Page 11 of Go Back to December

Gingerly, I take the folder and open it. Sibyl maneuvers her office chair around the table with a precision of a race car driver cornering the rails so she can read it over my shoulder.

“Six weeks?” Sibyl grinds out. “They’re only funding six weeks of the café’s budget next year?”

Baz mumbles something about preliminary and cost analysis, but I can barely hear him and Sibyl arguing over the blood pounding in my ears.

“Who suggested this?” I manage. “Who recommended this without talking to us?”

Baz answers in cold reticence. I wonder if he’ll maintain that detached expression when I start throwing chairs around his workspace.

Before I can pounce, Lacy darts out of her seat and drags me by the elbows into the Mosh Pitt.

“Motherfuckers.” She stamps her foot on the industrial carpet. It doesn’t give her nearly as much satisfaction as she was hoping for.

I shake my head. “I can’t believe he did this.”

Baz spends every morning in the café. No matter what I do to push his buttons, I can’t imagine he would actively work to undermine me and jeopardize my staff. Or risk the reputational capital we’ve built for the firm.

“We’ll fix it,” Lacy insists. “We’ve got time.”

“Six whole weeks.” I huff a laugh. “Is that the point of this bullshit study? String us along until they finally shut us down?”

My entire team would lose jobs they have fought to succeed at. The community charities we support will be impacted. As the quasi-founder of an expired business, I won’t qualify for the Lightman.

If I can’t find a way out of this mess, in less than two months, I’ll be jobless, homeless, dreamless. I will have nothing.

And Baz is responsible.

He sat there this morning, watching us with that smug smile, knowing this was coming.

And exactly what it would do to me.

“Why is this happening now? Three days before Christmas!”

“It’s despicable.” Lacy fumes. “And shady timing for an austerity exercise. Do you have any idea what they’re spending on the holiday party?”

They’re hosting the annual extravaganza at the building, a stupidly costly alternative to a hotel ballroom, given the entire company, their spouses, and half the city are invited. The budget would fund my staff payroll for a year.

“Let them eat cake before they ax our jobs,” I say with disgust. “I wish we could show everyone what cretins the partners are at that party.”

A devious smile slashes across Lacy’s face. “I like where your head’s at.”

“I’m frightened where yours is. Ruining Blackhart & Steele is counterproductive to saving the café.” It kills me to admit it, but it’s better to bargain with the devil we know.

“We’re not talking about ruination. We’re talking about leverage. Back them into a corner they can’t escape from.”

“And how will we do that?”

“We’ll preview the documentary. Invite the media too.” She rubs her hands together. “If they shut it down after all that coverage, the partners will look like complete douchebags.”

The plan is a plausible pressure point, but it’s pretty desperate. I reach deep to summon my fight; all I find is doubt and fear.

In the conference room beyond us, Baz rises to his feet without a hint of discomfort. Like he hasn’t spent the morning threatening the livelihood of fifteen people.

Hopefully, he’s enjoying this moment of Zen. It’s the last one he’ll experience before I destroy his peace of mind forever.

My hands curl into fists. “Okay, let’s do it. Call the producers and the media. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

I turn to Lacy. “Failure is not an option.”