was also crazy for considering helping such a supreme fuck up.
But she spoke to me in a way no one did. That’s why I needed her.
I couldn’t fuck this up.
“Okay,” I said. Getting her here was the first step.
Keeping her here…I’d have to think of something else.
I’d stay up all night coming up with ideas like I used to when LoupTeq was a startup and I thought it was all I ever needed.
Back when I didn’t have hordes of obsequious people thinking for me.
“I trust tomorrow at ten will work?” That was enough time.
“No.”
“No?” Clearly, I needed to get used to hearing this word again. But also, right. She had other clients. I opened my mouth to ask her what time would work to receive an absurd sum of money to look at some pipes, but she was already speaking.
“No, Mr. Harrington. I’m coming now.”
I blinked. “Now?”
“I don’t want to talk to your robot butler. She got me drove. So have the door open. And stay out of my hair until I’m ready to tell you what to do.”
This wasn’t part of the plan. I couldn’t write now, at night, after a day of failure preceded by a week of the same.
Could I? I needed to get in the right mindset.
And I needed to figure out how to get her to stay.
What if she were in and out of here in five minutes?
She probably would be, once she saw what I’d done.
Also, what the hell did she got me drove mean?
I stood up. That stick I’d managed to tilt in my direction had spun right back down. I was at her mercy.
I needed to get a hold of myself.
I could prepare a counteroffer on the fly. I was good at this. Exceptional, business pundits said. I’d negotiated literal billion-dollar deals. Multiple times.
“No, Ms. Chalmers. That won’t work. I—”
But I stopped. Because I was talking to a dead line.
All I could do then was laugh.
The sound was foreign. It made a squirrel that had walked out on a tree limb over by the pool house jump and scurry back into the dark of the branches.
It was the first time I’d laughed in months.