Page 15 of Just Like in the Movies

‘I want you to know I’m absolutely committed to making this business more profitable,’ she said, the determination in her voice making the short hairs on his neck bristle again. Annoyingly. Sentiment, however well intentioned, had no place in a business negotiation.

‘I had a feeling our finances weren’t great,’ she continued. ‘Obviously I didn’t know how bad they were, because Matty was always super cagey about that and now I know why.’ She took an unsteady breath and he waited for her to continue her spiel. ‘Because he was trying to protect me.’ The wobble in her voice was quickly controlled. ‘But I’ve got lots of ideas to improve our revenue. Ideas that Matty wasn’t keen on because he felt they compromised The Royale’s mission as a community cinema—’

‘Exactly how keen on these ideas are you?’ he cut in, because he could hear the defensive tone. Coming up with ideas to solve a financial crisis were all well and good, but if you weren’t one hundred and one percent committed to them they wouldn’t work.

She straightened in her chair, her expression going flat and direct. ‘I’m keen on anything that will allow us to stay open for business,’ she said, which was a non-answer if ever he’d heard one. But at least the defensive tone was gone.

‘Okay,’ he said.

‘Okay?’ she asked, her brows launched up her forehead. ‘Okay, as in you’ll help me keep The Royale open?’ she added, jumping way ahead of herself. But the hope in her voice made it tougher than it should have been to set her straight.

‘No, okay as in, you don’t have to pay the money straight away,’ he said.

‘I don’t … I don’t understand,’ she said, her crest-fallen expression telling him she did understand, she just didn’t want to.

Hard truths were his stock in trade. But he could feel the blip in his heart rate when he gave it to her straight.

‘At a conservative estimate, this place is worth upwards of five million pounds sterling. It’s got a large footprint in a prime market location. It’s had listed buildings status for over two decades.’ Something his uncle must have angled for to save it from ever becoming a gas station. ‘Even though the London market is slowing down, a developer would snap it up.’ He’d taken a good hard look at the dimensions, and done some calculations on his iPhone while he’d sat in his rental car on the street outside and waited for the right moment to slip into the theatre unnoticed – which had turned out to be the wrong moment. ‘They’d have no problem getting planning approval because this area needs housing. And even if they only redeveloped into apartments to rent ins

tead of buy you’re talking at least six units, possibly eight. That’s a good six-figure profit margin.’

‘But it’s a cinema. I don’t want to sell it.’ Her expression became mulish. ‘I understand you would make a nice tidy profit if we do sell but I …’

‘Stop right there.’ He held up his hand. The remark had been guileless, and it really shouldn’t matter to him one damn bit whether this girl thought he was a freeloader anyway, but somehow it did. ‘This isn’t about the profit I can make. I’m not interested in taking anything out of this place. Like you say, I didn’t know my uncle and I wasn’t expecting this windfall. I sure as hell don’t need it. I’m quite happy to have my share used to pay off the debts when the sale goes through.’

‘You … You are?’ There was that hope again, shining too brightly in her eyes.

He was through pandering to it. ‘But that’s not gonna solve your problem if you don’t sell. Because if you don’t sell you’re gonna have to come up with a couple million on your own, and that’s at a conservative estimate.’

‘What happens if we can’t manage to pay all of it?’ she asked, the hope in her face crucifying him. She just wasn’t getting the fact this was a lost cause.

‘Matty borrowed the money against the property, so if you don’t cough up in time, the bank will foreclose and you lose the place anyway for less money.’ He stood up, suddenly keen to get out of the theatre, and away from the pointless hope in her eyes.

‘But perhaps if we could find an investor, someone willing to loan us the money?’

‘You’ll need to get it back in the black to make it attractive to an investor,’ he said, because he had a sneaking suspicion she still saw him as a possible sugar daddy in this scenario. ‘I figure it’ll sell pretty damn quick once it goes on the market,’ he said, trying to stick to the script and not get side-tracked by the grief hovering round the edges of the room like a bad smell, or the misguided hope in her eyes. The Dorothy outfit – complete with pop socks and ruby slippers – wasn’t helping, because now she looked younger and cuter and even more naïve than she had on the sidewalk outside Ryker’s office. ‘Like I said, I reckon a developer will snap it up if you put the right price on it,’ he added, the desire to soften the blow still festering in the pit of his stomach, alongside the pretzel. ‘If you want to take it to the wire you could give yourself two weeks on the market to sell it, giving you the maximum amount of time to turn this gig around, bring the business into profit and find that extra investment to cover the debts so you don’t have to sell up …’ He glanced at his iWatch to confirm today’s date and do a quick calculation. ‘Which gives you until around June twentieth, before you have to make that choice.’

‘But if I sell I’ll be closing a community institution that’s been going since 1988 and all my staff will be out of a job?’

She sounded so forlorn, all he could do was nod. ‘Yeah.’

He dug his business card out of his pocket, then scribbled down his cell number on the back. ‘You can reach me on that number if you want to discuss the details.’

Not that there was really anything left to discuss.

She seemed to get that, taking the card with trembling fingers.

He shoved the pen in his back pocket. ‘Do you think it’s safe for me to get out of here now?’

She trapped her bottom lip under her teeth, still staring at his card, then looked up. ‘There’s a fire escape at the end of the corridor,’ she said, pointing down the hallway. ‘It’s probably safest to slip out that way.’

He nodded. He needed to get out of here. But his stomach twisted into a pretzel again at the sight of her in her gingham dress and white blouse, her thick French braids tied with blue ribbons and her round green eyes mistier than Judy Garland’s as she sang about rainbows and lemon drops.

‘I’m not flying back to Manhattan until late Monday night, if you want to speak to me in person,’ he said.

‘Thank you …’ Her face flushed and she smiled – and he realised he’d made a tactical error. He didn’t want to give her false hope.

He dismissed the ripple of unease as he made his way down the hall. If she contacted him on Monday he could screen the call – and let his assistant Gwen handle it.

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