Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
In my previous life, I wouldn’t have minded giving my wife her own bedroom. Not so with my treasure. Her place is in my bed. At my side.
I study her more carefully. The dizzy spells vanished. The nausea is almost a thing of the past. Nicole is happy with the baby’s development and the mom’s health. Yet there’s a listlessness to Anya that escalated after the wedding, and I know what the causes are. She frets about not earning an income. She likes to be self-sufficient. She’s worried about her baby’s future, and she thought by the time the child was born, she’d be somewhere far away from me.
Like not sharing a room and a bed, it’s not going to happen. The sooner she accepts that, the better.
She’s yet to look at the paint swatches and furniture brochures I left on her nightstand. I ordered a stack of reading material on baby room decoration, thinking it might get her excited about the project, but she hasn’t opened a single book or magazine. The nesting syndrome I read about that hits pregnant woman from their second or third trimesters hasn’t kicked in.
“They’re willing to go up to seven percent in kickbacks,” Dante says, watching me expectantly as he comes to the end of his discourse.
Distributing through our network is a foot in the door of a promising market for the new world distillery. It’s a golden opportunity to get their merchandise into the USA. The deal is worth a lot more than the ten percent markdown and the measly kickback they’re offering.
Turning my attention back to Dante, I ask, “What’s their turnover?”
“Roughly half a billion per annum. They have enough stock to fulfill our orders. I sampled the goods, and they give our Scottish and Japanese suppliers a run for their money. Plus, it’s a lot more economical than our current brands.”
“What about competition?”
“We’ll make them sign a mandate to supply our orders first.”
I rub a thumb over my lips, considering the logistics. It shouldn’t be too difficult to put the necessary measures in place. I’ll request a meeting to get a feeling of who I’m dealing with first. In the meantime, “I want all the information on the shareholders you can get your hands on, including any shady history.”
Dante grins. “That goes without saying.”
I steeple my fingers. “Before I meet with them, I want to lay down our terms. If they accept, we can tie down a date.” I glance at Anya, who’s still staring with unseeing eyes at the window. “It’ll take place on our turf.” I’m not going anywhere until a few months after the birth.
“What are your terms?” Dante asks.
“They can easily make thirty-six grand per club per year. Times that with the twelve clubs Luigi owns across the country, and that gives them—”
“Four hundred and thirty-two thousand,” Anya says like a sleepwalker, her gaze trained outside.
Both Dante and I look at her. Except for giving Dante an absent-minded greeting, these are the first words she’s spoken since we arrived.
“Exactly,” I say. “How many other clubs are there just in New York City?”
“More than twenty-five thousand,” Dante says.
“Say they cash in on a quarter of that business, which should be feasible if Luigi paves their way, they can make a potential profit of—”
“Two hundred twenty-five million plus Luigi’s clubs, which totals two hundred twenty-five million four hundred thirty-two thousand,” Anya says.
I stare at her for another moment. “Yeah.” Addressing Dante, I continue, “For that kind of profit potential, I want a kickback of ten percent that grows exponentially with zero point five percent for every million of net growth. With fourteen cents to the dollar, the exchange rate plays in their favor. They’ll clear more from our clubs alone than they can make by selling to their local bars in Bolivia.”
“That’s a nice sum of bolivianos,” Dante muses.
“Two million nine hundred eighty-four thousand one hundred fifty-nine and sixty-six cents,” Anya says.
Dante swivels her way. “Excuse me?”
She looks at him as if noticing him for the first time. “Two million nine…” she starts, repeating the number.
What the fuck?
He grabs the calculator from my desk and punches in numbers. Turning it my way, he shows me the exact figure she quoted.
Too baffled to speak, I can only look at my girl.
Dante jumps to his feet. Typing the numbers into the calculator, he says, “Six hundred fifty-six thousand times one point seven.”
Anya smirks. “That’s an easy one. One million one hundred and fifteen thousand two hundred.”
“Fuck,” he says, showing me that her calculation is right.
I’m so bowled over I don’t correct him for swearing in the baby’s presence.
Worked up with excitement, Dante continues to throw calculations at her that grow more and more complicated, and she gets them right each time.
“Fuck,” Dante says again, his jaw hanging on the floor as he drops the calculator on the desk.