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“What are you doing here?” Ben asks, slowly taking it all in.
“I am here to represent William Heights Elementary School, and you are?” I say as professionally as I can, letting my sentence stretch, waiting for his response. We didn’t introduce ourselves at the bar, so he doesn’t have to know that I know exactly who he is. He might be a bigwig around this city, but his arrogance could use a check.
“Benjamin Rothschild. My name is on the door,” he replies with a grin, his tone almost condescending, with a little nod toward the door.
“How lovely.” My smile’s fake, not wanting to give him an inch. I know how men like him operate. He will now think he has the upper hand in all these negotiations. Only, there will be no negotiations. George and I want this deal dead in the water. We only came here to tell them no.
George and I have spoken at length about this situation. We will continue to decline their offers, but they will play dirty. Probably tamper with the school, try to remove our funding, try to increase costs and pressures in some other underhanded way. We’re mentally prepared; we know how this game works.
As we take our seats, George and I sit on one side of the table, with the three suited men opposite us. It is uneven, just like this negotiation is going to be.
“So, George, Emily, we have the paperwork all here for you to sign. As stated in our email, Mr. Beasley wishes to purchase the property and has offered quite the sum, as I am sure you can appreciate,” Michael says as he pushes the paperwork over to us. George clears his throat but doesn’t say a word.
My eyes flick to the paperwork. Five million dollars is a lot of money. George could do so much with it, but he has made it very clear that we are not selling the school. Not for any amount.
“Thank you for your very kind offer, Mr. Beasley, but as I am sure you can appreciate, the school is actually not for sale.” I offer a small smile as I push the paperwork back across the table.
“It’s five million dollars, Emily. Take the money,” Ben interjects, appearing flabbergasted that I would decline such an offer, which is over and above market rates.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Rothschild, not everyone can be bought.” Piercing him straight in the eyes, he meets my gaze. My fingers intertwine under the table, my body feeling hot. The way he looks at me is intense.
“What will it take?” Mr. Beasley asks, breaking the staring competition that Ben and I had started. He appears keen to get his grubby hands on our school, and his tone is demanding, but it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.
“As I said, we are not interested in selling the property.”
“Ten million!” the balding fat man shouts at me, like he is bidding at an auction, and Ben looks at him sharply. He and Michael are obviously the ones who need to do the negotiating. Their client is now going rogue, a good sign that we have ruffled feathers. That was my main aim of being here to discuss this in person, after all.
“Once again, Mr. Beasley, we thank you for your offer, but we are not selling the property. That’s final,” I reinstate calmly, in a measured tone, which I know to men like him is extremely frustrating. As if on cue, a vein pops out of his neck and starts to throb.
“Emily, it’s ten million dollars; you will never get that kind of money from anyone else. Take the cash,” Ben says to me. He’s trying to remain stoic, but I can hear a sense of urgency in his voice.
“Again, as I said, we thank you for the offer, but we are not for sale.” I turn to look at George, who looks back at me proudly, and we both stand. I think I’ve repeated myself enough. “Pleasure to meet you all. We can see ourselves out,” I say with a nod, my eyes looking quickly at the bowl of Milk Duds on the table, my tongue itching to taste one. They are my downfall, those delicious chocolatey treats.
Ben stands quickly and follows behind me as his client and colleague remain in their seats, still sitting in shock at our rejection.
“Are you really just going to walk away from ten million dollars?” he hisses at me as we walk through the door into the quiet corridor.
“Emily, I need to go,” George says. This is the last place he wants to be, and I can tell he’s itching to get back to school where he’s needed.
“Go, George, I will meet you there later.” He nods and walks briskly to the elevator, getting out of the building like it is on fire.
I turn and look at Ben, clearing my throat to make sure my last denial is firm. “We are really not interested in selling, no matter the price—” I stop mid-sentence as my eyes flick around his shoulder, my heart dropping through the floor at who catches my eye. I suddenly can’t swallow, and my body begins to tremble.
Desperation kicking in, my head whips around frantically, trying to find a place to hide. Anywhere before he sees me.
“Emily?” Ben asks, his brow furrowed when my eyes land on him. “Are you okay?”
“Shit, shit, shit…” I say over and over to myself, shaking my head as I spot a vacant desk not too far away. I make a mad dash for it, past a tall potted plant, and down the hallway a bit, and then drop to the floor onto my hands and knees and crawl underneath the desk to hide.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ben follows right behind, looking down at me.
“Shhhhh,” I say just as he approaches.
“Benjamin, good to see you, my friend,” his voice booms, and I bite my tongue, forcing myself to stop breathing, hoping like hell he doesn't see me. I squint my eyes closed and clutch my hands to my chest, feeling my heart pumping hard underneath.
“Jeremy, nice to see you,” Ben says as he positions his body so he is hiding me more, seemingly protecting me so Jeremy doesn’t notice me. I give a silent thanks to the universe that Ben hasn’t outed me, that he’s actually helping.
“I would like to stay and chat, but I must keep moving. See you around. We must play golf sometime soon?” Jeremy says as he is walking toward the elevator.
