only wants a good sale price, they also want the purchasing company to be aligned with their business practices; they want their clients to be taken care of. Stark Consulting is leaps and bounds ahead of Hansen and Hansen in that respect.”
“If you don’t mind me asking?”
Jet raises one eyebrow.
“What is your spending limit? When do you pull out?”
“I’m not going any higher than my current bid,” he answers.
She nods. “What’s the format of the lunch? What can I expect?”
“Do you have an aversion to drinking?”
“As in alcohol?”
Jet grins and nods his head.
“I, um, no.”
“Good. Because I anticipate doing a lot of it. These guys are Irish and they adore Guinness and whiskey.”
She smiles. “I don’t have an aversion to it, but I must warn you, I’m not very good at it. Especially not Guinness and definitely, especially not whiskey.”
“That makes two of us then.”
Arriving at the luxurious hotel, a little before one, Scott parks in front of the entrance and sees to Autumn’s door while Jet lets himself out. When Jet says to Scott, “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she learns her assumption of Scott joining them for lunch is incorrect.
Jet places his hand, ever so lightly, on the small of Autumn’s back and leads her forward through the door into the foyer: a grand, expansive room fitted out with lustrous marble flooring, chandeliers, plush carpets and expressionist art adorning the walls. The well-groomed concierge, with dark brown eyes and flawless black skin, rushes towards them and offers Jet a hearty hand shake and a rigorous smile. “Mr Stark. Wonderful to see you today, Sir.”
“Thanks, Robbie. This is my associate, Miss Autumn Leone.”
He extends his hand towards Autumn. She eyes it, precariously outstretched in front of her, until she cannot avoid tentatively gripping it and shaking his hand as hastily as she can. Despite her precautions, the images begin to flow. They always do.
Vague impressions of this man, Robbie, who she has never met, yet now knows intimately, are transferred from him to her. Robbie has, at an earlier time, lived a heart-wrenching, underprivileged existence in another country; a pitiable existence, a struggle of incredible magnitude, the severity of which she would never have comprehended without her gift. Being granted citizenship eight years ago—now raising a young family in Australia and, from what she can see, working another job on top of this concierge job so he can give his two precious daughters every opportunity possible—he smiles every single day for the belief that his life now is nothing less than blessed and beautiful.
Every now and then Autumn will find an inspirational story like this, told to her with unspoken words. She can glimpse brief moments in someone else’s life that offers her new perspective and reminds her that each and every person, regardless of appearance, has a unique narrative.
Autumn puts her hand on this man’s arm. “It’s wonderful to meet such a hardworking man, Robbie. Your wife and children are blessed to have a man in their life who always has their best interest at heart.”
Robbie stares at Autumn and then beams. “Thank you, Miss Leone.”
She smiles at his genuine face and giggles with happiness. Being in Robbie’s presence is uplifting. He chuckles heartily, resting his hand over her hand.
“Come,” Robbie says, still beaming, looking from one to the other. “Your table is ready and the other gentlemen have already arrived. They’re waiting at the bar.”
Autumn and Jet follow the concierge to a side hall leading off the main foyer. Jet looks at Autumn, his eyes narrowed, as if to say, ‘What was all that about back there?’ Autumn waves her hand dismissively.
They are led through double, glass doors into the restaurant—empty of patrons aside from four men in expensive suits sitting at the bar. Each of the men turn their heads and watch their entrance, but only the eldest
“If you don’t mind me asking?”
Jet raises one eyebrow.
“What is your spending limit? When do you pull out?”
“I’m not going any higher than my current bid,” he answers.
She nods. “What’s the format of the lunch? What can I expect?”
“Do you have an aversion to drinking?”
“As in alcohol?”
Jet grins and nods his head.
“I, um, no.”
“Good. Because I anticipate doing a lot of it. These guys are Irish and they adore Guinness and whiskey.”
She smiles. “I don’t have an aversion to it, but I must warn you, I’m not very good at it. Especially not Guinness and definitely, especially not whiskey.”
“That makes two of us then.”
Arriving at the luxurious hotel, a little before one, Scott parks in front of the entrance and sees to Autumn’s door while Jet lets himself out. When Jet says to Scott, “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she learns her assumption of Scott joining them for lunch is incorrect.
Jet places his hand, ever so lightly, on the small of Autumn’s back and leads her forward through the door into the foyer: a grand, expansive room fitted out with lustrous marble flooring, chandeliers, plush carpets and expressionist art adorning the walls. The well-groomed concierge, with dark brown eyes and flawless black skin, rushes towards them and offers Jet a hearty hand shake and a rigorous smile. “Mr Stark. Wonderful to see you today, Sir.”
“Thanks, Robbie. This is my associate, Miss Autumn Leone.”
He extends his hand towards Autumn. She eyes it, precariously outstretched in front of her, until she cannot avoid tentatively gripping it and shaking his hand as hastily as she can. Despite her precautions, the images begin to flow. They always do.
Vague impressions of this man, Robbie, who she has never met, yet now knows intimately, are transferred from him to her. Robbie has, at an earlier time, lived a heart-wrenching, underprivileged existence in another country; a pitiable existence, a struggle of incredible magnitude, the severity of which she would never have comprehended without her gift. Being granted citizenship eight years ago—now raising a young family in Australia and, from what she can see, working another job on top of this concierge job so he can give his two precious daughters every opportunity possible—he smiles every single day for the belief that his life now is nothing less than blessed and beautiful.
Every now and then Autumn will find an inspirational story like this, told to her with unspoken words. She can glimpse brief moments in someone else’s life that offers her new perspective and reminds her that each and every person, regardless of appearance, has a unique narrative.
Autumn puts her hand on this man’s arm. “It’s wonderful to meet such a hardworking man, Robbie. Your wife and children are blessed to have a man in their life who always has their best interest at heart.”
Robbie stares at Autumn and then beams. “Thank you, Miss Leone.”
She smiles at his genuine face and giggles with happiness. Being in Robbie’s presence is uplifting. He chuckles heartily, resting his hand over her hand.
“Come,” Robbie says, still beaming, looking from one to the other. “Your table is ready and the other gentlemen have already arrived. They’re waiting at the bar.”
Autumn and Jet follow the concierge to a side hall leading off the main foyer. Jet looks at Autumn, his eyes narrowed, as if to say, ‘What was all that about back there?’ Autumn waves her hand dismissively.
They are led through double, glass doors into the restaurant—empty of patrons aside from four men in expensive suits sitting at the bar. Each of the men turn their heads and watch their entrance, but only the eldest
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