Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Thank you.” I sigh. “But what I did was more serious than most young adult mistakes.”
“It was,” he agrees. “But you realized you had a problem and took the necessary steps to fix it and become a better man. I, for one, find that admirable. Maybe she will, too, if you give her some time.”
“I doubt it. Her family will encourage her to think the worst of me. And once I sell off the Tripp fleet and throw the entire town into chaos, I’ll be even less popular around here than I am now.”
“Corporate intrigue in small-town New England,” Anthony says, his tone eager. “Damn, that sounds like fun. And who cares about being popular? You have to make the decisions that are best for you and your family, even if they don’t understand they’re for the best, at first. Your instincts are always spot-on, Weaver. You have to trust them.”
“I agree. I just wish the rest of the Tripp clan trusted me half as much as you do.”
He hums beneath his breath. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. You’re too close to this, and they’ve cast you as the bad guy for the sin of being the one your brother chose to steer the ship. But maybe if you had a high-powered private equity firm interested in the sale of the company… And they advised your family how much they stand to lose if they don’t restructure before they’re faced with legal consequences…”
I snort, and a smile twitches at my lips for the first time since I left Sully. “Except you don’t work for a private equity firm anymore.”
“No, but I have a very good friend who does. And he’s champing at the bit to get out of the city to avoid some relationship drama of his own. I bet he’d love to spend a week in a charming New England town, scaring your family onto the straight and narrow.”
“In exchange for what?” I ask. “He won’t actually want to acquire Tripp Seafood. As we’ve discussed, the business structure is inherently flawed. And even if he were comfortable with taking that risk, I’m not. I want to leave my family better off than they were before I took over. Even if that just means protecting them from prosecution and an ugly legal battle down the road.”
“Of course,” Anthony says. “Honestly, I’m pretty sure he’ll do it just for the fun of it and a change of scenery. But I’ll ask him. See if he needs anything to sweeten the deal. I’m sure a place to stay would be appreciated.”
“He can have the yacht,” I say. “It’s docked in town.” I’ll find somewhere else to stay. That would be better anyway. There are too many memories of Sully on that boat. She haunts every inch of it for me now.
“Perfect. He’ll love that.”
“But if he’s up for it, I’ll have to stay a little longer,” I caution, “to facilitate his understanding of the situation and introduction to my family. I’ll have to Zoom into the meeting on Tuesday, after all.”
“How about I shift the meeting to later in the month and you take off next week?” he asks. “You have twenty-five vacation days to use before the end of the year, Weaver. I checked. And it sounds like you have enough on your plate up there without working remotely right now.”
I grunt. “You’re probably right.”
“I almost always am,” Anthony says. “It’s a blessing and a curse. Anyway, let me call Hunter and get back to you.”
We say our goodbyes, end the call, and I start looking for a rental for the next week. No one says “no” to Anthony. Hunter’s compliance is all but assured.
As expected, in just a few minutes, I get a text from Anthony confirming that Hunter Mendelssohn will be flying in this evening on his private plane. He sends another text, introducing the two of us, and Hunter and I exchange pleasantries for a while before getting down to business.
Turns out we both have homes in The Hamptons, but have somehow managed to miss each other the past three summers since he moved to the city from San Francisco. We make plans for me to pick him up at the small airport outside of town at six and grab dinner to discuss the situation before getting him settled on the yacht.
When we’re done texting, I set about tidying the few things I’ve disturbed on the yacht. Since the cleaners were here this morning, there are already fresh sheets on both the beds, so he can have his choice of rooms. I suppose I could stay here in the guest room, but I want him to have his own space.
And I’m not going to be good company.
I’m grateful to have something to do to keep the heartbreak at bay, but it’s still there, roiling beneath the surface, ready to emerge as soon as I run out of distractions. With that in mind, I book an isolated cottage on the bluff for the next week, where I can be a pathetic, grieving human being without any hotel or bed and breakfast guests overhearing.