gentleman with white hair and full mustachio stands.
“Jethro,” he says effusively, walking toward them.
Jet smiles, thrusts his hand towards the pale, heavy-set man. “Paul,” he says. “How are you?”
“Well tanks. Yourself?” he replies with a thick Irish brogue.
“Very well, thank you. I’d like to introduce my associate, Miss Autumn Leone.”
Paul presents a broad smile and nods. “Aye, tis lovely to meet you, Autumn.”
This man doesn’t expect a handshake, preferring a slight nod of the head. In any social situation, if no handshake is prompted, Autumn certainly never offers any invitation for one.
“Please, come and meet my business partners,” he says, gesturing to the men lining the stools at the bar, who in turn stand.
Paul introduces them both to Conor, Sean and John, each shaking Jet’s hand powerfully and all following Paul’s lead, giving Autumn a polite nod. She can’t believe her luck; four introductions at a business meeting and not one handshake needed.
Until two o’clock they all sit at the bar eating canapés and drinking Guinness, which Autumn has never drunk before, but is unexpectedly enjoying. By the time they move to the large dining table, elegantly set with shiny tableware, sparkling, bulbous glasses and a fresh but masculine flower arrangement in the centre, not one word has been spoken about work or the purchase contract.
Even as they eat their three course lunch, so exquisite with attention to detail and taste and move from Guinness to whiskey, conversation centres only on current world events, politics of Ireland, Gaelic football and its relationship to AFL, boats they own, golfing prowess and holiday destinations. By three-thirty, Autumn is drunk, as is Jet and as is the rest of the table, now creating such a din in the otherwise silent restaurant with their over-exuberant laughter and light-hearted, heated debates.
At four o’clock a cheese board, fruit and petite fours are placed on the table, along with alcoholic dessert cider. For Paul, this seems the appropriate time to get down to business. The room comes to a professional hush and Paul finally raises the topic of the purchase contract, the sole reason they are having lunch despite it taking three hours to get to it. He emphasises, a number of times, that there is interest from another party, not mentioning names, and how Jet should take this opportunity to revise or come to a settlement on his final offer so that they can take it to the board and make a decision.
He butters up Jet, acknowledging his philanthropic efforts and his renowned ethical business practices. Paul, in no few words, emphasises that it is Stark Consulting he and the board wish to have taking over McCaffey Consulting Co, but that they are not going to let it go without a fight or a healthy profit.
Throughout Paul’s sales-pitch, Jet remains stoic. His face, his demeanour gives nothing away, bar a waft of unfaltering confidence.
“What you are asking for the company is beyond what it’s worth. In the last three quarters your profits have fallen by seventeen per cent giving you the lowest profit figures since 2003. I know there are global influences at the moment, which will subside in the years to come, and I know this profit issue will be turned around when I take the company over, but that is the future. I am buying the company now. And as the company exists presently, I am not offering a higher bid than what has already been recorded.”
Paul nods, his brow furrowed. “Aye. Then I shall leave the offer as it stands?”
Jet takes Autumn’s hand under the table and stands, lifting her gently with him. “I will confer with my associate for a short moment in private if you don’t mind.”
Paul makes a sweeping motion with his hand towards the doors of the restaurant. “Please take your time. I want you to get this right.” He turns to the waiter standing against the back wall. “Another round of ciders, tanks.”
Although
“Jethro,” he says effusively, walking toward them.
Jet smiles, thrusts his hand towards the pale, heavy-set man. “Paul,” he says. “How are you?”
“Well tanks. Yourself?” he replies with a thick Irish brogue.
“Very well, thank you. I’d like to introduce my associate, Miss Autumn Leone.”
Paul presents a broad smile and nods. “Aye, tis lovely to meet you, Autumn.”
This man doesn’t expect a handshake, preferring a slight nod of the head. In any social situation, if no handshake is prompted, Autumn certainly never offers any invitation for one.
“Please, come and meet my business partners,” he says, gesturing to the men lining the stools at the bar, who in turn stand.
Paul introduces them both to Conor, Sean and John, each shaking Jet’s hand powerfully and all following Paul’s lead, giving Autumn a polite nod. She can’t believe her luck; four introductions at a business meeting and not one handshake needed.
Until two o’clock they all sit at the bar eating canapés and drinking Guinness, which Autumn has never drunk before, but is unexpectedly enjoying. By the time they move to the large dining table, elegantly set with shiny tableware, sparkling, bulbous glasses and a fresh but masculine flower arrangement in the centre, not one word has been spoken about work or the purchase contract.
Even as they eat their three course lunch, so exquisite with attention to detail and taste and move from Guinness to whiskey, conversation centres only on current world events, politics of Ireland, Gaelic football and its relationship to AFL, boats they own, golfing prowess and holiday destinations. By three-thirty, Autumn is drunk, as is Jet and as is the rest of the table, now creating such a din in the otherwise silent restaurant with their over-exuberant laughter and light-hearted, heated debates.
At four o’clock a cheese board, fruit and petite fours are placed on the table, along with alcoholic dessert cider. For Paul, this seems the appropriate time to get down to business. The room comes to a professional hush and Paul finally raises the topic of the purchase contract, the sole reason they are having lunch despite it taking three hours to get to it. He emphasises, a number of times, that there is interest from another party, not mentioning names, and how Jet should take this opportunity to revise or come to a settlement on his final offer so that they can take it to the board and make a decision.
He butters up Jet, acknowledging his philanthropic efforts and his renowned ethical business practices. Paul, in no few words, emphasises that it is Stark Consulting he and the board wish to have taking over McCaffey Consulting Co, but that they are not going to let it go without a fight or a healthy profit.
Throughout Paul’s sales-pitch, Jet remains stoic. His face, his demeanour gives nothing away, bar a waft of unfaltering confidence.
“What you are asking for the company is beyond what it’s worth. In the last three quarters your profits have fallen by seventeen per cent giving you the lowest profit figures since 2003. I know there are global influences at the moment, which will subside in the years to come, and I know this profit issue will be turned around when I take the company over, but that is the future. I am buying the company now. And as the company exists presently, I am not offering a higher bid than what has already been recorded.”
Paul nods, his brow furrowed. “Aye. Then I shall leave the offer as it stands?”
Jet takes Autumn’s hand under the table and stands, lifting her gently with him. “I will confer with my associate for a short moment in private if you don’t mind.”
Paul makes a sweeping motion with his hand towards the doors of the restaurant. “Please take your time. I want you to get this right.” He turns to the waiter standing against the back wall. “Another round of ciders, tanks.”
Although
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