Page 91 of Miss Matched

“Something funny?” Virgil asks, finally looking up from his phone.

At least now I’ve got their attention.

I stand with the stack of folders and peel off the sticky note, tucking it into my pocket and wearing it like armor.

“You all have spent a lot of time these past few months worried about what’s good for business and what isn’t,” I say, slapping the first folder down in front of Virgil’s phone. “So I thought maybe this would be a good time to remind you why it’s my name on this fucking building.”

I slap three more folders down, but I don’t head back to my seat. Instead, I plant my hands on the table and lean in to look down on them.

“What is this?” Smith asks, flipping through the pages.

I stay quiet for a minute, letting them take it in. The cards are in my hands, and it’s time to play for the pot.

“A proposal,” I say flatly. “For the expanded Waterfront Project.”

“We already have that contract.” Virgil breathes out a laugh.

“Vincent Development currently has the initial phase in contract,” I point out. “But I’ve been working with investors on a bigger vision.”

“A community center?” Virgil lifts a skeptical eyebrow as he lands on page five.

“Among other things.”

I stand up straight, forcing them to look up at me. The smug looks are now replaced with curiosity.

“This is a three-phase deal, expanding past the initial luxury complex, revitalizing the retail district, rebuilding community services, and, finally, refreshing the tourism districts.”

I point to a large section on the map that’s colored in.

“How does this change things?” Virgil asks, to the point.

“The investors are onboard, under one condition,” I tell him. “My vision, my oversight. This goes beyond catering to the rich. This direction involves community revitalization and more hand-holding. They won’t agree unless I’m here to manage it. Plus, you and I both know there’s no one else who can handle a project of this scale without making a giant mess.”

Namely Samson.

“What’s the bottom line?” Virgil asks. He’s no longer annoyed, but genuinely waiting for me to get to the only part of the presentation he cares about—the dollar signs.

“Page seven, gentlemen.” They’re all flipping, eyes widening when they reach the bottom of the page. “This is just the beginning.”

Smith shifts in his seat and looks to the rest of them for direction.

“You make a compelling argument,” Virgil says, running through the numbers on the page.

“I’ve thought long and hard about this, and let’s face it, you aren’t worried about my social life,” I tell them. “I’m pretty sure Smith here gets his dick wet from his side piece on a regular basis.”

Smith’s eyes grow wide, but the rest of the men laugh it off.

“You care about the bottom line and what hits it. This”—I lean forward and point to the bottom of Virgil’s page—“is what hits the bottom line. Now, you can get rid of me and tell the investors to take their money and shove it. Or…” I let them finish that thought for themselves, because I know by the dollar signs in their eyes I’ve already won them over.

Virgil gives a quick nod to Smith before slapping his folder shut.

“Pleased to do business.” Smith stands, shooting his hand out between us, and I take it in a hard shake. Then I move down the line and remind them who is in charge.

“Oh, and Virgil?” I stop him before he can gather his things. “You’re welcome.”

He nods his head, unamused.

By the time I head back to my office, Tiffany is outside with a winning grin.

---