Page 101 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“Like last time?”
“Better than last time. Equal partnership, shared profits, shared decisions.” David pulls out a business card. “Think about it, Michelle. You’ve spent years building something beautiful here. Don’t let another man destroy it when you could protect it with a guy who understands your vision.”
He slides the card across the counter. I don’t touch it.
“My answer is no.”
“You haven’t considered it yet.”
“I don’t need to consider it. The answer will always be no.”
David’s expression shifts, the fake kindness disappearing. “That’s unfortunate. Because grant funding comes with compliance requirements that most small business owners find overwhelming. It would be a shame if administrative errors forced you to return the money.”
The threat is clear now. David’s not offering partnership—he’s offering protection from problems he could create.
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m explaining reality. Federal grants are complicated. Mistakes happen. Sometimes they happen to people who refuse reasonable assistance.”
My hands shake with rage, but I keep my voice steady. “Get out of my coffee shop. Now.”
“I’ll be in town for a few days. In case you change your mind.” David pockets his business card. “Think about what happenswhen your missing partner doesn’t come back. You might find you need friends after all.”
He walks toward the door, then turns back with that satisfied smile.
“Oh, and Michelle? That interview this afternoon? Make sure you have good answers about project management and compliance oversight. Channel Seven loves investigating how federal money gets spent.”
The door closes behind him. I stand behind the counter, shaking with fury and fear and the terrible realization that David Morrison is back in my life at the exact moment when I’m most vulnerable.
Mrs. Hensley appears beside the counter with her half-finished coffee.
“Honey, that man gave me the creeps. Who was he?”
“My ex-business partner. The one who stole my ideas and left me broke.”
“And now he’s back.” Mrs. Hensley’s expression turns knowing. “Right when you’re dealing with all this grant money and missing that boyfriend of yours.”
“Grayson and I are working through some things.”
“Same difference. He left you to handle everything alone, and now the vultures are circling.”
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
David: Looking forward to working together again. The grant applications you filed are very impressive.
My blood turns to ice. David has access to my grant applications—documents containing detailed project plans, budget breakdowns, community development strategies. Everything Grayson and I worked on together.
Another text arrives.
David: Your collaborative approach with local contractors is particularly innovative. I’m sure we can improve on that model.
He’s not just threatening to interfere with my grants. He’s planning to steal our entire development approach and use it elsewhere. Again.
I dial Grayson’s number for the first time since yesterday’s disaster.
Straight to voicemail.
“Grayson, it’s Michelle. David Norris is in Twin Waves. He knows about our grants and development plans. He’s threatening to cause compliance problems if I don’t work with him. I know you’ve decided I’m not worth the complication, but I need help. Please call me back.”
