Page 35 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
“The family apparently torn that an American billionaire wants to buy their legacy,” he said. “Now the family’s divided, and the son, Santiago, wants you to pitch to him personally.”
“I knew we should have had every last member of that family sitting in on this, even down to their daughter Isabel’s newborn, to prevent this from happening.”
“The cultural pride is strong in Spain. You know that, Mitch,” he answered. “They want that handshake pledge.”
“God almighty,” I said, turning into traffic.
“And the media is also putting pressure on the family for selling to an American, too.”
“It’s all been blown entirely out of proportion. I’ll arrange a video conference and try to get this through that way. I have a stupid fucking?—”
“Christmas party to plan? Sorry, are the billion-dollar mergers now getting in the way?” I heard Spence laugh while mocking me.
“Pretty fucking much,” I answered. “Well, we’re not losing the deal. And we’renotlosing Christmas, either.”
Spence laughed, “Says the Grinch who apparently thinks he’s saving Christmas.”
“Thinks, Spence? Please, I know,” I said with full confidence.
“There’s that Lifetime Channel Christmas spirit that everyone loves.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t take it that far. By the time the holiday is here, I’ll probably be fully transformed into the Grinch, holed up in my house and skipping these two lavish events I didn’t want to have in the first place.”
“You keep chugging that pumpkin spice latte and telling yourself that, buddy,” Spence chided.
After we hung up, I called my secretary.
“Yes, Mr. Mitchell,” Brooke answered.
“Have the flight crew on standby,” I said. “I may be flying to Madrid this afternoon.”
“Right away, sir,” she said.
As I passedBrooke’s desk, she glanced up from her computer, “Nancy was just delivering more files for the planning. I placed them on your desk.”
“What? Are we not emailing anymore?” I snapped, my mood gone to shit after trying to maneuver out of flying to Madrid today.
“I don’t know, sir. She just said they needed your signature.”
“Very well,” I nodded and strode toward my office.
When I walked in to find an even bigger stack of folders than the first time this shit started coming across my desk, I had a feeling I was about to stare down phase two of Avery’s planning nightmare.
I honestly didn’t have time for this.
I called out to Brooke, almost forgetting that I needed to be wheels up in an hour if I was going to make theurgentmeeting for the de la Vega family.
I didn’t have a second to waste.
“Brooke,” I said the moment she answered, my tone leaving no room for hesitation, “get the jet in the air within the hour. Contact the flight department and send them my itinerary for Madrid. I want the crew briefed and customs clearance already in place by the time I walk onto the tarmac.”
“Yes, sir,” she said while typing on her computer.
“Call my valet. Have him pack four days’ worth of wardrobe. I want business formal, evening suits, and casuals for downtime. Everything pressed, cufflinks included. I want the luggage delivered straight to the jet.”
“Understood.”
“And book the Ritz in Madrid—my usual suite. Confirm black car service with a bilingual driver waiting airside. He stays on call for the duration of my stay.”
