The Devine Doughnut Shop(38)

He walked across the hallway to the elevator. The doors opened immediately, and he pushed the button to the seventh floor, where his apartment was located. His briefcase was sitting on his desk, right where he’d left it. He picked it up, went out into the hallway, and got back into the elevator. The seventh floor had a couple of smaller apartments that were used for business associates when they needed to stay in San Antonio. There were also two large conference rooms and a kitchen for a chef that came in when Travis needed her. For the most part, the whole floor was quiet, and Travis liked it that way.

The doors made very little noise as they closed. Travis studied his reflection in the mirrored walls and thought about Grace Dalton. From what Claud had told him, she was the one he would have to sweet-talk out of the recipe for those doughnuts. Her sister, Sarah, and cousin Macy usually followed her lead.

I can do that, Travis thought. She might say the place isn’t for sale, but everything has a price. But maybe I should wait a few days or even weeks to bring up the subject again. With all the turmoil going on in that family, they will not want to make any decisions now.

The elevator opened without so much as a whisper, and Travis stepped out into a wide hallway with doors on either side. All the sixth-floor offices belonged to him and his staff. The fifth floor was occupied by his oil-business crews. The fourth belonged to a geological team that worked with the folks on the floor above them to scout out new land and territory for whatever purpose they’d need it. Third was the corporate legal team, second was the technological team, and first was the folks whom he called his think tank. They were employees who were always on the lookout for new businesses opportunities and who drew up the stats listing pros and cons for venturing out into those places. Then there was the lobby, which was set up with sofas, tables, chairs, and a kitchen for folks who wanted to relax during break or lunch times.

Delores knew everyone in the company, but he and Calvin worked mostly with the folks on the first floor.

He opened the door and walked into the office that had been passed down to him—the next Butler generation—and handed Calvin and Delores each a set of papers from his briefcase. Then he went over to the glass wall at the end of the room.

The view of the Riverwalk below him was spectacular, with its brightly colored umbrellas shading the tables for folks to sit at while they ate burgers or tacos. Small boats carried passengers up and down the river, and it didn’t take a lot to imagine that they were laughing and talking, enjoying a vacation or just a day out with their families.

Travis sighed. A family was what he’d always wanted, but Erica hadn’t been ready to be a mother; now he was past forty, divorced, and basically remarried to a huge corporation. “When would I have time for a wife and a child now?” he muttered.

“What was that?” Calvin asked. Travis’s CEO and best friend had a full head of dark hair with lots of gray beginning to show through, brown eyes, and thirty pounds he’d gained since he married Maggie—mostly right around his middle.

“Nothing,” Travis answered. “What’s your first thoughts on the idea of building a pastry factory?”

He and Calvin had grown up together in this same building. Calvin’s dad had been the CEO when they were kids. Looking back, Travis could see that they had been groomed from the time they were toddlers to take over the jobs they had right now. They’d gone to the same private schools and then on to the same university. When they’d graduated, they had come back to San Antonio and gone to work for Butler Enterprises.

“I don’t think it’s worth looking into,” he replied.

“I’m not going to venture an opinion until we turn the think tank loose on it. It’s pretty far-fetched for what we do, but if the first-floor kids think it’s a viable endeavor, and you are serious about it . . .” Delores paused. “Why would you want to do this?”

“There’s this little bakery down in Devine that makes the best doughnuts I’ve ever eaten. They’d have to sell me the recipe before I would put in a factory, though, and the owners keep telling me that it’s not for sale,” Travis answered. He went on to tell them about having breakfast with his granddad’s friends. “I thought we could send out some of the think-tank folks to every bakery in San Antonio and have them buy a dozen doughnuts tomorrow. While they do that, I’ll drive down to Devine and pick up a couple of every kind they make there. Then our first-floor crew can do a taste test and give us their opinion. The folks down there are having some family issues right now, so I’ll be careful about approaching them for a few days, but I want to be ready when the time comes.”

Calvin made a pot of coffee and poured three cups; then he added cream and sugar to his, cream to Delores’s, and left Travis’s black. He set them on a small table for four that overlooked the view of the Riverwalk and sat down in one of the chairs.

“You’re going to get out of the building two days in a row. Those must be some very good doughnuts,” Delores said.

“I thought we were researching a couple of hundred acres for a housing development in that area,” Calvin said. “Are we really looking into both?”

“One or the other,” Travis answered and sat in one of the three remaining chairs. He took a sip from his cup of coffee—the first of what would be many. He shut his eyes for a moment and got a visual of Grace bringing a tray with a yellow box in the middle over to his table. Do I really want a bakery, or do I just want to spend time with her? he wondered. She was the first woman whom he’d felt any kind of vibe with since Erica left him almost ten years before.