Beg for It(6)

The offer.

That’s how all the owners referred to it, usually in a disdainful undertone or with a casually anxious sneer. For a company with a history of staying in the same family for generations without so much as a hint of a power struggle, the idea of passing the Stein Brothers legacy into the hands of a stranger had always been unthinkable. They’d received and passed up plenty of offers for other buyouts in the past, unanimously voting to keep Stein and Sons in the hands of its grandsons and granddaughters.

Now, the offer.

It had come in two weeks ago. An insultingly terrible offer, laden with restrictions and caveats that would’ve essentially crippled the company in the long-term. It would’ve gone straight into Corinne’s trash file, but it hadn’t come directly to her.

Lynn shook his head. “I don’t know that we have any choice. Corinne’s given us the numbers. We’ve tried everything we can think of. Nothing we do is working. It’s time to let go.”

“But if we sold, we wouldn’t have the business anymore,” Jennifer said. “It would be totally gone.”

“It’s going to be gone soon anyway, if we don’t see some turnaround,” Corinne said gently. “Something has to change. Or there won’t be anything left to sell except the physical assets.”

The cousins shared a look. Dennis cleared his throat. Patty sighed. Lynn looked stoic, and Jennifer’s red eyes gave away her emotions. Only Ryan looked resigned.

“My dad always said to quit before you got fired,” he said. “I’m sorry, guys. I wish I’d been able to come up with something that had really taken off.”

Jennifer squeezed her cousin’s shoulder. “Nobody’s firing you. It’s not your fault we can’t convince anyone to expand their palates.”

“I set up a meeting with the guy for you this afternoon,” Lynn said to Corinne. “His name’s Tony Randolph, and he represents the buyer. We need to discuss the terms. The buyer’s intentions. I’ll need you to get a real handle on what’s going to be best for Stein and Sons.”

“His intentions are to throw a couple of bucks our way and make us seem grateful to have it.” Patty frowned. “That offer was almost worse than declaring bankruptcy.”

“It’s certainly nothing close to what we feel the business is worth, I know that.” Lynn shook his head. “But this might be the best thing. It could be good.”

“Not much about this can be good,” Jennifer put in, then quickly pressed her lips closed.

“We have Corinne looking out for us,” Lynn said.

Corinne slid a fingertip across her phone to bring up her calendar. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Of course I’ll go to the meeting. What time?”

“I said you’d meet him at the StockYard Inn at two.” Lynn cracked his knuckles, then laid his hands flat on the table. “We trust you, Corinne. Hear what he has to say and bring it back to us. Help us figure it out.”

She nodded, looking at each of them in turn. Softly, she rapped her knuckles on the table. “Okay.”





Chapter Four



Reese Ebersole had bought and sold close to a hundred businesses. He’d acquired his first one twelve years ago using his meager savings, earned from his job bussing tables while he went to school, along with what had been left of the inheritance from his parents. The inheritance itself had not been substantial. He’d lost more money than his parents had ever earned in their entire lives. They’d meant it for him to finish school or pay for a wedding. Have a baby with a woman he loved. All the things they’d wished for him and would never see. Not because they’d both died far too early, but because Reese had never done any of those things.

He’d been too busy working. He’d had as many as thirty small companies in his portfolio, but currently owned only four that remained active. A string of kosher grocery stores. A tech company specializing in up-priced gadgetry appealing to people with too much money and not enough junk to spend it on. A media company with an emphasis on social media applications and development. The final company also specialized in something specific—catered holidays geared for überwealthy kinky people who wanted to travel in the lifestyle to which they’d grown accustomed. Bed and breakfasts with dungeons set up in actual dungeons, or buffet meals served on the bodies of naked, ornamentally beautiful men and women. The sorts of things they showed in the movies but normal people never did.

He had a penthouse flat in Philadelphia, a cottage in Ireland, a condo in Hawaii, and a pied-à-terre in Manhattan with a view of the Empire State Building. Mom would have tutted about the expenses of holding down so many households, especially without a woman to organize them. She’d have wanted to be sure each of them was fully stocked with toilet paper, milk, and eggs, and dishes that matched the silverware. Dad would not have been impressed with what he would have considered extravagance and indulgence. Dad would have counseled more caution. But beneath the criticisms, they both would’ve been proud, or at least Reese hoped. He guessed he would never know. He’d lost them both within six months of each other, long before he’d ever even made a bid on a business.

He’d stopped paying much attention to reports on his assets about two years ago when the numbers had reached a point where they’d become ridiculous, like playing with Monopoly money. Cash could buy and sell a lot of things, but Reese wasn’t na?ve enough to believe happiness was one of them. Other things—cars, houses, tailored suits, fine wines. Those could bring at least the briefest interludes of happiness. Very rarely, however, had anything brought him joy.