I wanted to say, “This is why you don’t talk out of your ass where money is concerned,” but I went with diplomacy instead. “They can just build in Barrett Crossing, then. I’m sure there’s land to buy and put up a new restaurant on.”
“Therein lies the rub, as it were,” Ellen, another associate I’d met on my last visit, chimed in. “A different kind of restaurant, one that served Mexican food, or Thai, or Mediterranean, anything one would not consider comfort food––”
“I think all of those could be comfort food,” I pointed out.
“American cuisine, then.”
“American cuisine? What does that mean, everything on the menu is breaded and deep fried and comes with a side of Ranch for dipping?” I asked her. “We live in a melting pot. Comfort food means different things to different people.” I knew I was being combative, but people needed to clarify their statements and think before they spoke.
She huffed out a breath. “They serve meat and potatoes there. That’s what I mean.”
“So you’re saying if Axton puts up a restaurant that serves something besides meat and potatoes, not a Country Porch, it would do fine in Barrett Crossing.”
“Yes.”
“But if they put up a Country Porch in the town with a—what’s the name of the place?”
“Kingman’s.”
“If they put in a Country Porch, the understanding is that this Kingman’s will bury it.”
“Exactly,” Ellen told me. “And believe me, it will. Any other burger place, steak place, breakfast place, sandwich place will die. It’s one of those farm-to-table restaurants, and was one before it was even fashionable.”
“Yes, but how good is it really?”
“Me and two other people drove out there and…the food is kind of amazing. Some people go there for a drink, some bring their kids,” she explained to me. “It’s a sawdust-on-the-floors family place, very low-key until ten, and then it’s a honky-tonk with live music when the kitchen closes, with last call at one in the morning and general closing a half hour later.”
“And then they turn around and reopen for breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“Do they serve a full breakfast or just coffee and pastries?”
“Full breakfast, and it’s always packed.”
I chuckled, and she threw up her hands. “I’m sorry, but it sounds to me like that’s a losing battle. Perhaps it’s best to explain to them they should open a drive-thru version and offer coffee or something like that.”
“There’s two Starbucks in town already.”
I turned to Mrs. Nichols.
“I know”—her sigh was nothing if not exasperated—“but they are our holding company, and we’re mandated to help them fulfill their charter or we’re in breach.”
“The charter being a certain amount of growth and not the actual building or purchasing of restaurants.”
“Precisely,” Mrs. Nichols affirmed. “We just need to show that we tried.”
I understood. “You know, if Axton can’t deliver on their promise, they may become a liability for you.”
“Exactly right,” she agreed. “Other companies may fear we don’t have the needed bandwidth to help with their expansions.”
“Yes,” I replied, taking a breath. “So what can Berg and Stein do to help leverage this deal for you, and therefore, for Axton?”
“We’re hoping if you can run the numbers with the owners, let them hear the benefits of selling so they can retire versus keeping something as fragile as a restaurant going in these changing times, the nice couple will want to sign on the dotted line.”
“You’re needing Doug and me to take a trip out to Barrett Crossing, then?”
“Yes,” Drake confirmed. “Perhaps tonight?”
I turned to Doug, whose coloring had changed from an ashy gray to a sickly shade of green. “I can go, but Doug has a previous appointment this evening.” His eyes fluttered in relief, and his hand, gripping my wrist for a moment in appreciation, made me smile as I turned back to Drake. “Would that be acceptable? I mean, you don’t need Doug for numbers; his part is not until there are contracts in place to oversee.”
“That would be great.” Drake smiled at me.
“Ellen, if you have nothing planned for this evening, you should come along as well, and bring whoever else so we don’t look like suits descending on them.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, her face lighting up.
Drake’s brows furrowed.
“You don’t have to go if you have other––”
“No,” Drake snapped. “I want to go.”
“Shall I meet you all here at six?”
“Excellent.” But there was something about Drake’s voice and in the tightness around his eyes that made me think he really wasn’t at all pleased.
I assured Doug he needed something in his stomach to soak up the alcohol, so we had lunch. We ate at the hotel, because certainly the food there would be bland and tasteless, and that was exactly what my colleague needed to consume.
“Thank you for letting me out of the road trip to the honky-tonk,” he told me as he slowly ate a nondescript-looking burger. “I would have barfed in the car.”