Page 77 of Love You, Mean It

I longed for a cocktail—the prospect of meeting with the board had been slowly incrementing my anxiety all day. The fact that I’d have to juggle both the parts I’d decided to play—Theo’s loving fiancée and Sam’s self-appointed matchmaker—only made it worse. But looking like a lush wouldn’t help anything, especially since the board might be the last thing between me and the end of this increasingly difficult-to-balance high-wire act. Which was the best thing for everyone involved…right?

“I’m fine for now.”

With a perfunctory smile, Andy hurried out, leaving me to try to manufacture interest in the room’s décor: rubber stamps still set to dates in the 1920s, a dusty telegraph signaler that was objectively cool but currently registered as “lots of wires and metal on wood.”

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long. Minutes later, Andy reappeared with the entire crew. Ted barked something over his shoulder as he stepped through, trailed by Marta, Theo, Sam, and a middle-aged man and woman I didn’t recognize. Theo moved over to me immediately, sliding an arm around my waist and bending to my ear.

“Did we keep you waiting long?”

“Not particularly.”

His eyelids went heavier, and he leaned closer, creating a tiny pocket of intimacy, but before he could say whatever was turning his gaze so sultry—Jesus, when had I started thinking of Commercial Real Estate Ken assultry?—Ted cleared his throat loudly.

“Ellie, glad to see you’re on time tonight. My soon-to-be daughter-in-law shares Theo’s…flexible sense of scheduling,” he said to the unfamiliar man, who smiled tolerantly. I choked down my annoyance. “Why don’t we get started. I know everyone’s eager to meet you.”

Theo pulled out a chair for me directly across from Sam, seating himself across from the woman I presumed was Aunt Cheryl. Marta, Ted, and the unknown man curved around the head of the table.

Theo’s hand moved toward mine beneath the table as he turned to his father, fingers lacing between my own so naturally I almost didn’t notice the gesture. He squeezed once and I turned, intercepting an unexpectedly tender smile that sent my heart straight to my throat. I forced myself to look away—now was not the time. In fact, never,thatwas the time for this. Plain never.

That’s when I caught Sam’s eyes, narrowing as they flitted between my face and our joined hands. Swallowing hard, I loosed my fingers, folding them in my lap as I waited for Ted to continue.

“I know there’s a lot more business to get through, so I’ll make this brief. This is the mysterious Ellie Greco, the woman who somehow turned my son into a romantic.” Ted gestured at me, his smile close to a sneer. “Ellie, you know Marta and Samantha. Let me introduce my sister, Cheryl, and my brother, Paul. Along with myself, they make up the board of Taylor Property Management. Though we may create more seats, now that we have an official CFO.” Ted smiled indulgently at Sam.

“So nice to meet you.” I turned to Cheryl and Paul in turn. Cheryl had steel-gray hair coiffed into a neat bob, and was trim in her winter-white bouclé skirt suit. I could see the resemblance to Ted; her features were softer, but they shared the same strong bone structure and brow, and there was a shrewdness in her blue eyes that felt familiar, if slightly less predatory. Paul had the general Taylor face as well, but his entire body felt blurred and a bit rumpled—jaw gone jowly, slight paunch straining against the sweater vest he wore beneath his navy sports coat—as though the edges of the mold had eroded with time. If it weren’t for the III after Theo’s name, I’d have assumed Paul was the oldest, but judging from the burst capillaries around his nose and cheeks, he was simply aging at an alcohol-increased rate.

Cheryl gave me a polite, unreadable smile. Paul’s was distinctly curdled.

“So lovely to meet you, Ellie. I hope we won’t bore you with too much family business talk,” Cheryl said. “If Paul and I could stay longer, I’d say we should shelve it for the night, but you know how it is.”

“Of course. Pretend I’m not here—I know how much you all have to cover.”

They took me at my word. As soon as drink orders were in, they launched into analysis of all things Taylor Properties, the conversation jumping around quickly, relying on a shorthand I didn’t understand. From what I could gather, Cheryl was interested in specifics about both projected annual returns and carrying costson the current portfolio, peppering her replies to Ted’s blustering predictions—all positive, of course—with information about market trends and percentage yield talk that I’d have needed a printout to keep up with. Paul piped in occasionally with a snide comment but otherwise focused most of his attention on his Burgundy. Sam and Theo added the context, facts, and figures. It quickly became clear that Theo hadn’t been joking—Ted’s name might still get top billing, but he clearly wasn’t conversant with the day-to-day operations the way Theo and Sam were.

I was completely superfluous. Luckily, Andy had left a copy of the menu, so I at least had something to focus on. I lingered over the cheese and charcuterie selections, mentally drafting a list of alternativesIcould supply.

“So another long-term lease is out of the question?” Cheryl asked Sam, who tilted her head to the side, thoughtful. I perked up a little—the conversation had spiraled inward from high-level revenue, growth, and carrying costs to focus specifically on the old Taylor’s building.

“It’s not impossible, of course.” Sam swirled her wine. “But the space just doesn’t fit many retail mandates in this market. It’s too large even for local chains. I asked Phil Bray for his financials from the last decade to get a sense of where to look for competitive offers, and the store barely broke even that entire time. Theoretically you could subdivide the building, but it’s hard to rent retail space without a street-level entrance. We never even managed to keep the top-floor offices at full occupancy, andnoneof those were retail.”

“So it seems like Ted’s right, selling to Mangia is the smartest play.”

“Maybe…but they’re likely to either gut or tear down the building. It could be years before they’re operational.”

“Forgive me if I’m being dense, Samantha, but I’m not sure how that’s our problem?” Cheryl lifted an eyebrow.

“My thoughts exactly.” Ted raised his glass to his sister.

“Short-term, it wouldn’t be. The company would get a largeinfusion of capital and your dividends would increase for the year. But if the project drags on, it has the potential to depress business in other portfolio properties. Most of them, if traffic gets rerouted for construction. South Street is a major artery for downtown. I need to run more projections, but I’m not sure it’s a smart move, just from a dollars and cents perspective. And of course there’s the reputation cost.”

“Reputationcost? For pulling off a major deal with Mangia? Maybe we shouldn’t have approved Sam’s appointment so quickly,” Paul scoffed. Sam’s face tightened almost imperceptibly, but her expression stayed pleasantly neutral.

“I’m sure Ted told you that Mangia would compete directly with Ellie’s family business, and other businesses like it. But hers is the most relevant, since she’ll bejoiningyour family. Financial savvy is absolutely a mark in the pros column, but a reputation for ruthlessness won’t do us any favors. Particularly since a good chunk of the portfolio sinks or swims based on local sentiment,” Sam said.

“Ellie’s family…I’m sorry, I don’t believe Ted mentioned that.” Cheryl turned her intense gaze on me. “What is it you do?”

“Oh, I…run a deli?” She caught me midsip and I gulped, the alcohol singeing my sinuses. “Greco’s Deli? It’s just downtown.”

“That sounds vaguely familiar.” Cheryl frowned, pensive. “It’s been so long since I lived here. So. A deli.” She sat back, smirking in a way that must be habitual, judging by the deep lines parentheseeing one side of her mouth. “I assumed you worked in something trendy. PR, maybe, or magazines. I’m not used to seeing deli owners dressed so chicly. Who made that blouse, if you don’t mind my asking?”

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