Page 38 of A Little Too Late
“Reed,” his father hisses, coming to stand beside him. “What the hell was that? Why are youantagonizingthem?”
“I’m not,” Reed says. “But I have questions.”
“Thosequestionsmake it sound like you think they don’t know what they’re doing. Or that you’re trying to measure out who has the bigger dick.”
My face reddens. It’s awkward enough to stand like a lurker, waiting to speak to Reed. It’s worse if they’re discussing the size of his dick.
I’ve seen it. Many times. Just not lately.
“Something is off,” Reed insists, his eyes on the map. “Where did you get this? It’s beautiful.”
“Ava had a drone photo commissioned. Then she painted over it herself, as if her name was Miss Leonora DaVinci. But don’t change the subject. What will it take to get you to shut your trap so we can finish the accounting review?”
Reed turns around and finds me eavesdropping. He measures me with an inscrutable gaze that must make all the Silicon Valley dealmakers tremble. “Ava, you’re one of the smartest people I know. Do you have any inkling what the Sharpes are planning?”
The compliment catches me completely off-guard, so I stammer out the least sharp thing I could possibly say. “N-no. I don’t.”
He turns back to his dad. “Have you heard any rumblings about other properties for sale in the area?”
Mark shakes his head. “Do you think it’s a bigger real estate play? I don’t see how.”
“But it has to be. Unless there’s a diamond mine underneath the bunny hill.”
Mark snorts. “Is that what they teach you in business school?”
“Dad, I’m telling you. Something is wrong. If they overvalue the resort, they’ll overleverage it. And then they’ll bankrupt it. You’ll never see the rest of your money.”
His father drops his voice. “They know what they’re doing, Reed. All those successful properties. And I need to sell. I’m sixty years old. I have three sons who want nothing to do with me. If you were me, what would you do?”
Reed looks at his dad with serious eyes. “I really don’t know. I’m sorry.”
That’s when I realize that Reed is too busy to talk to me, and I shouldn’t behave like a busybody.
I slink away. My apology will have to wait.
After a sandwich and a soda, I feel almost human again. The afternoon session is shorter, and Reed keeps his mouth shut, which totally helps.
Until the end of the meeting, anyway, when he suddenly pipes up again. “I have some deal memo notes, gents, so I figure you’ll want them today?”
There’s a brief silence, and I try not to cringe. Mark scowls, because nobody asked Reed for deal memo notes.
“Go ahead,” Grandpa says. “Let’s hear ’em.”
Reed flips a page in his notebook, unconcerned by the agitation in the room. “First, I’d like to ask for a leaseback on the family home. None of you planned to live here, right?”
“Right,” Grandpa says. “Although that’s valuable real estate, son.”
Reed taps his pen on the table. “Dad can’t uproot his life in a matter of weeks, though.”
“We planned to give him some time,” the elder Sharpe says.
“Why not make it official? How many years would you want, Dad. Ten?” He glances toward his father.
“Well, five would be helpful,” Mr. Madigan says.
“How about seven?” Reed says, jotting it down on his notebook. “Okay, then we need to think about our top employees. You’ll want to lock them into two-year contracts, so the transition goes well. Ava, for example, should have her promotion to Executive Manager in writing. Also, we care a lot that our long-time customers experience a smooth transition, and we trust Ava to make that happen.”
There’s a pause that feels five years long to me, but it’s probably only a few seconds. “That sounds reasonable,” the middle Sharpe says.
