Tess
THE WORLD IS made up of many different kinds of business people. Suits. Khakis. Take charge. Cower down. Go with the flow.
But the bullying type is simply unacceptable.
In fact, there should be laws against this kind of behavior. I give him a sideways glance and see his smirk. There definitely should be laws against it. What this big shot is trying to do is completely unethical and downright underhanded.
I really wish I had done my research before coming to the agreed upon appointment to sign my new restaurant lease, because if I had, I would have canceled. But with everything happening so fast, I neglected to notice whom exactly I would be meeting.
He’s a man with a reputation around Chicago.
And not a good one.
Word on the street is that he is a slumlord.
A down and dirty businessman.
Ruthless.
With a narrowed stare, I look my potential new landlord right in the eyes. “I am not signing this lease until you change the monthly lease payment back to the one advertised, and I might add, the previously agreed upon amount.”
Pokerfaced, Mathias Bigelow shifts his gaze from the clipboard in his hands over to me, and then stares at me deadpan. “Ms. Winters, the advertised monthly rate was for retail space, not a restaurant.”
“But I told Derrick what the space would be used for.”
“Derrick,” he grits, “is a realtor, and has no decision-making authority in my business.”
I have to tread lightly. This man owns a rather large percentage of the properties in River North and is rumored to be involved with organized crime. Figures I’d get stuck with him. “I don’t understand why it matters what I plan to use the space for.”
Pardon my language, but this dick in a suit doesn’t impress me with his business savvy when he indicates to the space we are standing in and says, “Would you like me to explain why it matters, doll?”
Trying hard not to roll my eyes, I answer with what I believe to be an intelligent response. “Yes, Mr. Bigelow, I would because the lease is triple net, and therefore there are no additional expenses out of your pocket.”
His face turns red and I think he is getting angry. “Turning this old accountant’s office into a restaurant is going to require renovations, extensive renovations, and although the money is not coming out of my pocket, you will be limiting the future revenue streams of this location when you vacate the property.”
Now irritation starts to flare beneath my skin. “That makes absolutely no sense. If anything, I’m providing the potential to improve it, not reduce it.”
Taking two giant steps toward me, he closes in on me—intentionally moving into my personal space. “Look doll, you either sign the contract or you don’t. It’s no skin off my back either way, but stop wasting my time.”
Whereas Nick in a suit is all smooth and polished, this guy looks rough around the edges even in expensive pinstripes.
Odd thought, I know.
But then Mathias Bigelow takes another step, and his closeness causes my pulse to leap erratically with fear. Effectively banishing all my thoughts about anything except the situation I am in.
When he takes another step toward me, I can smell the foul odor of his cologne, and I am forced to take a step back. He in turn, steps toward me again, caging me against the wall with his free arm.
Somehow I manage to suppress my snarl of rage.
Barely.
How dare he try to intimidate me?
Moving way past fear now, I grit my teeth and go on the attack. “Your shady business tactics won’t work with me, Mr. Bigelow.”
“Shady.” He tips his head back and laughs.
“Yes, shady. You baited me in here, and now you want to switch the deal.”
Somehow he moves even closer. “Are you accusing me of trying to pull a scam?”
Now my nerves are back, and I swallow before nodding.
“Do you know who I am?” he bites out.
As if his cologne doesn’t smell bad enough, the smell of his coffee breath is vile. The combination is making me sick. My stomach becomes a nervous flutter. I want to get away from him. For a brief moment, I consider pushing him back. But I know I won’t be able to budge him, so I don’t. There’s no way I am giving him that kind of satisfaction. Instead, I answer, “Yes,” again, and then add, “I’ll sign for the agreed upon amount only.”
He merely grins. “And I’ll say it one more time, a little slower so you understand, there was no viable, binding prior agreement. This,” he raises the hand with the clipboard and at the same time, lowers the arm caging me in, “is the only agreement there is.”
I look down at the skirt and knee-high boots I opted to wear and then across to the door, and wonder should I decide to run, if I can make it.
And if I do, will he chase me?
Catch me?
Hold me in his grip?
Not wanting to risk an altercation, I square my shoulders and purse my lips. I can act tough, too.
As if sensing I plan to hold my ground, that he will not intimidate me, he pulls the stapled packet of papers from its holder. Once free, he shoves them at me. “I’ll give you until Monday to decide, after that, this place is back on the market. And even with the increased price, you won’t find a cheaper place for rent.”
Damn him, he’s right.
Still, I have my principles and will not be bullied. With shaky fingers I take the papers and stare at him, steady, unwavering. I refuse to show him any fear, or like a lion, he’ll prey on it.
Finally he steps back, allowing me room to pass. “Goodbye,” I say, willing my trembling voice to remain steady.
He grabs my upper arm, tightly, as I move past him. “You have until Monday,” he reminds me, and then lets me go.
When I approach the door, all I can think is, I showed him. I am woman hear me roar. As I open the door, all I can think is, I really need a drink. But then, as the door closes behind me, all I can think is . . . I am not sure if I am lucky . . .
Or screwed.