The Never List

by DL White

I was also in no mood to be psychoanalyzed by Trey Pettigrew. I turned back to my car, unlocked it and flopped inside, dumping my bag on the passenger seat.

  Trey stood outside the car, watching me flounce around in anger. "You can call me Trey, you know. And try to be on time tomorrow. Don't take 75; hit the back roads until you get to−"

  "You know what you can do, Trey?" I punched the ignition button. "Shut the fuck up. Okay? See you tomorrow."

  I slammed the car into reverse, pulled out of the space, and changed gears, smashing the gas pedal so hard, the tires squealed.

  Chapter Ten

  Trey

  * * *

  I pushed back a plate of decimated bone-in, medium-rare steak and remnants of the best salmon rolls I'd had in years.

  Back at Georgia State, I roomed with Ken Takagi, a biracial man with Black and Japanese heritages. On Saturday nights, our group of friends would find him poring over a carefully constructed imaginary menu, making additions and changes depending on the season. He preferred to cook, and I liked to eat, so our dorm suite always smelled like the most amazing cuisine. His southern fried chicken rolls and variations on ramen were still my favorite dishes.

  Ken's complaints about the distasteful food at the Georgia State cafeterias were legendary, but they also spurred his dreams of combining the best foods of his cultures into a fine dining concept. He earned a business degree, then went straight to culinary school, landing a job as a line cook and worked his way up the chain at some of the nation's hottest restaurants while still critiquing food and still inventing dishes.

  Tonight, I studied every finely tuned detail of Eito Sushi and Steakhouse. This location was his tenth restaurant opening, but the one that meant the most to him. I beamed with pride while I sat at the bar of thick black marble, ate a sumptuous Kobe beef steak and tangy broccoli salad off of vintage china dishes, sipped sake from a bulbous opaque glass, and monitored the evening's games from several TV's hung above the bar. Business was brisk, but not crazy. Ken was having a great night.

  I nodded, more to myself than to keep time with the soft music that flowed from the speakers mounted around the room.

  This is a guy that made his dream come true, repeatedly. It could be you, but you're playing.

  "I take it you like my place."

  I reared back with an outstretched palm and a wide grin for Ken. He glowed with pride, his chest puffed out so far that the buttons might pop off of his shirt. His sandy complexion betrayed a blush, and his dark-as-night eyes danced as they bounced around the room. Ken had traveled widely, building an Eito Sushi and Steakhouse everywhere he went, but Atlanta was home. He put roots down and opened his latest restaurant minutes away from the campus where we'd been roommates and his dream had taken hold.

  "Easily my favorite meal this year. Give props to your chef. He's doing his thing back there."

  Ken grinned wider, pumping as he squeezed my fingers in his palm. "I hire straight from culinary school and train them like I want them to cook. I don't like breaking bad habits."

  I pointed to a plate that was practically licked clean. "He's doing a fine job. How is business?"

  Businessman to businessman, I drained my sake, ordered a beer, and traded stories about running our businesses.

  "The CEO look suits you," Ken noted, watching the bartender pour another beer from the tap and taking a sidelong glance at my dark jacket, slacks, and tie. "Never thought I'd see you out of khakis and a polo."

  "At least I look good. And I'm not doing too bad of a job."

  "Maybe you really can carry the Pettigrew mantle."

  The lighthearted joke was an attempt to brighten the mood. It would have worked if my day had gone better. As it was, I was grumpy about the state of the deal with Miller Design and frustrated at having a wrench thrown into my plans.

  "You could be closer to the truth than you realize," I mused.

  "Oh? You had other things in mind, I thought.”

  "Still the plan. I'm… doing something else right now."

  "How long are you going to be doing something else? This is a temporary thing, right?"

  I fisted the beer bottle and poured a swallow down my throat before answering. "Pops is hinting like he might not come back to Pettigrew."

  "Oh." His expression darkened.

  I reassured him with a nod of my head. "He's fine. Healthy, looking good, getting stronger. But the business almost killed him, and Mom is pressuring him to retire."

  "And he might take the bait, which leaves you in the driver's seat."

  Ken's melancholy tone was a direct reflection of my mood. He understood that if I had to run the company, I wouldn't have time or energy to focus on establishing a new division. I didn't want to assign the job to someone, to have an employee report how well they carried out my dream. I wanted to set it up, to launch it, to run the first few jobs. I wanted to do it myself.

  "Pops might have given me an out last week. I’ve stalled us on an acquisition. He mentioned bringing Vincent in to close the deal."

  Ken's thinking pose was to cradle his chin in his palm. "Maybe it'd be a good move. If he can close it, he can take over Pettigrew, and you can move to residential."

  "Sometimes, I think that would be ideal. And then..." I paused long enough that he glanced over at me, the urge to finish my thought in his eyes. "Well, I can't do both, right? If Pops wanted Vincent to take the company, he wouldn't have pulled me from the field to run Pettigrew in his absence. I feel like this is a test."

  "A test of what, though? To see if you're a Saul Pettigrew clone? You're not your father, Trey."

  I'd been telling myself every morning, noon, and evening that I wasn't my father. If he didn't like how I did his job, he could come back to work.

  "I need to see this project through," I told him. "I want to prove that I can do this. Once this acquisition is settled, I'll have his trust. Then I can make my move."

  Ken offered a fist. I bumped it.

  Not to mention, I told myself, that pulling off the acquisition meant spending more time with a woman that challenged me. I wanted to know more about her.

  Now to devise a way to make that knowledge happen.

  Chapter Eleven

  Esme

  * * *

  I really hated to admit that he was right, but the shortcut that Trey suggested shaved twenty minutes off of my commute. That left time to swing through Brew Bar, a shop that only sold coffee and coffee-flavored confections.

  As I pulled away from the curb with SiriusXM on blast, Drake's low and slow cadence cut out as a call rang through the speakers. The display on the dashboard read Jewel Simmons. I pressed the accept button on the steering wheel with the thumb of one hand while maneuvering the straw of my usual drink, a large hazelnut cold brew into my mouth with the other.

  "Hey, Jewel," I called out, before sucking down a long sip.

  "Hey, baby girl. Whatcha doin'?"

  "What do you think I'm doing?"

  "Don't answer a question with a question. I wanted to know if you were busy."

  "You always call me early in the morning on a weekday and ask what I'm doing. I'm driving. What's up?"

  "I should ask you. Were you going to tell anyone that someone mugged you?"

  My jaw clenched so tight that my molars ground together. Nobody asked O'Neal to share that information. I'd hear from my parents within hours for sure.

  "I was not mugged. There was an attempt, but I wasn't mugged. And why would I bother telling anyone? You seem to get your information just fine."

  "I shouldn't have to hear about my sister getting molly whopped in the street in a WhatsApp chat, Es. What happened?"

  I shared the highlights, allowing Jewel to groan and gasp at appropriate moments. "And then I got this enormous project at work, so I've been a little preoccupied. I wasn't trying to be secretive. I just forgot."

  "Mmmhmm," she grunted. "Is this the project with the guy that came to the house, and you couldn't find anything nice to sa
y, and now you two have to work together?"

  I almost choked on the coffee I'd thought it was safe to sip. "O'Neal's mouth has been busy."

  Jewel's laugh sounded so sinister over the speakers. "In more ways than one. So?"

  "So what?"

  "Don't make me cuss, Esme. Is he the guy?"

  I laughed, maneuvering my way around two slow drivers and off of the highway, heading to the winding, tree line side streets that would take me to Miller Design.

  "Really? You're married with kids and got your nose all the way in my business. You have nothing else to worry about?"

  "No. My old, married-with-kids ass wants to know what's up. I assume he's a snack if O'Neal thought you should have been nicer to him."

  "Yeah. He's the guy. And he is...."

  I sighed, hating myself for even admitting it. "Snack-ish. I guess. He's corny, though. He laughs at his own jokes and everything."

  "Esme, you need to learn at the knee of the Goddess Ciara. Corny is not all bad. I would take Russell Wilson all day. Corey could be a little more corny, come to think of it."

  "That'll be enough of that, Jewel."

  Corey, her husband, was a Math professor at Emory University. He also hosted virtual reality games and loved Math Olympics. He and their two pre-teens, Samuel and Georgia, spent their weekends holding trivia tournaments and epic D&D sessions. He was corny enough.

  "You need to get you a big ol' chocolate nerd. O'Neal told us what happened at the restaurant. I mean with the chair. Why'd you have to be so mean to him?"

  I felt my eyes pop, they grew so large, so fast. "Jewel. He was rude."

  "He went out of his way to bring your wallet to you. That doesn't sound rude to me, Es."

  I slurped more of the strong, sweet, icy brew before answering. I needed to fortify myself for a morning with Trey. "You're only getting one side of the story. And the side you're getting is the side that thinks I want to know him biblically if you know what I'm saying."

  "Well…"

  "Not an option. I went over this with O'Neal. I can't date him. I can't… not date him."

  Jewel sighed. I could feel her eyes rolling. "Those books you read, full of perfect men? None of them are going to walk out of a book and into your life, Esme."

  "I don't need perfect. I'm not looking for a fairy tale. I'm not looking for anything, actually."

  "Maybe you should start looking. In the meantime, the snack might take care of a few things. Know what I'm saying?"

  "I should ask a random man that I met last week to deflower me?"

  "Ugh. Stop saying that word. But maybe. Nobody cares that it's your first time, but you."

  "That's exactly why I will wait until it's right for me."

  I turned the corner into the group of buildings that housed Miller Design. Trey's long-legged form paced the sidewalk in dark slacks and a collared shirt. I stifled the groan that wanted to pour from me, just watching his smooth gait, full of swagger.

  "Ok, I'm pulling up to the building, and he's outside. I don't want to have this conversation through my car stereo system."

  Jewel cackled. "You don't want him to hear us talking about bustin' it wide open, Es?"

  I huffed. "Get your trash mouth off of my phone. Don't you have thirty pairs of eyes looking at you right now?"

  In the background, a protracted bell rang. "I will, in a minute."

  "Love you. Try not to ruin them kids."

  "Love you. Don't be mean today, Esme."

  "No promises," I muttered, then disconnected the call. I killed the engine, gathered my coffee and work bag. Before I could pull the latch, the door opened.

  "That's correct." Trey was mid-conversation while pulling my car door open. "Vincent negotiated a deal on cement mix based on how much we order, so the price per unit should be lower than that. Check it against the contract, so we're forecasting correctly."

  Since I hadn't moved, Trey bent over to peer inside at me. "Ms. Whitaker? You good?"

  Don't be mean today, Esme said Jewel's voice in my head. I wanted to argue with her, just to be obstinate, but I didn't.

  "I'm fine, Mr. Pettigrew."

  I climbed out of the car and hiked my bag onto my shoulder. He closed the door as soon as I moved away from the car.

  "I need to go," he said, looking down at the phone. "My appointment is here. We'll pick this up later."

  Trey slid a long finger across the screen, then dug a case out of his pocket. He removed two earbuds and tucked them neatly into the case, then slid it back into his pocket, followed by his phone.

  "Never seen a man handle his business before?"

  I blinked. Then realized I'd been watching him.

  "Thought you might have gotten caught up."

  "Caught up in… what?"

  He nodded, but his long glance said that he'd caught me. He tipped his head toward the building, reaching to open the door. "Shall we? I have a yes in my pocket."

  Trey and I settled into the conference room. He set the attaché case that he'd picked up in the lobby on the table before settling into his seat.

  The room was built to host eight to ten people around an oblong table. Like the rest of Miller Design's décor, it was plain and non-descript. Taupe walls, low-pile carpet, black leather chairs that were not only on casters that could glide across the floors but also tipped back so that a person could recline.

  The benefits in Miller's offices lied in its technology investments—state-of-the-art software and equipment made for the industry. At the front of the room, the entire wall was a built-in digital monitor. On the table, several plugs and connectors, one of which broadcasted the working document from my laptop to the wall.

  "You said you came with a yes in your pocket," I reminded him. I opened my notebook to the pages I'd marked up the day before, where we'd reached an impasse and called it a day. "What would that yes be about?"

  "Not what you think," he said. He arranged his pens, notepad, and tablet, then laid his phone next to these items. Once he was set, he steepled his fingers, so the tips met.

  "Not what I think? Is this a game to you, Mr. Pettigrew?"

  "Could you call me Trey? Please? Only the bank and local PD call me Mr. Pettigrew."

  It was my nature to argue, just to be petty. Instead, I inhaled a breath through my nose and gave a brief nod of my head. "Fine," I answered. "And call me Esme."

  "Thank you. And no, this isn't a game to me. It shouldn't be a game to you, either. And I know it's not a game to Miller. There's a reason that he reached out to my father to begin talks about merging our companies. Miller wants to do more than medical facilities. Pettigrew wants to expand. We can do a lot for each other. So…"

  Trey exhaled, then pressed the Home button on his tablet, bringing up an illuminated page of typewritten notes. "I've done some thinking, some projecting based on future business, and I'm willing to take some risks. But this will only work if you're also willing to take some risks."

  "Me?" My brows shot up. I reached for my iced coffee and used the time I needed to suck down a gulp to search my brain as to what he could be referring to. "Any risks I take would be on behalf of Miller Design, and—"

  "No, I don't mean Miller, Esme. I mean you. Personally."

  He picked up a pen, holding the barrel between two fingers, then flipped it back and forth over his knuckles.

  "Last night, I did a lot of thinking. Miller said it won't break him if he doesn't get to bid on this facility. Frankly, it won't break Pettigrew, either. It's found money if we get it, but we won't go under if we don't. But like I said, I'm thinking about the future. The end game. I know what Miller wants. I know what his company is worth, I know what he's willing to sell it for, and he won’t get a better deal anywhere else."

  "Mr.— Trey. I'm the middleman. I represent Mr. Miller and the best interest of Miller Design. If you want to have another meeting with him to have a high-level discussion, I'm happy to step aside—"

  "We don't have time for that. A
nd that's not what I want. What I want is some concessions from you."

  "From me?"

  "Yes."

  He paused, then let his eyes travel up from the screen of his tablet to mine. Those dark brown orbs seemed to be swirling.

  "What's in this for you, Esme? A raise? A promotion? A comfy office? Will Ethan Byron over at Benning M&A finally pat you on the head and tell you that you're a good little worker bee?"

  My lips betrayed me by frowning. Trey chuckled.

  "They taught us how to research at that fancy school I went to. Coincidentally, I also went to Georgia State. So, I dug into Benning and the deals they broker. They let you do grunt work, give you all of this responsibility so that you think you're essential, dangling the carrot of the corporate ladder and making your way up. You and I know that essential often means overworked, underpaid, and unrecognized. So, what do you get out of this?"

  "The satisfaction of a job well done if Miller gets his way."

  "And if he doesn't? Does that come back on you?"

  He hummed, then slowly shook his head when I protested.

  "Before you hitch your horse to that wagon, check into who benefits when the papers are signed. And what happens to you if they aren't. I'm doing this because my father wants it done, not because I believe in it. If it was me, Joe Owner, evaluating this deal, I'd have walked. Bringing you in was dirty. Miller knows it; that's why he sprung you on me and didn't allow me time to arrange an administrator on my end."

  "So walk away," I argued, more like a challenge, but lobbed softly to mask the edge to the question. "If you don't like the terms and it won't hurt you to lose the bid, walk away."

  Trey was contemplative for a few beats. Then he tossed the pen to the table, set the tablet down next to it, and leaned in.

  "Real talk? Keepin' it a hunnid?"

  I leaned in, conspiratorially. "Real talk. Whatever a hunnid is."

  "I can't." He shrugged his broad shoulders, then relaxed again. "I'm looking at you, talking to you, but as far as Miller is concerned, I am my father. Saul Pettigrew is a giant of a man, not only in stature but reputation. There's so much more than money riding on this, the least of which is my father's opinion of me and my ability to do what he asked me to do. Which is to close this deal."