It made things easier—smoother. If everything was in its place, that was one less thing to worry about. If everything was in its place, it as easy to see when something fell out.
I had gathered all the paper, thrown it out appropriately, and was back behind my desk, listening to the ticking of the clock again in a minute flat.
The quick rapping of knuckles against the door drew my attention. I shot up straight in my chair as the door creaked opened and my secretary popped her head in.
“Sorry, sir, are you busy?” Cindy asked.
I made a show of shuffling some of the papers on my desk but by the way she quirked an eyebrow, head tilting to the side as she waited, it seemed unlikely that she bought my display.
I sighed, deflating. The act was pointless. “What is it, Cindy?”
“Mr. Tamsin is here for you, sir.”
“Tamsin!” One of my oldest friends and the lead attorney for the company, meetings with Christopher Tamsin were always productive and good. I was surprised that I had forgotten—I quickly opened the calendar on my computer, scanning for the meeting.
“Unscheduled, sir,” Cindy added. She took a half step into the room. “Should I tell him to return later?”
Unscheduled. Well, I didn’t care for that.
On the one hand, I hated unscheduled appointments—Cindy knew this, Tamsin knew this.
On the other hand, I hadn’t seen Tamsin in too long. There was business I could discuss with the lawyer. And it wasn’t like my day was particularly full as it was.
I waved her off. “Please, Cindy, show him in.”
I stood from my desk, walking around and quickly buttoning my suit jacket as Cindy led Tamsin into my office.
“Walter,” he said happily, quickly crossing to set the cups he had down on the coffee table. He shook my hand and I grinned at him.
Tall and slim, Christopher had a look to him that made most people settle immediately out of court; his comparisons to the Grim Reaper were plentiful and usually firmly stated.
Though he was sharp and decisive as a lawyer, his personality rarely matched his outward appearance. He was a nicer man on his worst day than I was ever capable of being.
“Christopher,” I clapped him on the shoulder before taking a step back, gesturing toward the long, gray couch. He sat quickly and I flicked open my jacket button again before sitting across from him. The chair had me sink down a bit lower than I would have liked so I sat forward, my arms on my knees as I leaned toward him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I had a meeting downtown, thought I’d stop by.” Tamsin pointed to the to-go cups on the table. “That is the best coffee I’ve had in years. I’ve brought you a cup.”
“You brought coffee? To me?”
“Yes.”
“You do know that I am a tea mogul. That you brought coffee into the office building of a tea company.”
“You like coffee,” he pointed out.
“In theory, sure,” I picked up the cup, frowning at it. “I shouldn’t be seen drinking it in the office.”
“It’s not a competition.” Tamsin rolled his eyes.
I jutted the cup at him. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s all a competition.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You know, you were the one considering investing in a coffee company.”
“Was I? Or were you the one who brought me a proposal unprompted?”
Tamsin waved a hand. “Semantics.”
I laughed. “I haven’t read it yet. I will, though.”
“Good,” he seemed satisfied and picked up his own cup, taking a long drink. “Ah.”
I took a sip of the warm coffee. It was very good. Tamsin’s boyfriend was named something like Aaron or Baron or something that ended with -on. I drank slowly, trying to remember so that I could casually and politely enquire about him.
Thankfully, Tamsin interrupted my considering. “We should probably discuss business.”
“Of course,” I agreed.
“The owner is still refusing to sell,” Tamsin said. “I have sent several offers—good offers that, according to his own records, he really ought to consider. But the owner is still refusing.”
A sharp burst of irritation shot through me. “Offer him more money.”
“Walter, we’ve already offered a lot.”
I took another drink of the coffee to stop myself from snapping at Tamsin. It wasn’t his fault. “I need that property. It’s meant to be part of this operation and if it wasn’t for—”
“Your evil ex on the city planning council that held up operations, I know.”
“If it wasn’t for him, we would have the lot.”
I had been out of the country for nearly six months, a business trip that nearly ended up being a business relocation, and the screw-up with the organization and the city council planners meant that I hadn’t been able to secure the land and permits on time.
“There’s only so much we can do.”
“The property is nearly back to back with this one—we need that land.”
“Look, it’s a small business, and from his financial records, it looks like it’s already struggling. We can grab it when it forecloses.”
“That’s too far from now,” I shook my head. “That rustic little tea cabin is going to make a name for itself, even if it fails spectacularly, and anything we put up afterward will be deemed too corporate and cold. You know it.”
“We need the owner to sell,” Tamsin sighed.
“Make it happen,” I said firmly.
He sighed again and held his hands up. “All right. I’ll do what I can.”
“Make it happen,” I repeated. “We don’t give up until we have to.”
I had said that at the end of more business meetings with him than was probably quantifiable. Tamsin muttered something that sounded a lot like dictator before I ushered him out, promising to read that coffee investment briefing before we saw each other next.
Coffee.
This was a tea company and Tamsin wanted me to invest in coffee.
Tamsin was a good friend and a great lawyer but his business prowl could use some fine tuning.
As much as he teased me for my blaming of my ex on the city council planning committee, Tamsin and I both knew that Simon was to blame. At the time, I believed our breakup to be quite amicable—or, at least, if not amicable then mutual.
Simon had always claimed that I was too demanding—too hard and firm with what I wanted and when. It had started off as a small comment here and there, but within the span of our short relationship ended up being the crux of most arguments we had. Any addendum that he acknowledged that he actually quite liked that part of me, at least when we were alone in the bedroom, was met with angry spluttering and a blush more fit for a young virgin than a man of Simon’s lurid tastes. Considering how upsetting he found me, it seemed like the breakup should have caused less ill will on his part.
There was a measure of truth to Simon’s complaints, of course. I was not so out of touch with my own self to think otherwise.
I was comfortable in knowing what I liked—it was a well-curated taste that built the structure I liked my relationships in. I didn’t care for the emotions that past partners wanted from me. It wasn’t that they weren’t good men—even Simon in all his current pettiness had been quite charming and good at the beginning. But there was too much give, too much bend, that they all wanted. The demand for breaking down the careful, well-considered structure I had offered was increasingly not worth the trouble.