Page 50 of Unmatched

“So, you said you received an actual contract?” I ask.

When we spoke initially last week, she was only fielding questions from someone interested in the Pooches. I’d almost forgotten the whole thing until my phone rang Tuesday and she told me a formal offer was coming in.

“Yep, I have everything here.” She slides a packet of papers to me across the desk. “I know you said you’re not interested in selling, but you should see what’s on the table before we send a formal response.”

Charlotte and I have known each other for years. I found her through the Small Business Administration, and she’s had several businesses of her own. At times, she has acted as my mentor as much as she’s handled legal questions, so I leaf through the packet out of deference to her more than interest. There are pages of terms, clauses, and legalese. I don’t see the point in really reading any of it since I won’t be signing. I know it’s silly because these things happen all the time, but I’m actually a little offended that someone thinks they could run my Pooches better than me.

After a few minutes, Charlotte clears her throat and gestures to one of the sheets in front of me. “The amount they’re offering is there, on the second page.”

“Oh, thanks.” I fumble with the paper she pointed to, scanning down the text, but as soon as I read the figure the blood drains from my face. “Th-this number here?”

“Yes.” She says it with a sort of smile, watching my reaction.

My throat is bone dry, but somehow I swallow.

“I realize this may change how you feel, but there’s no rush to decide. I’ve already told their attorney we need time to consider.” Charlotte hesitates, then continues. “If you do choose to accept, Lydia, there are several things I’d want to negotiate. One of them is the price. We should ask for more than this, but I think they’ll expect?—”

“Wait, more than this?” I jab at the second page.

“For two successful businesses and another location on the way?” She nods. “I think if we approach this carefully we could get them closer to...” She jots a figure on a sticky note and hands it to me.

The ground feels like it’s sinking out from under me, and I’m grateful to be sitting in a chair. It has been six years since I launched Ooh La Pooch, bathing and grooming my own dogs with just one other employee. The Pooch Park came shortly after that, and demand was so overwhelming I began planning the second location almost immediately. I hadn’t really intended to become a serial entrepreneur, but there is such a market for high-end pet services in Denver, almost everything I’ve tried has been successful, and things just keep growing.

But the amount of money in front of me? It could change our lives.

“Charlotte, that—” I close my eyes, forcing air into my lungs. I keep thinking of the very first customer I had at Ooh La Pooch, a five-pound poodle named Coco, and how her sixty-dollar haircut six years ago could somehow turn into this many zeros.

I wonder what Anton will say. He’s supported me every step of the way, working with me to develop my logos and branding at first, then helping out nights and weekends to build out and paint the first business space. He’s always listened patiently when I’ve had employee problems and even occasionally helps with repairs like the water heater the other day. I can’t imagine even considering this decision without talking it over with him. But then I think about the current state of our marriage, and my hands drop heavily in my lap. How can we discuss the future of my businesses when I don’t even know if we’ll have a future?

I sit a minute, breathing in the cool air of Charlotte’s office.

Eventually, she clears her throat, and I refocus, searching the papers on the desk until my gaze lands on the buyer’s name: ABizCorp, LLC. I furrow my brow. Business names can sometimes be vague, but that sounds like an obvious shell company. Selling out to an eager wannabe business owner would be one thing, but I’m not about to hand over my blood, sweat, and tears from the last six years to some empty passive investment firm. “Do you know anything about who this is?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet, but I’ll find out. So far, I’ve only heard directly from their attorney, but now that they’re serious, I can dig for more.”

“Okay, yeah.” I pull at a loose thread on my sleeve. “I mean, I’d want to know who I’d be selling to—if I sell.” I shake my head, still trying to grasp the concept of that much money. “I’m not sure what I would even do with myself if I sold.”

“With that amount of cash? I’d go to the beach first!” Charlotte cackles. “But seriously, Lydia, you’re a clever, successful woman. You could always start something new.”

“I guess...” My voice trails off as I think of walking away from my little office and all my routines. The supply orders and repairs. My employees. My favorite dogs. Would Tomás and Scarlet and everyone else be upset, or would they understand? “I—I need to think it over for sure.”

“No one expects you to make a decision right now,” she says. “But we’ll need to keep them interested. I already have a list of questions for their attorney. Why don’t you go talk this over with that handsome husband of yours over the weekend and see how you feel?”

I force a smile when she says this, only because I knew it was coming. Charlotte’s single, in her midfifties, and has always made eyes over Anton. He does look like he belongs on the cover of some fitness magazine. And I’ve seen more than a few lust-filled gazes turn sour when I’ve taken his arm and his admirers registered me. I spin my wedding rings on my finger, wondering if I’ll look at him with longing too someday, walking by at some other woman’s side.

“Yeah. Um, if you can buy a little time, that would be great. I think we would like to mull this over together.”

“Of course,” Charlotte says. She leans forward and meets my eyes. “No matter what you decide, this is a big deal. It’s a life-changing amount of money that you’re either going to accept or turn down. Take all the time you need.”

I nod, thanking her as I exit the office, wondering vaguely what Anton and I would even do with all that cash. Would it make us happier? We could buy a bigger house, nicer cars. Maybe we would go to the beach, or the hot springs like he wanted. Or would something this big simply drag things out between us longer? Becoming more to divide and distribute if we still end in divorce?

My brain is in a fog by the time I stumble in the front door at home. I made mistakes on two dog food orders this afternoon and inadvertently made one of my daycare workers cry. On top of that, Scarlet’s back injury flared up, and she had to leave work early. Then one of her clients yelled at me that their dog’s haircut was lopsided. At this point I want nothing more than to snuggle up with Anton on the couch and watch a movie like we used to. Just turn my brain off and be comforted by his presence. Or maybe we should discuss the business purchase offer I’ve been sitting on since this morning. Except every time I entertain the idea of taking the cash and walking away, giving these problems to someone else, I start to cry.

As I close the door, I’m lured by the scents of simmering garlic, tomato, and onions wafting from the kitchen. I find Anton at the stove listening to something on his headphones.

“Smells delicious,” I say. I hadn’t expected him to be home at all. He’s stayed late at the gym the past couple of evenings, which has been sort of a relief, but here he is making dinner in our kitchen with Heartthrob parked at his heels.

“I was getting sick of takeout,” he says, sliding the headphones off one ear.

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