Vincenzo steered Chase toward a desk of polished oak. A folder was already waiting there, its cardstock thick and ivory. Vincenzo leaned against the edge of the desk.
“You may have missed my VIM announcement at the afterparty,” Vincenzo said, his voice light. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t still join the project. Think of it as a pilot episode for the rest of your life.”
“You’re fine without me, Vinny. Besides, I’m not shopping for a career change.”
“You’re browsing, Chase. Call it a ‘window of opportunity.’ Just take a peek at my package.”
Chase opened the folder. The clauses were clean. Consulting Agreement. The words were simple, but the retainer rate made Chase’s eyebrows twitch. It was a generous figure. He scanned the scope of work, finding it vague.
“What’s the client?” Chase asked.
“We’ll get you started with Santo’s Little Helpers LLC,” Vincenzo said, pacing the room. “Local revitalization, creator partnerships, brand alignment, human futures. We’re expanding the footprint aggressively. We just closed on the Naomi Lake property—beautiful bones, currently being revitalized into a premier retreat. And you already know about the Harrison Home for Youth.”
Chase stiffened. “I know your father bought it.”
“He didn’t just buy it; he’s evolving it,” Vincenzo corrected smoothly. “The ‘Harrison Academy for Brilliance.’ It’s going to be a factory for exceptional minds. And honestly, we have you to thank.”
Chase looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Me?”
“You found them,” Vincenzo said, smiling. “Those special kids you were ‘teaching’ while identifying talent. Calder, for example.”
The name hung in the air. Chase remembered the kid’s face—the quiet, electric intensity of him. “There wasn’t exactly a finder’s fee, Vincenzo.”
“It worked out, didn’t it? The boy is thriving under my bloodline’s tutelage. And now that I have more responsibilities to be a good example, I need to make sure my branch of El Viento is robust enough to impress. That’s where you come in.”
“I’m a lawyer, Vinny. Not a scout.”
“Exactly. I have scouts. I have analysts. What I need is that SilverTongue.” Vincenzo leaned forward, his elbows hitting the oak with a dull thud. “We’re acquiring local staples. Summers Brew, a few properties with… emotional owners. They don’t trust suits, and tend to avoid the Viento name. But they’ll trust you.”
“You want me to sweet-talk local businesses into selling out,” Chase said flatly.
Vincenzo tilted his head, amused. “I want you to show them a better future. Do some viral streams and shorts showing our philanthropy. Help steer them towards the correct truth. They don’t trust the Viento name. But they’ll trust you, SilverTongue.”
Chase closed the folder with a sharp snap. “This isn’t philanthropy. It’s a psychological operation with better branding.” Besides, I just finished a stint as a teacher at your father’s request. Plans to retire at Michael & Cole, oh, and I’d like to sneak in a nap once in a while.”
Vincenzo smiled. “Sleep is for people who don’t have stories worthy of attention.”
“I have a story. It just doesn’t need a comment section.”
“Everything needs a comment section,” Vincenzo said.
Chase slid the folder back across the desk, the heavy cardstock rasping against the wood. “I’m out.”
“For now,” Vincenzo said gently, accepting the return. “You’re out for now.”
Chase stood, his chair scraping the floor. “And probably always.”
“You said ‘probably’.” Vincenzo’s grin widened. “You’ll call me when you do the math.”
Vincenzo came around the desk and clapped a hand on Chase’s shoulder. “No pressure. I’m proud of the spine, honestly.”
“I’m proud of the folder,” Chase said. “Premium cardstock.”
“Right? Smells like a ‘yes’.”
Chase almost smiled. “Smells like your dad’s money.”
As they walked back through the studio, Vincenzo stopped to straighten a frame. “Dinner tonight? Celebratory refusal feast. Order Mexican, have them deliver it to a Chinese place — watch the confusion.”
“I already have plans,” Chase said.
“With who?”
“A friend. From the reunion.” Chase hesitated. “She works at the vet clinic downtown. We’re getting coffee.”
“The vet clinic?” Vincenzo paused, his eyes flickered with interest. “You mean the one on 4th? PawsCity Vibes?”
“Why?”
“Animal wellness,” Vincenzo mused, his gaze drifting to the skyline. “That’s an untapped vertical. High emotional investment, completely recession-proof. I should have my team look into that portfolio. People will pay anything to keep a cat alive for another week.”
“Leave her out of it, Vinny.”
“She has a great face,” Vincenzo said. “Readable. Emotive. The camera would love her. If she’s in with the animals, that’s a content goldmine. The ‘Saint of Strays’—can you imagine the engagement?”
“She’s not interested.”
“Everyone’s interested, Chase. They just haven’t had their ‘one bad day’ yet.” Vincenzo patted his shoulder again. “Bring her around. She might find a better life entertaining our customers than mending defective pets.”
“She’s not a dancing monkey for your streams, Vincenzo.”
“Not yet.”
Chase turned to leave, Amelia’s warning from the porch rang in his ears.
Men like that don’t give. They trade.