Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
How was I ever going to pay Lucky back? It’d take me years. Decades. And how was he able to come up with fifty grand within a few hours? All I could think was that his father had loaned him the money. Nothing else made sense.
A few minutes later, I was pulled from my thoughts as a black town car stopped in the street. When I glanced at the tall man in a dark blue suit who climbed out of the back seat, my first thought was that he was someone else from the law firm. It was disorienting when I focused on his face and realized it was Lucky.
I set aside the portfolio and hurried down the stairs, and he grabbed me in an embrace when we both reached the sidewalk. Despite myself, I started to cry again. He picked me up and held me tightly as he said, “It’s going to be okay, mi amor. I swear to you, I won’t allow anyone to take your son away. I got you the best lawyers money can buy to make sure of it.”
“Thank you.” It was all I could manage as I wrapped my arms and legs around him.
I was a sniffling mess, so Lucky carried me up the stairs as he continued to reassure me. On the way by, I pointed at the portfolio and mumbled, “We need that,” and he brought it inside with us.
When he sat us down on the couch, I grabbed some tissues from the end table and wiped my nose. While I was doing that, he looked at what he was holding and said, “Excellent, someone from the office has been by already.”
I nodded and mumbled, “They seem really good.”
“They’re the best. There’s no way we can lose.”
I searched his dark eyes as I murmured, “You sound so confident.”
“I am. I’ve dealt with a lot of lawyers, and I know how this game is played. Generally speaking, the side with the deepest pockets wins.”
“But that’s them!”
He shook his head. “No, baby, that’s us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I downplayed the scale of our family business.” It felt surreal when he pulled a silver case from his pocket and handed me a thick, embossed business card. It read: Elian Suarez-Rivas, President, Suarez Global Industries. “My dad’s technically still the president until he retires, but he gave me those cards yesterday. They were meant as encouragement, but they actually just filled me with dread.”
“That’s a fancy name for a company that makes tequila.” Something made me lean back and take a good look at him. He was a bit rumpled from traveling, and his dark hair was in the process of escaping a low pony tail. But his short beard was perfectly trimmed, his white dress shirt was high-quality, and that deep blue suit was nice. Really nice. I told him, “It’s weird to see you in anything besides a T-shirt and jeans.”
“I know. I came straight from the office and didn’t have anything to change into.”
Something didn’t add up. “So, you go to work selling tequila in three thousand dollar suits? Or four? I haven’t priced nice suits lately…or ever.”
“I wasn’t lying when I said we make and sell tequila. That’s how the company started. Our brand is one of the top-selling tequilas worldwide and the cornerstone of our company. Over the years, my dad also bought up dozens of smaller liquor companies, so now we manufacture and sell everything from bourbon to gin to vermouth. Just about the only thing we don’t sell is rum, because Dad’s still honoring that non-competition agreement he signed all those years ago, when he sold his first company for close to five million dollars. He reinvested all of that money into Suarez Global, and he’s been doing pretty well with it.”
I asked, “How well is pretty well?”
“Annual revenue topped four hundred million dollars last year.”
After I scraped my jaw off the floor, I asked, “Did your dad loan you the fifty grand to hire those lawyers?”
He shook his head and muttered, “No, I um…I had it.”
“Did you somehow forget to tell me you’re rich?”
I’d been kidding, but his expression grew pained and he muttered, “I tried to. I planned to tell you the day I took you to my house, but then I got cold feet. Your reaction wasn’t at all what I’d expected when you saw that place, so I just…put off saying anything.”
I’d been straddling his lap during all of this, and I climbed off him and took a step back as I asked, “Your house?” He wasn’t looking at me or saying anything, so I pressed ahead with, “That huge, Spanish-style mansion on Nob Hill. You own that?”
“My dad bought it for me when I moved to San Francisco.”
“You told me your landlord owned it.”
“Not exactly. You made some assumptions, and I didn’t correct you. I think I said it was owned by the same rich asshole who owned the garage, but I don’t actually have a landlord.”