Chapter 2
My first week on the island consists mainly of paperwork and Miguelitos.
Abuela practically hand-feeds them to me, clearly delighted that she has a willing new victim to plump up a little.
Mia looks on with a grin as I wrestle with binders full of yearly balance sheets at a table on the nearly empty patio, and Abuela drops off yet another plate of deliciousness.
Now and then, a breeze rustles through the documents I’m working with.
A group of teens on the beach has summer tunes blasting through their speakers.
Every once in a while, their laughter rises up above the volume of the music.
I’ve been staying in the little apartment above the restaurant.
It usually gets rented out to tourists, but when that storm wrecked the roof last winter, the kitchenette sustained some water damage, too.
Everything is still working okay, but the damage is clearly visible.
Because there wasn’t enough money to do the necessary repairs, they weren’t able to rent it out this summer.
Abuelo and Abuela tried to offer me a room in their house, but I politely declined.
I like having my own space to retreat to at times.
Plus, the view from my balcony in the mornings is phenomenal.
It makes it so much easier to get up early.
Some new guests walk out onto the patio and pick out a table that’s directly in the sun.
Beatriz wanders over at a pace that would win last place in a snail race, then flips open her notepad when she reaches the women.
She stares at them without a word, impatiently tapping the back of her pen against the paper.
I shake my head in disapproval and return my focus to the yearly accounts.
The restaurant’s debt is so high that even selling the place wouldn’t cover it. Revenue has really slowed down in the past five years and looking closely at the last two, it’s honestly kind of impressive they’ve kept afloat for as long as they have.
Turns out the loan from Los Castillos wasn’t a straightforward loan—it’s basically a second mortgage with the restaurant as collateral.
The agreement also has a number of stipulations that I’m willing to bet are less than legally sound.
Los Castillos reserved the right to adjust the interest rate on a yearly basis, meaning the fees are likely to increase year after year.
The clause that’s troubling me the most, though, is one that allows them to demand immediate repayment in full should my grandparents ever miss a payment—something that happened last April.
Los Castillos haven’t exercised that predatory rule yet, though.
Abuela told me Mr. Castillo assured her they had no intentions of doing so and that the clause was simply added to the contract as a guarantee.
It’s the kind of assurance I have serious questions about. Back home in the Netherlands, a clause like that would likely be deemed illegitimate, but I don’t know the ins and outs of Spanish law and there’s not enough money to both hire an expensive lawyer and renovate the restaurant.
After reading through the contract, I’m seething mad, but trying not to show it.
Anger alone won’t get you anywhere. The key is to keep a cool head and examine all the options.
Either way, it means that Abuelo and Abuela will owe about thirteen thousand euros on top of their existing debt every year, and they simply don’t have that kind of money.
My worry mounts with every page I turn. For any other company in this kind of situation, I would advise them to cut their losses, but the thought of Abuelo and Abuela selling everything to then spend their delayed retirement years paying off debt. ..
If they do end up having to sell the restaurant, it would cover a lot more debt as a healthier business down the line than it would right now.
Even though there’s not much money to invest at the moment, I know that even a few changes to the menu could make a big difference.
I write some notes and look around. The decor could definitely use some sprucing up.
I could easily picture the current furniture in a place where they serve cafeteria food and instant coffee.
With a bit of elbow grease and paint, some thrift store chairs and tables could go a long way toward more of a bohemian Ibiza vibe.
The location is stunning, it just needs to be a little cooler.
Not the trendy kind of cool that involves concentrated beet juice and ginger shots out of mason jars. Just more...contemporary.
I’m startled out of my thoughts when Mia pulls out the chair across from me and sits down with her lunch.
I swear you’ve done enough frowning this week to speed up your aging process by about five years, she says, taking a big bite of her robust salad.
It comes with freshly baked bread, a cup of aioli, and potato bites with tomato sauce.
The Spanish locals tend to enjoy elaborate lunches—a stark contrast to the beachgoers who seem to subsist on water and sunlight.
I give her a look of shock and massage my forehead. Mia dips some bread into the aioli and takes a bite as she mirrors the concerned look I’ve apparently had on my face all week.
Is it that bad? she asks, sounding worried.
I hesitate before nodding. I think we need to make some major changes to make sure La Sirenita is still here next summer.
Mia licks her lips and tips her head a little. What do you have in mind?
I shrug. For starters, I think we need to adapt the menu to cater a bit more to our clientele, I say, nodding toward the people on the beach.
Mia follows my gaze, then looks apprehensive. We won’t just be serving carrot sticks and hummus, right?
I smile tentatively. I was thinking more along the lines of smoothies, salad bowls, and something with quinoa.
Food that looks Instagrammable. I have a feeling this new clientele will be into that, which ultimately is just free advertising.
It might also be fun to come up with a signature dish of some kind.
.. I tap my chin with my finger as I stare out ahead in contemplation.
Hmm. Mia’s fork hovers half-way to her mouth and she looks at me pensively. I assume that’s mostly daytime stuff? What should we serve in the evenings?
I was thinking Abuela’s tapas would be great.
There are already so many pizza places in this area and I think tapas is probably the next most profitable thing.
As long as we’re smart about supply costs, our gross profit margin could be close to eighty percent.
I think a gorgeous tapas restaurant with a beachside view of the sunset would draw in a lot of people.
Mia nods in agreement, then her expression shifts to worry.
As she whips her dark brown hair over her shoulder, she takes a deep breath and gestures widely.
I hate to bring it up, but you’ve noticed what this place looks like, right?
A blush of shame starts to bloom across her cheeks.
She obviously gets no joy from criticizing the restaurant.
I tap my pen on my notebook and purse my lips. I know...Any chance there’s a good thrift store on the island? I ask tentatively.
Mia looks offended at first, but excitement slowly takes hold. That’s an awesome idea! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.
It probably makes sense to give the patio a makeover first. People don’t really tend to sit inside during the summer.
If that does the trick, we can start to tackle the interior.
I also want to schedule a meeting with those golden boys to request a deferral.
I want to know why they think they have the right to add those absurd clauses to their contracts.
Mia claps her hands eagerly. You go girl! Show them they can’t mess with the Evanator.
I give her a puzzled look. Evanator? Why does that make me sound like I’m about to take over the planet?
Mia stabs an olive and looks apologetic. That’s what we call you when you sink your teeth into a cause. Or at least, Abuelo and I do. It’s just a compliment to your tenacity. Abuela just calls you a pitbull.
With a chuckle, I flip a page and punch some numbers into my calculator. We settle into a silence that Mia breaks a few minutes later.
How would you feel about going out tonight? You’ve been working so hard this week...Some downtime never hurt anyone. There’s a hopeful expression on her face. They just opened a new club I’d like to check out. It’s only a few towns over...
I bite my lip. I have so much work left to do...Apparently, hesitation is written all over my face, because Mia folds her arms and her look of hope transforms into a scowl.
I won’t take no for an answer. Everything you’re doing for Abuelo and Abuela is incredible, but you need to be a little selfish and consider yourself, too. And me. The corners of her mouth lift into a smile. I’m useless without my wingwoman.
I have to admit: an evening without a brain full of Serious Business sounds pretty enticing. I put up my hands in surrender. Okay, you win.
Mia breaks into applause, but stops when I raise my hand.
Under one condition.
What’s that?
We’re taking a cab.