Page 134 of Bad Love

The shareholders’ meeting is small relative to most companies’ because Hunter’s Cross is held by a few people. My grandmother. Me. Monty. Two silent partners who provided capital in the early days. The only other senior management reps are our CFO andFreddy.

Monty walks us through the documents distributed inadvance.

My vision blurs, not because the content bores me, but because I’ve been poring over it for weeks. Enough that it’s tattooed on the backs of my eyelids when Isleep.

"To summarize, because of current economic conditions, we’re expecting slow growth to a modest contraction over the next year. There’s a possibility we’ll need to make some cuts, but we’ll do everything we can to avoid thatoutcome.”

Because of the small number of people in the meeting, it's conspicuous when one person is avoiding looking at another the way my grandmother hasn't looked at me since I confessed about the bet withNellie.

I want to take off. To drive to La Guardia, hop on a plane to somewhere in Europe. I could lose myself partying and diving and forget all ofthis.

But that won't fix the hole in my chest that was there before all this shit with Hunter’s Cross came tumblingdown.

“Logan, anything toadd?"

“Yes, I have something to add.” I straighten. “Those projections arebullshit.”

Every pair of eyes around the tablesharpens.

“No disrespect to conservative planning. I know we need to cover our bases and make sure we protect the company and keep our employees paying their mortgages,” I say with a look to Monty. “But expecting contraction feels like concedingdefeat.”

“How do you propose growing?” our CFOprompts.

“Tradition without the bullshit.” I remind him of our tagline. “There are individuals and brands that’ve been in this market as long as we have. Longer. Ones with an eye to excellence. We can bring that into thefuture

“The new fruit beers are only the beginning of the new recipes we could try. But we need to balance that innovation withdiscipline.

“But that only works if people know about it, which is why we start exclusive partnerships lined up with celebrity chefs to promote thebrand.”

My grandmother taps her fingers on the table. “Chefs? What chefs,Logan?”

I open my tablet and hit a few keys to connect to the projector at one end of the room. The website of one of New York’s hottest restaurants popsup.

“Him.”

I flick my finger and another one appears. “Her.”

Again. “Them.”

I show them half a dozen more across the northeastern UnitedStates.

Then I outline the joint promotion plan I’ve been assembling for weeks, though the seeds of ideas started beforethen.

“And what makes you think they’d partner with us?” the CFO asks. My grandmother is silent,watchful.

“Because I’ve spoken to them and it’s a done deal. All you have to say isyes.”

My grandmother, Monty, our CFO, and Frederick look at oneanother.

If the past two weeks of solitude did me a favor, it’s that I had plenty of time for soul searching. I can’t run pivot tables, but I know beer, and I know our customers. I don't have the results of the bet yet, but this is something I cancontrol.

Either way, this is my last time in this room. What I haven't told these people is that whether I lose to Nellie or win, I’m stepping back from the business. If I win, I’m giving my voting rights toMonty.

"This is an interesting proposal.” Monty looks down at the papers, but my grandmother doesn’t bother withniceties.

"What the hell isthis?”

I meet her gaze head-on. "My best ideas for how to grow the company. Deacon was good at a lot of things, but he left value on the table. It's not fair to the business or the customers or to you. You taught methat.”

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