Two Truths & a Lime (The Love Game Book 3)

by Elizabeth Hayley

  I thought I sounded confident in my answer, and I figured it was because I was. Brody and I would do a shit job trying to build a bar of that scale, and it would take us way too long. As it stood, a Memorial Day opening was an ambitious goal.

  “Probably a good decision,” Mr. Mason said, and I felt my body relax. “The cost of materials and the amount of time it would take you won’t be worth the hassle.”

  “Yeah, that’s how I was starting to feel too,” Brody said.

  I resisted rolling my eyes, though barely.

  “You get any estimates yet?” Mr. Mason asked.

  “Four,” Brody answered, which was at least the truth.

  “Any of them in your budget?”

  Brody had obviously filled his dad in on my agreement with Sean, but I didn’t know if he’d actually provided his dad with any financial specifics.

  “All of them.”

  “You leaning toward any particular one yet?” Mr. Mason walked over to the back railing that looked over a small yard.

  I was beginning to feel like I was the focus of a criminal investigation with the speed at which Mr. Mason was firing questions at us, but I also understood why he was doing it.

  “Not really. Three of them were in the same ballpark, and the other one was a good bit cheaper. So maybe we’ll go with him,” Brody said.

  “If it’s noticeably cheaper, there’s a reason for that,” Mr. Mason said, turning back to us and taking a seat in one of the white plastic chairs nearby. There was another one a few feet away from it, but neither of us made a move to sit in it. “Never go with the most inexpensive option.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “I never thought of it like that.”

  “Me neither,” Brody added. “Got any other business advice for us?”

  Mr. Mason shook his head at his son, but a small laugh escaped him. “I’m beginning to think I’m somewhat to blame for your cluelessness. At least when it comes to financial matters,” he added. “I don’t take any responsibility for all the other bullshit you’ve done.”

  Brody’s mouth opened immediately, but it took him a moment to find his words. When he did, all he said was “Um, I don’t know how to respond to that.”

  “Then don’t,” Mr. Mason said. Then he leaned his forearms on his thighs and folded his hands together. “Look, you want my opinion?”

  “Yes?” Brody said, sounding unsure.

  “Good, because I was going to give it to you either way.”

  I didn’t think Mr. Mason meant it as a joke, but I laughed anyway.

  “A few things you should know about business,” he started. “The first is that you can get something fast, cheap, or good. You’ll never get all three, so you need to decide which two are most important.” He gave that a few moments to sink in before continuing. “In this case, it seems like you need the bar done pretty quickly. You’re aiming to get this up and running in a few weeks?”

  “Yeah,” Brody said. He seemed just as captivated as I was with Mr. Mason’s lesson. At some point we’d both walked closer to him like two kids preparing to hear a story read to us.

  “I’m guessing you don’t want a shitty job?”

  “Definitely not,” I answered.

  “Then don’t go with the cheap guy. He’s either gonna do a half-assed job or he’s gonna drag his feet. But you have to pick someone soon, or it won’t get done in time either way.”

  “So how do we decide?” Brody asked.

  Mr. Mason sighed like the question bothered him more than it probably did. Since he’d arrived, I’d gotten the feeling that he actually enjoyed helping us.

  “The next important thing is communication.”

  I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by communication, but I also didn’t want to ask. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I was glad when Mr. Mason, probably interpreting our blank stares, elaborated.

  “Did any of these guys seem hard to get ahold of or take a while to respond to email or voicemail?”

  We nodded, and I realized that if the guy was tough to get in contact with while he was trying to get the job, he’d probably be tougher to talk to once he actually had it, along with some of our money. I doubted that any of them would be there working every day. Most of them seemed to have a few employees they sent to the smaller jobs like the bar would be.

  “That leaves two,” Brody pointed out.

  “It does,” Mr. Mason said.

  “So what now?”

  “You trust your gut. You take a risk and hope it works out the way you want it to.”

  It sounded so simple, and it probably was to someone who was used to making these kinds of decisions. But for Brody and me, it was akin to putting all our money on black and spinning a roulette wheel. Not that it actually was our money.

  “Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do here. You have to make your own decisions and your own mistakes. Lord knows, Brody’s made enough of them for the both of you.”

  I laughed again, and even Brody seemed to find it amusing. Though Mr. Mason was taking shots at him, they seemed to be in jest this time.

  “I’d like to see you both succeed, and I’d like to be a part of that success, but you guys need to find your own way here. I’m happy to give my opinion from time to time or answer questions, but the bulk of the decisions need to be yours.”

  I could see Brody’s anxiety beginning to manifest itself on his face—a furrowed brow that revealed how deep in thought he was, the occasional twisting of his lips when Mr. Mason would give a bit of help and then pull back, like a father teaching his son to ride a bike. And in some ways that was what this was. I just hoped when Mr. Mason let go, Brody and I didn’t veer off down a hill and forget how to brake.

  “Yeah, yeah, totally,” Brody said, but he didn’t sound like he completely agreed.

  Because as much experience as Brody had being a fuckup, this was different. This was something that Brody wanted, not something his parents wanted for him.

  And for me, it was my chance to make something out of almost nothing. It was true the bar had its regular customers, but nowhere near as many as it should for its location.

  “We got this,” said Brody. “It’ll all come together.”

  Mr. Mason didn’t look so sure. “Nothing just ‘comes together,’ Brody. You have to plan for it, have to put the pieces into place. This isn’t something that’ll work itself out. You have to do the work this time.”

  “Yeah. Right, I know that. I’ll do the work. We’ll do the work,” Brody corrected himself. “We have a plan. A good one.”

  “The deck isn’t that big. I assume you thought about how to maximize the space?”

  “Definitely,” Brody said. “We have it drawn up right here.” He leaned over to show the paper to his dad and pointed out where we planned to have high-top seating along one railing and some other tables around that could be pushed together if needed.

  “I meant maximize the space in terms of bringing in customers. You need to think about who your target demographic is, how you plan to market to them, what’ll make this place stand out. Those sorts of things.”

  If left to Sean, the deck would probably sit nearly unused except for a few tables for customers who wanted outdoor seating or people who went outside to smoke, so Mr. Mason’s point was a valid one. Sean might have given us this task because he wanted it off his plate, but we needed to prove he’d given it to the right people.

  Brody and I were getting pretty good at our nonverbal communication, but I didn’t even need to look at him to know what he was thinking this time. We hadn’t thought about any of that stuff, let alone discussed it, but we sure as hell weren’t going to tell Mr. Mason that.

  Clearing his throat loudly, Brody looked to me with hope.

  “Of course, yeah, we’ve already discussed a lot of that,” I said, knowing Brody would either say nothing at all or something that would make us appear even dumber than we already did.

  “Oh yeah?” Mr. Mason asked with
a raised eyebrow. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or skeptical.

  “Yup,” Brody said. “We’re reviewing some marketing plans and discussing which would be best.”

  “That’s good,” he said. “So you’ve reached out to someone in that field?”

  Brody and I exchanged glances again.

  “We have,” I said.

  “Of course,” said Brody.

  And then, because suddenly we thought as one brain, we said, “Sophia’s helping us.”

  S O P H I A

  With fifteen minutes to spare before my internship started for the day, I entered the elevator, my purse and work bag slung over my shoulder as I tried to manage not to spill the coffees I was holding in each hand.

  “Fifteen, please,” I said to a sharply dressed woman within reach of the buttons.

  It was only my second week at Margot Nathan, and though I hadn’t expected my position as an intern would be overly important to the agency’s success, I’d hoped to be more than just a glorified delivery girl. So far, no such luck.

  Jake, one of the other interns I’d met the first day, had told me he’d heard that the first couple of weeks were mainly menial tasks the executives doled out to see who could put up with bullshit before they decided which ones they wanted to have around for the full summer.

  Until I’d arrived, I hadn’t realized that some of us might not stay, but it made sense considering there were four of us and barely enough work for two people. It was on each of us to make ourselves useful.

  Which was why I was determined to get Carole’s coffee order correct this morning and to make myself useful the rest of the day, even if no one gave me a specific job. How hard could it be to put on a smile and say “Of course” to whatever they asked me to do and then find some other little tasks to keep myself busy the rest of the time?

  Turned out it was actually pretty difficult, at least for some people, because as soon as I exited the elevator, Jake bombarded me.

  “Where’ve you been? I have news!”

  “Was there a three-for-the-price-of-one sale on striped dress shirts?” Each day his shirt was a different color—light gray with dark-gray stripes, pale yellow with blue stripes—but they all looked exactly the same, like a uniform he’d created for himself that he didn’t dare deviate from.

  “What? No,” he said, clearly confused. “But if you hear about one, let me know.”

  “Then what’s your news?” I asked, shrugging my shoulder to keep on the straps that were threatening to fall. When I got them steady enough that I felt I could walk without them slipping down my arm and splashing coffee everywhere, I started for the office with Jake in stride.

  “Abigail passed last night.”

  “Jesus!” I stopped so quickly, I splashed some of Carole’s coffee on my hand. Luckily, none got on my clothes. “Shit,” I said, bringing up my hand to lick it. “She died?” I practically whispered, not wanting to say it too loudly.

  Jake scrunched his face up at me. “No. God. That’s…disturbing. Why would I be excited about another intern dying?”

  I shrugged the best I could while holding all my things. “I don’t know. Because you’re a sociopath? I’ve only known you for a little over a week.”

  “I know. I feel like we’ve known each other forever, though.”

  “We haven’t.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Okay, now will you tell me what the hell you meant? What do you mean, she passed?”

  Is there some sort of internship test or something we have to take?

  We arrived at the glass entrance to Margot Nathan, but Jake made no move to open the door.

  “Can you get that?” I asked him.

  He was lacking in either common sense or manners. I was beginning to suspect both.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

  Pulling the door open, he waited for me to walk in before him. I guess chivalry wasn’t completely dead. Once we were inside, he lowered his voice, though not quite to a whisper.

  “Abigail quit. I mean, I guess ‘quit’ isn’t the right word here since we’re not actually employed, but she passed on the internship. Apparently she told Jeff she didn’t think picking up his dry cleaning and lunch orders was worth her time.”

  Jeff was an important member of the hierarchy at the agency, so if he asked me to cut his sandwich into little triangles and take the crust off like he was a toddler, I would reach for the nearest knife.

  “Seriously?”

  I’d figured people would be told not to come back after messing up too many times or something. I hadn’t expected any of us would choose to leave. It might not have been the most fulfilling work, but it wasn’t difficult either. And experience was experience.

  “Sophia, what took you so long? If I don’t get some caffeine in me by eight thirty in the morning, I start snapping at people like an angry sea turtle.”

  I hadn’t even realized Carole had seen me come in, but she must’ve been waiting for my—or the coffee’s—arrival. I heard the clicking of her heels before I actually saw her. But suddenly, I found her in front of me like she’d manifested from tiny particles that had been magically transported from one place to the other.

  That was one thing I’d already learned about Carole: you never knew when she was going to appear or for how long she’d already been there.

  “Sorry,” I said, sincerely apologizing even though my internship didn’t begin until nine and I was technically still early.

  “Which one’s mine?” Her eyes looked like a hungry vampire’s as she eyed up the drinks in each of my hands.

  “This one.” I extended the one that had spilled out a bit. “Hot latte, triple shot of espresso, oat milk, and Splenda.”

  Carole took the cup from me with one hand and toyed with her turquoise necklace with the other. The stones were larger than her knuckles and draped around the open collar of her red blouse. I would never have chosen to put together those two colors, but like every other day, Carole looked absolutely stunning.

  “Did you drink from this?” She sounded disgusted as she eyed the lid that held a splash of coffee.

  “No. Of course not. Some spilled on the top when I was coming in. This one’s mine.” I held up the other cup and took a sip.

  “Okay,” she said skeptically. “As long as it’s still hot, I guess I can deal with the loss of a few sips.”

  “It’s definitely hot,” I assured her. “I’ll probably have a little burn, actually.” Showing her the skin between my thumb and index finger, I attempted to prove that the coffee on her cup had in fact come from my clumsiness.

  “Sophia, I don’t need to hear about your injuries when I first get to work in the morning. Or ever, actually. Snapping turtle, remember?” Most of the time her expression was severe, and this moment was no exception. But somehow, despite her cold demeanor and brash words, Carole seemed almost endearing.

  Almost.

  She was also beautiful. She had one of those faces that refused to betray her age. She could’ve been in her early thirties or her late fifties, because she no doubt had the money for expensive moisturizer and Botox, and since her dark hair held not even a hint of gray at the roots, she either had standing appointments at the hair stylist or really good genes. I imagined she was one of those women who looked fabulous even when she woke up in the morning, though I knew that probably wasn’t true.

  “What’s this I hear about a snapping turtle?” Jeff approached Jake and me, his hand already reaching for the cup in my hand. “Ooh, coffee.” He put it to his lips before I could tell him it wasn’t his, though I guess technically it was his now.

  “I was just explaining to Sophia and Jack that—”

  “It’s Jake, actually,” Jake cut in.

  “Whatever,” she said dismissively. “I told Sophia and Jake that I’m like a snapping turtle if I don’t have my coffee by eight thirty.”

  “What happens at eight thirty?” Jeff asked. “This have cream and sugar in it?” He
squinted as he tried to see through the small drinking hole.

  I nodded.

  “I like mine black,” he told me with a smile. “Just so you’re aware for next time.”

  I nodded again. “Got it.”

  “Anyway, what happens at eight thirty?” he asked Carole.

  “Your crotchety ass shows up.”

  Jeff nearly spit out his coffee. Once he recovered himself, he turned toward Jake and me. “There’s a meeting in my office at nine thirty with a client, and I think it’d be a good idea if you sat in on it.”

  “Oh. Really?” I asked.

  I was surprised Jeff would want us interacting with clients so early on, and I suddenly felt severely underprepared. Not that I needed to actually be prepared for anything in particular.

  “Both of us?” Jake asked.

  “Yes, both. The three of you if you want to let Kevin know to come too. I think it’d be valuable to see how a client meeting is run. Phillip Maxwell’s been with Margot Nathan since he opened his first restaurant in New York. He has an idea for expansion that he’d like to discuss.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jake said. “I’ll let him know.”

  Kevin was a bit of a burnout, and though it wasn’t quite nine yet, I had a feeling he’d be late. He’d only been on time a few days since we all started, and since he wasn’t here yet, I figured today would be similar.

  “I take it you both know that Abigail’s no longer with us,” Jeff said, causing me to wonder why people kept using euphemisms for death to describe her leaving.

  “We heard,” Jake said, sounding surprisingly somber.

  “Would you like me in on this meeting too?” Carole asked.

  Jeff thought for a moment before he said, “As long as you’ve had your coffee by then.”

  “I’ll be there.” Carole gave him a sort of smile that made me feel awkward for having witnessed it, kind of like I was intruding on some inside joke that only Carole was a part of.

  I wondered if Jeff picked up on Carole’s creepy, semiseductive grin but decided quickly I’d rather not know.

  Once the two went back to their offices, I headed over to the large table that had been designated for the interns and put my things on the ground. I took out my laptop and booted it up.