And Marta. While most of Smith Investment’s profit went back into the business, Blake could afford one decent salary.
One. Not two.
“I’ve got a bachelor of business administration in finance from Texas A & M, with a specialization in investment analysis and valuation.”
Blake wasn’t surprised.
“In two years you’ve more than doubled your initial investment, Mr. Smith,” the younger man said, leaning forward, almost as if his eagerness might launch him across Blake’s desk. “You’re ripe for growth. Yet you wait for people to come to you with opportunities.”
Blake didn’t like the way that sounded. He chose to do business as he did for two reasons, he reminded himself. First, because he was still, after four years locked up in a hole, rediscovering his financial legs. A lot had happened with the Internet, and with the economy, in the time he’d been gone. And second, with his and his uncle’s old business contacts, there were enough opportunities to keep him busy.
“I have no money to invest, but I have the skills and interest required to seek out potential buys—to do all the tedious research needed to put you in the driver’s seat on any deal you choose to pursue,” Colin continued, apparently undeterred by Blake’s silence.
Which kind of impressed Blake. Or maybe he was just grateful to the kid for interrupting his life. A life that had suited him fine until he’d gone to play Texas Hold’em the other night.
“I can’t afford another salary yet.” He figured Colin already knew that—it wasn’t hard to figure out if he’d followed Blake’s investments and knew the profit margin on them. “I started with a chunk of money I inherited, and I’ve done well enough, but I’ve not been at this long enough to be certain that my good luck will continue.”
“Your decisions rest on more than luck, Mr. Smith. That much is obvious.” Colin’s sincerity was beginning to verge on hero worship.
And Blake, in his current state, wasn’t entirely immune to that.
“Luck only works a percentage of the time,” Colin added. “What I’m proposing is this. You take me on as part of the company, providing the usual benefits, which you can get at a decent cost because you own part of a growing insurance company. And I’ll work strictly on a commission basis. Any deal I find for us that you close, I get five percent of the profit.”
Intent now, Blake studied the young man. “How do you live, in the meantime?”
“I’ve got about a year’s worth of living expenses saved. If I don’t do something for us in a year’s time, I’m not as good at this as I think I am, and I need to move on.”
“Do you smoke?”
“No.”
“Have any preexisting conditions I need to be aware of?”
“No.”
It was just going to cost him the insurance premium on a healthy, fit, low-risk male.
“You’d also have to be willing to handle any day-to-day follow-up and phone calls for me, if I need to be out of the office for any reason.”
Blake hadn’t had a vacation since his return home. And certainly not in the four years before that.
“Does this mean you’re investing in me, sir?”
“You a Cowboys fan?”
“Isn’t everyone?”
“Ever heard of Brady Carrick?”
“The wide receiver who busted his knee, had to retire and ended up losing a fortune in Vegas?”
“That’s the one. He’s recently moved back to the area and is looking for a horse.”
“You know him?”
“He’s a friend.”
“And you want me to find him a horse?”
“Brady’s family owns the Cross Fox Ranch in River Bluff. You may have heard of it.”
“Can’t hardly be from around here and not hear of them, can you? At least not if you watch the news. They train serious moneymaking, winning-circle horses. I saw a shoot of the Cross Fox once when I was doing a livestock research analysis for class. They’ve got this thirty-six-stall stable that looked more elegant than the place I was living.” The young man’s enthusiasm just didn’t quit. “They ship to racetracks all over the South and Southwest. You want me to find that kind of horse for Brady Carrick?”
“If you think you can.”
“So this means I’m hired?”
Blake smiled for the first time that morning. “I guess it does.” It might be good to have a permanent diversion around the place, someone to discuss sports with, and to share the obligation of listening to Marta go on about bridge or food or shopping.
“Thanks, Mr. Smith. You won’t be sorry.”
Maybe not about the acquisition of Colin Warner. But Blake had a feeling he was going to regret, for the rest of his life, the next deal he was planning to close.
“HELLO?” Annie had turned from her laptop but had made herself wait three rings while she cursed herself into steadiness.
“Annie?”
Deflated, she plopped back into the beanbag chair that doubled as couch and all other seating possibilities in her living room. “Hi, Mom.”
“I read your column yesterday and really liked it,” June Lawry said. “You make good points about honesty and self-awareness.”
In spite of all the years in which their ability to communicate had been limited, Annie smiled in response to her mother’s praise.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
And did you perhaps gain from it?
A few years ago, she wouldn’t have had the audacity to hope that her mother might someday be strong enough to take control of her own life.
But today Annie saw the world differently.
“I like all of your columns, honey,” her mother said softly, leaving the sentence hanging at the end, as though she could have added more.
Annie let the moment pass, as well. The fewer expectations she had, where her mother was concerned, the fewer disappointments—and the fewer reasons to be upset or feel hurt.
June Lawry was a kind woman with a good heart, and she did her best with what she had. It wasn’t her fault that her best had often left Annie’s needs unfulfilled.
“Even the agricultural analyses?” Annie teased her now.
“I read them.”
“You never told me that.”
“You never asked.”
Her mother’s reply took her right back to those expectations again. Were there other things she’d missed, where June was concerned, simply because she’d failed to look?
A flashback to her fourteenth birthday, home alone caring for a sick twelve-year-old brother while her mother attended a Bible study and social at church, quickly confused Annie’s thought process.
“The community church’s annual holiday bazaar and toy drive is coming up at the end of next month,” her mother was saying, and Annie only half listened, picking up her laptop from the floor beside her. Mention of the church that had taken so much of her mother’s focus at a time when Annie—and Cole—had really needed a mom, still put her on edge, even after all these years.
“I