Page 6 of February (New Orleans #2)

D ay one at Southern Hospitality Greetings had not gone as planned. Monica had been late, for starters, and once she had arrived, it had been pretty clear that the daughter of the two owners hadn’t exactly been thrilled at her arrival. The only good thing that had happened to her had been the massage, which had been ninety minutes, relaxing and amazing. She’d slept well after a long, nearly equally relaxing bath in the nice tub with a chamomile tea, which she didn’t have every night but regularly enough, and it usually helped her sleep.

When she’d woken up earlier than planned, she’d taken a lukewarm shower, which usually helped her body wake up. She’d been smart enough to order room service in advance the night before, and it had been brought in just in time for her to have about thirty minutes to enjoy it while she read the news on her phone and checked any emails she might have missed during the night. Her eggs had been prepared perfectly, and the bacon had been the exact crispness she liked. Monica sipped the coffee slowly, enjoying it but knowing she’d order her preferred and trusted chain-brand coffee for delivery in about an hour to get an actual caffeine boost. Then, she finished getting ready.

She hadn’t called for the car again, given how close the office was, and left the hotel right on time to get there five minutes before their first scheduled meeting. When she arrived, Dan, the young man who had greeted her the day before, met her on his way out to the bathroom and let her in. There were a couple of other employees in the office who looked up and nodded at her politely, but neither of them made any attempt to introduce themselves. Had the family decided to tell their employees who Monica was and what she was doing here? Finding no Mr. or Mrs. Musgrave, she decided to go into the conference room to wait for them there and order her coffee for delivery.

“Hi.”

Monica looked up from her phone to see Bridgette, the owners’ daughter, standing there in the open doorway.

“Good morning,” she replied.

“So, there’s coffee in the break room.” The woman held up her cup.

“Oh, no, thank you,” Monica said with a smile.

“I was just telling you that it was there. This one is mine.”

“I see,” Monica replied, leaning back in the chair. “I have coffee on the way, but thank you for letting me know.”

“A local place?”

“No.”

“Ah… You came to New Orleans to drink some chain crap, didn’t you?”

“I came to New Orleans for work but wasn’t aware New Orleans was known for its coffee.”

“Among other things,” Bridgette told her.

“Well, I’ve already ordered, but maybe I’ll try it later.”

“Typical,” Bridgette said as she rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry; have I done something to offend you?” Monica asked as she leaned forward again.

“Offend me? You’re here to steal my company.”

“Steal? I’m here to buy it.”

“Same thing to me.”

“You might want to look those two words up in a dictionary because they have very different meanings,” Monica replied.

“Whatever,” Bridgette said. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Good. So do I,” she stated rather angrily.

“Well, good,” Bridgette said back.

“Yes, good,” Monica retorted, wondering how many times they’d just said the word ‘good’ between the two of them.

“Good morning, Monica,” Dale spoke as he appeared next to his daughter. “Did Bridgette tell you that we have beignets in the break room?”

“Beignets?”

“Yeah. They’re donuts. We call them–”

“I know what a beignet is,” Monica cut Bridgette off. “I spent a college semester in Paris and have been to France several times since then.”

“Oh. Well, good for you.” Bridgette took a sip of her coffee. “Also, I ate all of them, so there aren’t any in the break room anymore.”

Dale laughed and replied, “She’s kidding. I bought two dozen. You’re kidding, right?” He looked over at his daughter in concern.

“Let Monica go check,” Bridgette challenged.

“I ordered a pastry from–”

“Have fun, Dad,” Bridgette said, interrupting Monica this time, before she turned and walked away.

Dale closed the conference room door behind him and said, “I’m sorry. She’s taking this harder than her mother and I thought she would.”

“I can tell,” Monica said.

Dale sat down across from her with his computer and added, “My wife and I started this business with every intention on passing it down to Bridgette and her children. Well, she doesn’t want kids, but we still planned on giving it to her when we retired, and now, she’s trying to figure things out.”

“Does she want to stay on, assuming we acquire?”

“We haven’t talked about that yet. I think her mother brought it up with her, but I don’t know if Bridgette has an answer.”

“We should. It would be part of the deal if she’s going to receive a leadership role at Good Day Greetings. I’d assume that would be what she’d ask for.”

“I don’t know, honestly,” he said.

“What does she do here, exactly?”

“Bridgette? She makes the cards, mostly. She runs this office when her mother and I are in Baton Rouge. We only met you here because she lives here, and it was easier. There are more employees in our main office as well, so this was more private.”

“Do your employees know yet?” Monica asked.

“Not yet. We’ve told them you’re a potential investor. I hate lying to them, but since I don’t know that this is for sure a done deal and I don’t know if you’ll offer them jobs, I wanted to have more information before I talk to them.”

“I understand. And I do usually like to talk to employees whenever I can, but I can be discreet,” she replied.

“Thank you. We appreciate it. Oh, my wife and I would like to take you out to dinner while you’re in town. You don’t have to say yes, and we won’t be offended if you decline.”

“Dinner?”

“Tonight, if you don’t have any plans.”

Monica thought about the facial she’d booked for eight that evening. The spa would be closed, but they’d be sending someone directly to her room, and she was fully prepared to enjoy the whole relaxing experience. They’d likely finish up here around five, though, so if they made it a short, business-like dinner, she’d be back in her room by seven-thirty. Her instincts told her to decline the invitation, but her father would likely hear about it and be disappointed in how she’d treated a friend of the family. Besides, the earlier they did this dinner, the better. Once she started to make recommendations or they began talking about the specifics of the sale, things would get awkward, and dinner would be uncomfortable for everyone.

“I can do this evening,” she said with a polite smile.

“Great.” Dale smiled. “Is there anything you don’t eat?”

“Not really, no,” she replied.

“I’ll make a reservation somewhere,” he said.

“Sounds great. The earlier, the better for me. Say 5:30?”

“No problem. We’ll leave from the office, if that works for you.”

“It does,” Monica said with a nod.

The door then opened abruptly, and Bridgette stood there, holding a brown paper bag and a cup of coffee.

“Miss Arnette, your coffee and pastry have arrived safely. Where would you like them? Shall I plate it up for you?” Bridgette lifted an annoyed eyebrow at Monica.

“Oh, sorry. They’re early. I was going to go outside and get it.” Monica stood up.

“No need.” Bridgette tossed the bag onto the table and placed the cup down next to the bag. “All taken care of.”

The woman then left the room just as quickly as she’d entered it.

“Well, she hates me,” Monica said.

“She’ll come around.”

◆◆◆

Monica had spent the better part of the workday with Dale and Margery in the conference room, going over their finances, procedures, and employees. She’d also learned more about their daughter from their conversation. Bridgette had gone to Tulane, which was interesting because Monica’s own father had raved about the school. It was private and could be difficult to get into. Bridgette’s parents had been very proud and spoken about how she’d majored in economics and had thought about getting her MBA but had decided to work full-time at Southern Hospitality Greetings instead since she was going to inherit it one day and didn’t need an MBA to do that. Monica could tell they felt bad about the situation they had gotten themselves into and, therefore, their daughter, because the business was failing.

“Well, it’s five-fifteen now, so we should probably head to the restaurant,” Dale said. “We were thinking Bridgette could drive you there since she has her car, and we’ll head home in ours after the restaurant since we live in Baton Rouge, if that’s okay. She’ll drop you off at your hotel after.”

“Oh. Bridgette is coming, too?” Monica asked as she swallowed.

It had been a very long day, and she’d managed to avoid Bridgette for much of it. They’d bumped into one another once when Monica had been going into the bathroom and Bridgette had been leaving. Bridgette, of course, had made a grand gesture of holding the door open for Monica, which had been annoying, but Monica had decided to let it go given what Bridgette and her family were going through. So, was it okay, putting her in the same car with Bridgette, who clearly had a problem with her? Yes, clearly.

“Yes. Is that all right?” Margery asked her.

“Of course,” she lied.

When they packed up their things, the three of them met Bridgette in the bullpen and walked out the suite door, with Bridgette locking up after them. Her parents then turned right at the sidewalk, leaving them alone.

“I’m this way,” Bridgette said as she nodded to the left.

“Sure. Okay.”

“So, you didn’t bring your car today? I thought you’d be taking it to the restaurant.”

“No,” Monica said, hearing Bridgette’s judgmental tone in the question. “I ordered the car before I knew how close the hotel was to the office.”

“For the way back to the hotel, too?” Bridgette mocked. “This is me. It’s no limo, but hopefully, it works.”

“It was a town car, not a limo. And yes, my assistant ordered it to pick me up and take me back. I forgot to cancel it before it arrived.”

“Your assistant?”

‘Shit…’ Monica thought. She’d set herself up for that. She waited for Bridgette to unlock the car and quickly climbed inside, holding her bag to her chest.

“You can put that in the back seat,” Bridgette said when she got inside. “Or, I can put it in the trunk.”

“I’ll bring it in with me.”

“Afraid someone’s going to steal it?”

“Yes. And before you say anything, I’m from New York. It has nothing to do with New Orleans. I assume people will steal everything at home, too.”

Bridgette pulled the car out into traffic, and they drove in awkward silence for a few minutes before she pulled into a parking lot and found a space for the car.

“This place is a local favorite. It’s barbeque, and my parents love it. They know the owners. So, please don’t be all pretentious about paper napkins in there or something.”

“Paper–” she stopped herself. “I’m not pretentious.”

“Sure, you’re not.”

Bridgette got out of the car, and Monica followed her inside, carrying her briefcase with her as she walked quickly to catch up.

“There they are,” Dale said when they walked in.

They were sat in a booth, with Bridgette sitting next to her, of course, because her parents took the other side, and when Monica saw the napkin holder on the table, she rolled her eyes because she couldn’t care less about paper napkins.

“So, how are you enjoying New Orleans so far?” Margery asked once they each had a sweet tea in front of them.

Monica had ordered it because they’d all ordered one, and she’d wanted to fit in and not ask for an unsweetened tea with lemon and an iced water with lemon as well.

“Oh, I love it. It’s only been a day, but I really like it.”

“Where have you been so far?” Dale asked.

“Mainly, my hotel, but it’s got a beautiful view of the river from my suite, and they have a courtyard garden and great room service.”

Bridgette laughed.

“What?” Monica asked as she turned to her.

“They asked you if you liked New Orleans, not your hotel. You haven’t even been to New Orleans yet.”

“I’m sitting in New Orleans right now.”

“Yeah, at your first real restaurant,” Bridgette replied. “You’ve got some fancy hotel room and your own private garden or something, but that’s not New Orleans. That’s rich-business-travel New Orleans.”

“Well, I’ve only been here for a day, so maybe give me a little time.”

“You’re going back to your hotel tonight and probably every night you’re in town,” Bridgette rebuffed and took a drink.

“Bridgette, enough,” Margery told her. “We’re having dinner.”

“Yeah, Bridgette, we’re having dinner,” Monica teased.

That earned her another lifted eyebrow, but this one wasn’t from annoyance. It felt like it was surprise mixed with a little respect. Was it respect? Monica wasn’t sure, but before she could keep staring to find out, Bridgette dropped it, and the waiter arrived to take their order.

“You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” Bridgette asked.

“No. Why?”

“Because this is a barbeque place.” Bridgette turned to the waiter just as her mother finished ordering. “Can I get the three-meat plate with pulled pork, chicken, and brisket?”

“Sauce on the side or on?” the waiter asked.

“On is fine. Spicy, please.”

Monica hadn’t even looked at the menu yet. She didn’t know what to order, but the waiter was now staring at her expectantly.

“Same is fine.”

“Um… You might want to rethink that,” Bridgette said.

“What? Why?”

“I ordered their spiciest sauce.”

“So? I can do spicy.”

“Not in the South, you can’t. Get their sweet sauce on the side, and thank me later.”

Monica looked at this woman defiantly and then up at the waiter and said, “I’ll have the same.”

Bridgette chuckled and said, “Suit yourself.”

For fifteen minutes, they talked about the business, with Bridgette being mostly silent. When their food arrived, it was on plastic plates, and each meat was separated. It was served with collard greens and cornbread. It looked delicious, so Monica dove in and instantly regretted it. Bridgette had been prepared for this, apparently, because she’d been watching her and was now laughing.

“Bridgette, be quiet,” her mother said.

“That’s…” Monica couldn’t finish.

She reached for her tea, took a drink, and was instantly met with an intense amount of sugar, which really didn’t help, so she picked up a piece of cornbread and took a bite, hoping the bread would help.

“I wouldn’t,” Bridgette said, squinting her face. “That’s jalapeno cornbread.”

Monica’s eyes went wide.

“I’ll ask them for a milk for you,” Bridgette added with a satisfied grin on her face.