Chapter 6
SIX
SOPHIE
Only five minutes remained until the Westons exceeded the deadline I had set for them, and my brain felt like it was going to explode.
It didn’t matter how hard I held my forehead while I sat at my desk, staring at my computer, the outline of the Gordon versus Weston case on my screen; nothing was stopping the churning inside my body.
Colson’s last name was part of every conversation I had with my partners at this firm. It was a name mentioned in many of the emails in my inbox. And what made the feeling even worse was that this morning, over breakfast, my daughter had begged me again to let her go to Ellie’s house this weekend.
Out of all the girls in Abbi’s gymnastics class, she had to be best friends with Ellie. Not that I didn’t adore her. She was a wonderful kid. Thoughtful. Patient. She was so good to my daughter when many of the girls in their class were harsh and inconsiderate, like Abby with a Y.
But not Ellie.
Not that I wanted to give Colson a single compliment, but he had raised her right. Or maybe he couldn’t take the credit at all. Maybe it was his wife’s or girlfriend’s or ex’s influence that had produced such an amazing kid.
His personal life, I knew nothing about, but it made me question what he had been doing at Lush the night we met. A question that shouldn’t have even entered my mind. What he was doing there—whether it was a onetime thing or he was an active member—was none of my business.
I held my forehead even tighter.
Because, God, there was so much about him that I wanted to know—
My thoughts got cut off when my office line rang, the caller ID showing The Dalton Group.
Troy, Troy, Troy. Nothing like waiting until the last second.
I held the phone to my ear. “This is Sophie.”
“It’s Troy.”
“Hey.” I leaned back in my chair. “Two minutes until you were getting a scalding email from me.”
He laughed. “But I made it, didn’t I?”
“Barely.” I took a deep breath, already smelling victory. “What have the Westons decided?”
“I think you’re going to be shocked to hear this. Hell, I was. But they’re redoing the whole menu.”
My back went straight, the chair stilling. I blinked several times, waiting for him to say more. “They’re … what?”
“They’ve already redesigned about three-quarters of it.
They’re asking for a three-week extension.
The email that’s coming to you right now details what they’re going to do with the time they’ve requested.
As in rolling out the menu to each location, printing updated menus, ordering the food that’s needed, and training each of the chefs on the new items. They’ve been in contact with their vendors, and they’ve explained to me that it’s more of a logistical problem at this point.
Which means they’re at the mercy of their food distributors and printing company, along with the training required at each restaurant. But I assure you, they’re on it.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Three weeks?” My hand flattened against my desk, and I pushed all my weight into it. “Absolutely not.”
“You’re really telling me you won’t give them an extension?”
“Troy, they had a deadline. They haven’t met that deadline.”
“Your deadline was for the Westons to make a decision. Which they’ve done, just like you wanted them to. Now, we’re on to stage two.”
“There is no stage two.” My head shook. “There’s only stage one.”
“What are you implying?”
“If they want time, they’re going to have to pay for it.”
“What’s the rate?”
“Twenty million divided by three hundred sixty-five days. Whatever that number is, since I don’t have a calculator handy, you can times it by each day they need the deadline extended. So, three weeks would be twenty-one days at that rate. Get my drift?”
“That’s over a million dollars.”
“And?”
He went silent. “I’ve known you almost my entire life. You’re my best friend’s sister, and I love you like a sister, but I’m going to politely say, you’re fucking high if you think that’s acceptable.”
I smiled. “Troy, the thing is, you do know me. Therefore, the second you picked up your phone to call me, you knew this wasn’t going to fly. And because I know you, I know you came prepared. What do you have for me?”
“A counter.”
“Which is?”
“The Westons are willing to give the Gordons ten percent of Horned’s gross sales every day until the rollout is complete.
If the timeline is less than three weeks, the payout will end on the final day.
If it’s more—and that’s not the plan, but worst-case scenario—we would like the Gordons to allow us to have a buffer until the rollout is finished.
They will be compensated until it’s complete. ”
I snorted. Regardless of how this looked, I’d won. “Ten percent?” I laughed, playing with the phone cord. “You know that number’s a joke.”
“Gross, not net, Sophie.”
“I heard you the first time you said it, my friend. My statement stands.” The email from Troy had come in, and I clicked on the message, reading the terms he’d outlined. “Come back with a better counter that my clients will actually consider.”
“Do you know how much ten percent is?”
“Troy,” I groaned. “Return with something that’s actually presentable, and then we can talk.” I grinned even though he couldn’t see me. Damn it, I love my job. “Anything else?”
He laughed. “I don’t like going up against you, for the record.”
“I wouldn’t want to go up against me either.”
“Can we switch topics?”
I let out a loud breath. “Please.”
“How’s my girl Abbi?”
Our Fort Lauderdale crew was a large, tight group with unbreakable trust, and for good reason—we’d gone through a lot together.
Troy and I were the only ones who had left Florida, ironically to pursue law degrees.
The others—including my brother, Hayden—were back home, working in the boating industry.
But what never changed, regardless of distance or how often any of us talked, was that we were family.
Not all of us were blood, but that never mattered. We were thicker than DNA.
And to know my daughter had a slew of protective uncles who loved her like their own, as Troy did, there was no better feeling.
“She’s fabulous, and she misses you tremendously. When are you coming over to see her?” I rubbed my thumb across the framed picture of her on my desk.
“I have a better idea. How about I pick her up sometime in the next week and take her for ice cream?”
I smiled. “You have no idea how much she would love that.”
“Same. I’ll make it happen.”
I set my arm on my desk, my eyes focused on each Weston that Troy had typed in his email. “Want to hear something wild? Colson’s daughter is in the same gymnastics class as Abbi.”
“You’re shitting me.”
My eyes closed. There was no way I was telling him about the other coincidence. I was ending it here. “I wish I were.”
“Life never gets dull, does it?”
I laughed. “You can say that again.”
“Switching back to the dark side, how long are you giving me for the counter?”
My eyelids flicked open. “Just don’t make me come find you—that’s my answer.”
“Understood.”
“See you later, Troy.”
As I hung up, a new email came into my inbox.
The sender’s name made the air in my throat hitch.
It made my hand instantly reach for the mouse so I could expand the email and read what had been written.
Why I was even bothering or why I felt so intrigued, I didn’t know.
Anything directly from Colson couldn’t be work-related—he’d have to go through Troy for that.
Plus, the subject alone told me this was personal.
And personal, between us, wasn’t allowed.
To: Rivers, Sophie
From: Weston, Colson
Subject: Our daughters
My daughter has asked, no less than three hundred times, if Abbi can come over this weekend.
I’ve tried to come up with every reason and excuse without coming right out and telling her the truth.
And then I thought to myself, just because you and I have an interesting history, should our children be affected?
Really, there’s no reason I should stop Ellie from spending time with her best friend.
Before I give Ellie approval, I wanted to check to see where your head was.
Would you allow your daughter to come to my house?
—Colson
It wasn’t even ten in the morning, but if an extra-filthy martini happened to land on my desk, I’d take it down in one gulp.
To: Weston, Colson
From: Rivers, Sophie
Subject: Re: Our daughters
To quote you: Jesus Christ, I can’t escape you.
Do I want to drop my daughter off at your house? Hell no.
Has Abbi asked to go to Ellie’s house at least three hundred times too? Yes.
To be honest … I’m torn.
—S
Within a few seconds of my sending the email, my office line rang, The Weston Group filling the caller ID window.
This had to be a joke. Colson wasn’t really calling me … was he?
“This is Sophie—”
“You really didn’t know it was me calling?” He waited. “You can’t convince me that the phone system at your fancy law firm doesn’t have caller ID. Or maybe you always answer the phone that way when it’s your enemy.”
My head fell back, my patience pooling beneath my chair. “You’re right. I did know it was you. Therefore, I should have answered your call with a loud, WHAT?! How did you get my number, Colson?”
I could hear his smile with every breath he took.
“It’s in your signature.”
I sighed. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk about our kids.”
“Like I said in my email, which you obviously didn’t read, I’m torn. I want my daughter to spend time with her best friend outside of gymnastics. I wish more than anything in this world that her best friend wasn’t related to you.” I rubbed my lips together. “What do I do about this? I don’t know …”
“Just so you know, I did read your email. I thought it would be easier to call and hash this out over the phone. Knowing you, I bet you’d bill me for the time spent typing.”
I bit my lip, turning my chair from right to left. “How do you know I’m not billing you for the minutes we talk?”
“A thousand a minute. It wouldn’t even surprise me if an invoice showed up by the morning.” He chuckled. “Fuck, you’re spicy.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah? Why? Because I’m on the opposing team? I can’t think of any other reason why you would call me that. I’ve done nothing to you.”
My blood was boiling. “You’re forgetting the way you spoke to me at gymnastics.”
“You never let things go, do you?” He went quiet, as though he were waiting for me to respond. “I can’t imagine what it’s like, being in a relationship with you. You probably bring things up that happened ten years ago. A constant game of what can I slap you in the face with.”
My nails dug into the wooden edge of my desk. “You have absolutely no right to mention or question my personal life.”
I could hear each of his angered exhales.
“I see we’re really making headway with our daughters hanging out.”
My fingers clenched into a fist. “I would rather Abbi have zero friends than hang out with anyone associated with you.”
“Likewise.”
“I’m glad we agree.” I hung up.