“I know we agreed not to talk about this at work, but I just need to know that you’re—”
“Hey guys!” a cheery voice interrupts. Margot jumps a little and both of our heads snap to the doorway of my office, where my cousin Lucy is standing. Her wide smile falters as her eyes shift between Margot and me. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”
As much as I’d like to tell my cousin to come back later, there isn’t a lot of time to spare. My flight leaves in less than two hours. A car will be arriving to take me to the airport any minute now.
I shake my head. “No, come in.”
Lucy takes a few tentative steps into my office, as if she’s wading through the tension hanging thick in the air. There’s a quick round of greetings before I summarize the pet store employee’s instructions. Lucy rolls her eyes and tells me sheknows how to keep a hamster alive for a few days. It’s a fair point. After all, Lucy has built a whole career out of offering concierge pet nanny services, which in short, means glorified pet sitting for people too rich to bother shopping around for better rates.
People like me.
But since I’m her cousin, and my brother and I supplied the funds to get her business off the ground, she refuses to take my money. I offered her use of our cabin in Aspen instead, which she gladly accepted.
My desk phone rings. The first-floor receptionist says the car is here to take me to the airport.
“I’ll walk out with you,” I tell Lucy. Then, without thinking, I turn to Margot and pull her into a hug. I don’t realize my mistake until she tenses, clearly caught off guard by the very public show of affection. At work, no less. But since it’s too late to take it back, I murmur, “Let’s talk when I get back.”
Margot nods, and we pull apart.
Lucy is standing there holding the hamster cage, looking very shocked. And because my cousin isn’t exactly one for subtleties, Lucy glances between the two of us and blurts out, “Well, that was weird. Are you two sure you’re okay?”
“Mmhmm,” Margot hums in a tight voice at the same time that I cock my head towards the door and say, “Let’s go,” ignoring Lucy’s question entirely.
On my way out, I take one last look at Margot. The smiles we exchange are tight and restrained. As much as I hate leaving on that note, I don’t have much of a choice at the moment.
***
By Wednesday, the acquisition is back on track.
The current CEO was having second thoughts about selling his family’s legacy to a soulless corporation. All it really took was a few honest conversations with him to set things right.
True North is anything but a soulless corporation. It started as nothing but a couple of kayaks that my brother would rent out to visitors at the lake near our house. For a few extra bucks, my brother or I would give them lessons. Garrett worked hard to build his business from that tiny kayak rental stand to the huge national brand that it is today.
I understand the attachment to family legacy, and the guilt of turning it over to someone else, but Ridgeway will always be respected as a legacy brand, with a whole line of retro-inspired clothing and gear with their original logo sold in our stores. His family will receive generous royalties on those products for the rest of their lives. We’re not trying to erase their hard work or their brand; we’re trying to help them preserve it.
Admittedly, True North has a lot to gain from merging the two brands in the midwestern market, where they are easily our biggest competitor. That’s why this trip was so important.
By Thursday, the paperwork is signed. All that’s left to do before I leave tomorrow is to show their CEO some mockups of their product line. Unfortunately, our design team is dragging their feet, and I can’t get ahold of the department head.
Around three o’clock, I call Margot to see if she can help. It’s not the conversation I want to have with her after our night together, but I’ll be home tomorrow. We can talk then.
Margot answers on the second ring. The sound of her voice immediately soothes away the tension I’ve been feeling since this whole acquisition went sideways on Monday morning.
“Hey, I need to talk to Stacia in design, but no one in her department seems to be answering their phones. Can you go down to the fourth floor and track her down for me?”
“Sure,” Margot says. “Want me to relay a message, or just have her call you?”
“Have her call me. I need the mockups for Ridgeway’s legacy line before I leave here tomorrow morning. Last I heard, they were basically done with the design, but it worries me that I haven’t seen it yet. If you’re staying late tonight, would you mind staying on top of them to finish it up and send it over before the team leaves for the day?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line.
Maybe it’s presumptuous of me to assume that Margot is staying late, but that’s pretty much the norm for both of us.
“I was planning to leave by six tonight,” she says, a hint of apology in her voice.
“Hot date?” I joke.
It takes a few seconds for her to answer. “Actually, yeah… sort of.”