Patrick

“Are you going to take that call?” Bronson asked.

“It can wait,” I responded.

“You sure? You never know how crazy things can get in business,” he said. Then he stuffed a chunk of lobster tail in his mouth and began to chew.

“It can wait,” I responded.

Something was going on, but I’d handle it as soon as I was finished with Bronson, which would be very, very soon. I should have skipped this lunch, but after I’d left Nya, I’d been desperate for some distraction. It turned out to be a mistake because Bronson was driving me nuts.

“You aren’t having any lunch?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Your loss. This is delicious,” was his reply.

A fleck of lobster had settled in the corner of his mouth and a small stream of butter dripped down his chin. I decided not to tell him, but was impressed that he had the foresight to stuff a napkin into his collar.

“I’m surprised by the invitation, Bronson,” I said.

“Why?” he asked, having shifted to the gigantic asparagus spear, also slathered in butter.

“I’m not coming in on your deal, and I think you still have some bad blood about M. Lounge and Hotel,” I said.

Our last meeting had been pleasant enough, when Bronson had called and asked that I join him again and I had again denied, I’d known he was pissed. I’d been too distracted by other matters to pay attention, but in addition to this new deal, I had suspected there were bad feelings about the M. deal. Bronson had viewed it as the next step in his revival of his family business, and even after a few years, I knew the loss stung.

“Water under the bridge,” he said. “Besides, you should know better than anyone that business can sometimes be a contact sport.”

He laughed at his own joke, but I didn’t join in. Another one of Bronson’s not at all subtle digs against me. Most days it would have rolled off me, but today it set my teeth on edge and curled my fist. I liked to tell Michael that not every problem could be solved by a punch in the mouth and that every slight didn’t require a reaction.

Bronson was making me test that assertion, and I struggled to not make a lie of my own advice.

“Why am I here, Bronson?” I said, deciding to cut to the heart of the matter.

He put down his fork, looked at me with something like sincerity in his eyes.

“I’ve been a prick, badgering you about that damn deal,” he said.

I laughed. “You just noticed?” I asked.

He smiled. “I finally pieced it together, and I want to make amends. Offer an olive branch of sorts.”

“Meaning?”

“I know things got a little…heated when you were buying M. but there’s no need for that. We can be both competitors and colleagues. That other stuff is in the past. No hard feelings,” he said.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” I asked, confused at the source of this change. Bronson kept things superficial. This kind of behavior was out of character and had me curious and suspicious.

“It’s not so sudden,” he said. “I’ve been a jerk, and I’d like to pay you back. Why don’t you spend a few days at my mountain resort? Brand-new, fancy as fuck, even if I say so myself. Exclusive. It’ll give you a good chance to check out the competition,” he said.

My phone buzzed again but I kept focused on Bronson, needing to wrap this up. “Thanks for the offer. Is that all?” I replied, distracted.

He narrowed his dark eyes and then nodded his head. “Yeah. That’s all.”

“I’ll think about it. Good-bye, Bronson,” I said as I stood.

“Patrick! Stay! Let’s chat,” he called.

“Later,” I said.

I made my way out of the restaurant and waited until I was in my car to check my phone.

There hadn’t been any calls, but a series of text messages, thirteen in total, all with the number four and nothing else.

Trouble.

I was speeding down the road less than a second later.