Eight Hundred Grapes

“You’re definitely your father’s daughter. It’s nice to meet you. You have a great family. I love your family.”

“You don’t know them.”

“I disagree.”

Then he reached over for a glass jar on his desk, full of long pieces of licorice, and held the jar out to me.

“Are you serious?” I said.

“Why wouldn’t I be serious? Licorice is the best candy there is, and, as an added bonus, it has been used since ancient times for a variety of medicinal purposes. Including the relieving of stress.”

“Still going to pass,” I said.

He took a piece out of the jar, then took a huge bite. “Your choice,” he said. “Though not the right one.”

“I’m not interested in this,” I said. “Whatever you’re trying to do here.”

He smiled. “And what am I trying to do here?”

“I don’t know. Charm me.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you know this contract is rife with error and it’s not too late for me to nullify it.”

“You sound like a lawyer.”

“I am. And I negotiate sales much larger than this on a daily basis.”

“Well, you probably have one up on me, then . . .”

He pointed to his degrees on the wall, mounted in fancy frames. Proof that he was a jerk, those degrees in such fancy frames. Cornell University College of Agriculture, Cornell Law School.

“I went to law school, but I never practiced,” he said.

“How about viticulture? Did you practice that?”

He smiled. “I can assure you, your father is getting a great deal.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“What is the point?”

I was honest, as hard as it was to say it out loud to a stranger. “My father’s going to regret it.”

He looked at me. “You think so?” he said.

And, suddenly, it looked like he cared. His eyes went soft, and the smirk disappeared.

I nodded, meeting his eyes and trying to impart my true feelings about how much my father was going to regret this. “I do.”

He nodded, like he’d heard that.

“Hmm. I don’t,” he said.

Then he started rummaging through papers on his desk, my hope of him being a reasonable and kind person deflating.

I pointed at him. “Escrow hasn’t closed yet. You don’t take possession until after the new year.”