Chapter 7 #2
“So how come you didn’t become a chef?” she asks.
I shake my head. There was no way I was going to do that.
“You seem very certain. Why? You seem to really enjoy it.”
“It’s not a great life. The hours are appalling, and then, if you’re lucky enough to get your own restaurant…
” I pull in a breath. It had been my dad’s dream to get his own place.
I remember us all celebrating when Dad signed the lease.
We had to take torches because the electricity hadn’t been switched on, but Mum, Dad, Bray, and I had all shared in Dad’s excitement.
Dad said we were going to grow up in the restaurant, and as soon as we were old enough, we could help him.
The buzz in that kitchen had been electric. Everyone was like one big family.
It just didn’t last long.
“Your dad had his own place?” she asks.
“Yeah, for a couple of years.”
“You must have been so proud.”
“Yeah. We all were. But…financially, it didn’t make sense. Numbers weren’t Dad’s thing. The rent was high…it was just…it didn’t work out.”
“That’s a bummer,” she says. “So you didn’t want to repeat history.”
“Right,” I say.
“I’m still not quite sure what you do do. But your name came up when I was chatting with my brother the other day.”
And now we’re getting down to business. I’ve got a feeling Avril’s about to tell me why she’s actually here.
“Oh yeah? In what context?”
“Did I mention that we want to open a new hotel?”
I shrug. “I don’t think so.” I know she didn’t.
I wasn’t technically working on Saturday night, but I don’t miss things.
My brain is so used to picking out important bits of information and filing them away that I know if Avril had told me she and Worth were looking at buying a new hotel, I’d remember.
“Well, we are. We’ve been looking quite carefully in Boston.
The competition is a lot less fierce there than in New York.
And the room rates are higher as a result.
We think it would be a good second location.
But it’s been difficult to find a site because Worth wants to buy the building of any place we open. ”
I don’t know much about the hotel business.
From what I understand, the ownership of the building is often separated from the lease to run the hotel.
So hotel chains don’t own real estate, they lease it, pay the cost of the refurb to make it look like their hotel, and then take the profits after paying rent to the building owner.
“And Boston’s a small city, right?”
She nods. “Right. I thought we found a place, but we just got word that the seller has changed his mind about selling. He’s taken it off the market.”
Things are slotting into place. “Ahhh,” I say. This kind of problem is one hundred percent in my wheelhouse.
“I don’t know why, but Worth seemed to think that you would be able to help with this kind of thing.”
“He did, huh?”
She shrugs. I know Avril well enough to know that she’s not going to find it easy to ask me for help. But that’s exactly why she’s here.
“I didn’t offer you a drink,” I say, sliding out of the bench. “What can I get you?”
“Water’s fine,” she says.
I return to the table with two glasses of water. Hers with ice and lemon. Mine at room temperature. Even after living here most of my adult life, I still don’t understand why Americans want their drinks crowded out with a mountain of ice.
“Thanks,” she says. “This is really good.” She points to the linguine with her fork.
“I’m so glad you like it.” I’m not going to make this easy for her. I’ve still got the bruises on my kidneys from where she booted me out of bed on Sunday morning. There’s got to be some kind of payback.
“So why does Worth think you’d be able to help us in our situation?” she asks.
“I have no idea.”
“You don’t?” she asks. “So you wouldn’t be able to help?”
“Are you asking me to help you?” I say, trying to stop the twitching at the corners of my mouth.
“I’m asking, hypothetically, how would you help, if you were going to?”
I can’t tamper down my smile. “I have no idea,” I reply. “I’d need to know a lot more detail.”
She pulls in a breath, and I can tell she’s getting irritated. “You don’t know how you’d help?” Her tone is a little sharper. “So how would you charge?”
“It depends,” I say. “I usually take a percentage.”
“A percentage of what?”
“A percentage of the deal value,” I say.
“Huh,” she replies. “So if you’re not successful and it doesn’t go through, you don’t get paid. And if it is successful, you do get paid.”
“Right,” I say.
“So no one gets pissed off, because they don’t pay you if it doesn’t go through.
But maybe they feel like they owe you, because you did a load of work for free.
And if the deal does go through, you get paid, plus you get to be the reason the deal went through.
Either way, they feel like they owe you. ”
I don’t respond.
“That’s smart,” she says.
I laugh. “Thanks.”
“So the whole of New York owes you favors?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t say it’s limited to New York.”
She holds my gaze, and I can see her mind whirring. “And I bet if your dad had a restaurant now, it wouldn’t get closed down. Right? Because you could pull in some of those favors and make sure it never happens.”
The veins in my neck throb. I’m not sure anyone has ever made that connection before. But the woman is exactly right.
“You’ve avoided being vulnerable like your dad by making yourself one of the most powerful people in New York.”
I take a mouthful of pasta.
“So I need your help,” she says. “Tell me your percentage.”
I like this Avril. The straight shooter, the takes-no-prisoners woman who gave me her martini.
“Oh, you get a special rate,” I say.
She lets her head fall to the side. “What does that mean?” she asks.
“I can’t help you, Avril.”