Page 46 of Coffee Shop Girl
I also had to remember to use different vocabulary—another system to develop.
Not having an instant grip on this idea frustrated me. Until I executed it well, it was just anidea. Bethany would have to prove me out. It might never prove out, of course. Then I’d go to Mallory, fully prepared to throw myself into CRO and wait for the semi-truck of corporate life to plow me over again.
Molding a company all by myself, however, felt like a dream. No layers of corporation to move through, or teams to assign to the workIwanted to execute.
Mallory looked farther away every day.
“What if I mess this up?” Bethany whispered, pulling me out of my thoughts. As if afraid Steven would hear us from inside the brick building. A dry wind scuttled past us, stirring her hair, which she’d worn down. The smell of fresh cotton filled my nose. Lipstick brightened her face, eternally drawing my eyes to her perfectly sculpted lips. I pulled my gaze away from her legs.
For being raised by a single father, she certainly had a shining feminine appearance.
“He’s either going to help, or he’s not,” I said, striving to stay nonchalant. “You do the best you can. It always works out.”
Nerves never served. While there were controllable aspects to every negotiation, over time, I’d learned that you couldn’t control what came before your meeting. A late morning. Spilled coffee. A crappy post on social media. Often, those little things had the greatest impact on negotiations. They were totally out of your control.
A skeptical expression crossed her face, then disappeared. She drew in a deep breath. “Okay.”
Her unusual, quick trust impressed the hell out of me.
I reached for the door into the bank before she could, nudging her inside with a tilt of my head. My hand touched the small of her back as she passed. I instantly regretted it when an unexpected smile stretched across her face. I felt it all the way to my gut.
“Thanks,” she said, and slipped inside.
At least she wasn’t wearing yoga pants today, but that lipstick sure wasn’t doing me any favors either.
While the receptionist walked into Steven’s office, Bethany’s forehead crinkled. “Should I tell him about the girls?”
A question I’d debated in my head last night. In a small town like this, gossip spread like wildfire, and that could potentially harm the girls later. But the truth built trust. In the end, this was about me teaching her how to read the situation. Even though I wanted to fix this for her, she had to do it herself.
That wasn’t easy. But, if I knew anything, it was how to work a negotiation.
“Feel it out. You’ll know if it’s the right thing.”
She opened her mouth to protest, saw something in my face, and closed it again. “Right. You’re going for this mysterious leader type of thing, aren’t you?”
I laughed.
A few minutes later, an office door opened. A man with salt-and-pepper hair, a sharp nose, and rigid features stepped halfway out. He took us both in with one glance and disappeared back inside.
“Go ahead,” the receptionist said with a little smile. “That means he’s ready for you.”
This would be interesting.
Bethany stopped just outside the office, closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders. Then she walked inside, head held high, heels lightly tapping on the wooden floor. I followed, more eager than ever.
Steven, head of the Bank of Pineville, stared at me from across a glossy mahogany desk. Warm sunlight blasted from floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the nearby mountains. I met his scrutinizing gaze with a nod.
“Who’re you?” he asked, rising.
“This is Maverick,” she said. “He’s a business consultant that I’m working with. He’s here to help me with the Frolicking Moose.”
One of Steven’s dusty eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. Bethany settled into a chair across from his desk but sat on the edge, her hands resting on her thighs. I made myself comfortable, trying to read Steven’s tics.
“So.” He finally looked at Bethany. “You’re in trouble.”
“Good to see you, too, Steven. It’s been a while. How’s Margaret?”
“It’s been seven months and fourteen days. I’m fine. Margaret appreciated the birthday card you sent last week, by the way. You look healthy, and your coffee shop is on its last gasping breath. Does that cover everything?”
