Margaret’s company.
I looked back at Adrian.
“No.”
He stared at me.
“What?”
“No.”
Margaret placed her wineglass down.
“Claire, I thought we had already discussed this.”
“You discussed it.”
“I listened.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Adrian rubbed his forehead.
“Please don’t start.”
I almost laughed.
For eleven years, “don’t start” had been Adrian’s favorite way of ending conversations I had not yet been allowed to begin.
The seventy-two thousand dollars was supposedly for a “short-term operating bridge.”
Margaret had decided to transform her small luxury-events business into a high-end travel and private-membership company.
She had already leased an expensive office in downtown Bellmere, hired a branding agency and paid deposits for an international “founder’s retreat” she planned to host for potential clients.
The problem was that almost nobody had actually bought memberships.
Her lender had refused another extension.
So naturally, she had come to me.
Again.
“You would get the money back within ninety days,” Adrian said.
“From what revenue?”
He leaned back.
“Her membership launch.”
“How many confirmed nb members?”
