Boss I Love To Hate

by James, London

  I watch through the window as people bundled up in thick jackets, scarves, and hats scurry about, running whatever errands they’re on, and automatically think of the residents of the Jackson. I know that some of them are standing in the cold outside their building right now, protesting. Some of them have already begun putting up tents and plan to ride this out until they either win or are forcibly removed – and all because Sawyer will not budge. And because they believe in me. They believe I can somehow weave a Christmas miracle and save their homes.

  Once again, I feel the full weight of the responsibility bearing down on me. Only this time, I don’t know that I can bear it. I wish I felt half as strong as Gabby believes I am. But I’m not. Right now, I feel as weak as I’ve ever felt in my life – weak and utterly heartbroken.

  “So tell me why you think I have my head up my ass,” I finally ask her.

  “Because you’ve always known what Sawyer does. His business dealings shouldn’t come as any surprise to you,” she replies. “And because you’re letting your moral outrage ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

  “So what? I should just tell the people at the Jackson they’re out of luck because I’m in love?”

  She shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all,” she tells me. “What I’m saying is that you need to make your passion and your moral outrage work for you instead of against you both.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that, Gabs? He holds all the cards. I don’t really have a legal leg to stand on,” I respond. “I mean, I can make a big show of it and try to force his hand but at the end of the day, unless the borough board or the court decides to stop what he calls ‘progress’ – which I doubt will happen – those people are going to be out on the street before Christmas. All I can do is fight, yell, and try to shame him into doing the right thing.”

  “Or,” Gabby starts. “You can try to maybe work with him to find a solution to everything.”

  She takes a sip of her drink, her eyes still pinned to mine, letting her statement just hang there in the air between us like it’s the answer to everything.

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” I finally ask.

  “You feel so much for these people you defend that you’re always on the attack, hon. And while that’s not always a bad thing, it makes you overlook certain things,” she starts. “Namely, like identifying who the enemies are – and who your allies might be.”

  “Okay, now you sound like you’ve been reading fortune cookies all day,” I laugh wryly.

  “I’m saying there is a middle ground you two can find if you’d stop taking a scorched earth approach to things,” she fires back. “You want more affordable housing. He’s a developer whose company builds – homes. Surely, if you put those two things together, you can create something that makes the both of you happy, yes?”

  I sit back in my seat, stunned to the point of breathlessness. I never thought about it like that. It’s an answer that seems so simple that I feel stupid for not thinking of it before. But then, then I realize that maybe it’s not as simple as all that. Sawyer is a man whose business dealings are driven by profit. And the truth is, there is little to no profit to be had in building low-income housing for a company like Compass. Unless…

  I look up at Gabby, smiling wide. “You are brilliant,” I say. “You are utterly brilliant.”

  “I know,” she chirps.

  “You’ve given me an idea about how to turn him into an ally,” I grin.

  “See? Me kicking your ass the way I do pays dividends,” she smiles.

  “Yes it does.”

  I jump out of my seat and throw my arms around her. She giggles as I squeeze her tight. I am more grateful for this woman than I can even begin to express. I think she’s given me an idea about how to make the both of us happy and save a relationship that an hour ago, I thought was doomed.

  “I have a lot of work to do.” I plant a kiss on Gabby’s cheek.

  “Then get to it, girl.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Sawyer

  It’s been almost a week since I last spoke to Berlin – which seems fucking ridiculous since she lives right next door to me. But there have been no calls, no texts, no – nothing. I’ve even stopped by her place a couple of times but got no answer. It’s been nothing but radio silence from her.

  I get that she needs some space, so I want to give it to her. Our last conversation didn’t exactly go over too well. Forcing her to talk to me would only guarantee things between us would get even worse. She can be stubborn as hell when she gets her mind set on something.

  With nothing better to do, I decided to stop by Rose Hills to spend a little time with her dad. On his more lucid days, I enjoy spending time with him. He’s a good guy and has a lot of great stories – about Berlin, mostly. And I enjoy hearing those. Especially now that she’s freezing me out.

  Part of me thinks I should take the hint. She hasn’t shown the slightest interest in talking to me, and I don’t know if that’s going to change. We are different in so many ways. But most of those we can get past since in the grand scheme of things, they’re minor. And yet there’s one major issue between us, and it’s one I don’t know can be resolved. We just see the world in two very different ways, and they very well may not be compatible with each other.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. West,” the woman at the desk greets me brightly. “Lovely to see you again.”

  “You as well, Emma.”

  With a floor made of marble, furniture upholstered in high-end fabrics, and appointed with antiques and prints of Van Gogh, Monet, and some of the past masters, the reception area of Rose Hills looks more like a four-star hotel than a hospital. It’s by design, of course. The administrators want people to feel comfortable here. They want people to feel like their relatives are on vacation rather than in a facility.

  “How is Mr. Roth doing today?” I ask.

  “Well, let me see,” she replies, tapping a few keys and consulting her computer. “As of two hours ago, he was having a good day. Responding to stimuli, lucid and coherent, conversational.”

  “That’s good.” I nod. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you,” she replies with a sly grin. “And the – ahem – medicine you’ve brought along.”

  I return her grin and give her a conspiratorial wink. I’m not supposed to bring in outside food, but the nurses here are good enough to look the other way as long as I’m discreet about it. She issues me a visitor’s badge and smiles.

  “You can head on back,” she says.

  “Thanks, Emma.”

  “Anytime, honey.”

  Keeping the bag under my coat, I head down the corridor that will lead me back to the resident’s rooms. I follow the path that’s familiar to me now, passing through a courtyard that’s got a pond, lush foliage, and colorful flowering bushes. Now covered in a thin dusting of snow, it projects an air of peace and tranquility.

  The automatic doors slide open for me, and my footfalls echo through the silent corridor all around me. I find my way to Robert’s door and give it a firm knock.

  “Come in,” I hear the muffled voice on the other side of the door.

  I open the door and step in to find Robert in the large recliner set near the window. The flat-screen is tuned to a highlight show on ESPN, as usual. He gives me a smile, and I can tell he’s present and in the moment with me.

  “Robert,” I greet him. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Good. I’m good.” He nods. “Please tell me that’s a meatball sub I’m smelling.”

  I chuckle. “Nose like a bloodhound.”

  “That’s me,” he grins, tapping the side of his nose.

  I pull the bag out from under my coat and set it down on the table, then start fishing everything out and laying it on the table as Robert comes and sits down, a ravenous gleam in his eyes.

  “How are they treating you here?” I ask.

>   “Can’t complain,” he responds. “They treat me pretty good.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  I take a seat and look around the room. It reminds me a lot of a high-end hotel room. There’s a large window that overlooks the snow-covered field and lake set behind the facility. He has a large, overstuffed recliner with a clear line of sight to the fifty-two-inch flat-screen mounted to the wall. He’s got a king-sized bed, a private bathroom, and this small, round table set in a corner with a pair of chairs that aren’t overly comfortable, but they’re functional.

  Robert unwraps his sandwich and tears into it with zeal. He murmurs his approval and nods as he chews.

  “This sandwich is amazing,” he grins through a mouthful.

  I’ve got a turkey club on squaw bread, but I’m suddenly regretting my choice to not go with the meatball sub because it smells incredible. Robert wipes his mouth with a napkin and sits back, his expression growing serious.

  “I want to say thank you, Sawyer,” he starts.

  “No thanks necessary,” I assure him.

  “I disagree. What you’ve done for me – and most of all, what you’ve done for Berlin – I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate it,” he states.

  “Robert, you don’t have to –”

  “Just – hear me out,” he cuts me off. “I know I’m not always here these days. My mind – it’s not what it used to be. So when I have these moments when I’m clear and my head ain’t all fuzzy, I gotta get those things I want to say – what I need to say – out.”

  I pick at my sandwich and nod, giving him the floor. He gives me a tight smile and a nod in return.

  “I know you’re the one footin’ the bill here, and there ain’t no words to tell you how much I appreciate that. I’m never gonna be able to pay you back for givin’ me the time with my little girl you have,” he says, his eyes shimmering with tears he’s fighting to hold back. “More than anything, that time with Berlin – I can’t even put a price on that.”

  “Robert, you don’t need to thank me for that,” I respond. “It’s my pleasure. Really.”

  A mysterious smile touches his lips, and he nods. “She always says you’re a lot more compassionate than you let on,” he tells me. “A lot humbler.”

  I laugh out loud. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “Well, she believes it, so that’s good enough for me.”

  I take a bite of my sandwich and chew, just to give me a chance to gather my thoughts – and so I don’t keep interrupting him. Robert obviously has some things he needs to get off his chest, and he’s still self-aware enough to know that he’s not all here, so I want to give him the space to do what he needs to do.

  “Anyway, while I’ve still got my wits about me, I wanted to talk to you about Berlin…”

  He lets his statement hang in the air between us for a moment, and when I look over, he looks like he’s starting to struggle with his thoughts. He looks as if he’s chasing some thought through a sudden and rising fog in his mind and can’t quite seem to grasp it.

  I see the frustration on his face as the realization that he’s declining and will soon be lost in that fog again sets in on him. I feel for the guy. I can’t even imagine how scary and frustrating it must all be.

  He gives his head a small shake. “I was talking about Berlin, wasn’t I?”

  I nod. “Right, you were.”

  He rubs at the stubble on his chin, making a dry, scratchy sound, and looks off into the distance. I can tell he’s still trying to catch the thoughts that continue eluding him, but then he seems to catch them, and his face brightens.

  “Berlin. My little girl. She’s a good woman,” he starts as if he’s trying to convince himself.

  “She is. She’s amazing in a thousand different ways,” I respond. “I don’t know that I respect anybody more.”

  He nods enthusiastically. “She is definitely amazing. You’re right about that,” he says. “She’s also one of the most stubborn people on the planet.”

  A wry laugh bursts out of my throat. “You can say that again.”

  “She loves you, Sawyer. Loves you a lot,” he goes on.

  “And I love her,” I respond. “But there’s this gap between us. We see the world differently. It’s a difference I don’t know can be reconciled.”

  He arches an eyebrow at me. “There are few things in this life that can’t be reconciled,” he states. “And believe me when I tell you this ain’t one of them.”

  “Think so?” I muse. “I mean, it’s a pretty big gap.”

  “It’s a disagreement,” he continues.

  “I think it’s a little more than that,” I press. “I mean, it’s a completely different philosophy about life and our role in it.”

  He cackles and shakes his head. “You make it sound so grandiose,” he argues. “It’s a disagreement about business practices. Believe me when I say that’s something that can be reconciled.”

  “I’m not sure she feels the same way.”

  “She just wants you to understand her, Sawyer.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  He takes another bite of his sandwich and settles back in his chair, chewing with a look of concentration on his face, as if he’s being very deliberate in organizing his thoughts.

  “She fights for the underdog. She always fights for the underdog,” he finally says. “She has this natural hostility toward the wealthy.”

  I laugh softly. “Sounds about right.”

  “We didn’t have too much when she was growing up,” he laments, his voice tinged with sadness. “She got made fun of a lot as a kid by the other kids who had more. I think it left a bad taste in her mouth and sort of shaped who she became. We were okay, but there were some rough days. Real, real rough days. The kinda days a guy like you couldn’t even imagine.”

  I push what’s left of my sandwich away from me, my appetite suddenly leaving me. “I’m no psychologist, but I can see how that would certainly have an impact.”

  “I wish I could have provided for her better than I did –”

  “That’s not your fault, Robert,” I tell him. “Don’t beat yourself up about something that happened that long ago.”

  “I appreciate that, Sawyer,” he tells me with a sad smile. “But I wasn’t the greatest father. I made my share of mistakes.”

  “Haven’t we all?” I ask. “But to tell you the truth, it’s that fire and passion in her, and that willingness to go to the mat for something she believes in that I respect most about her. I admire your daughter, Robert. And those qualities are part of why I fell in love with her in the first place. She is extraordinary in every way.”

  I finally see some warmth in his smile and a light in his eyes. I’m not a father yet, but I recognize it – it’s the light of a father’s pride.

  “She really is extraordinary, isn’t she?” he beams.

  “I’ve never met anybody like her,” I confirm. “I love her with everything in me, Robert.”

  “Then find a way to fix this – whatever it is – that’s going on between you two,” he orders. “I’ve never seen her happier than when she was with you. She loves you, Sawyer. Find a way to fix it.”

  “I don’t even know how to go about it at this point,” I admit.

  “To understand her, you have to understand what she fights for. Or rather, who she fights for,” he advises. “Once you understand that, you’ll know what to do.”

  It seems a bit cryptic to me. The answer seems just out of reach. But at the same time, I also feel like I’m on the cusp of understanding. And that’s when it hits me.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sawyer

  I find a spot on the street less than a block away. Pulling to the curb, I park, and shut off the engine. I sit for a minute, looking up the street at the mass of people milling about. Across the street from them is the construction equipment sitting idly by.

  I watch for a moment as fat, fluffy snowflakes continue
to fall, some of them sticking to my windshield, others hitting the warm hood of my car and melting immediately. As I step out of the car, Robert’s words continue to echo around in my head – understand who she fights for, and I’ll understand Berlin.

  I want to patch things up with Berlin in the worst way possible. It’s only been a week without her, but it feels like a lot longer than that. I can’t believe the hole Berlin’s absence has left inside of me. It’s a pain I’ve never felt before, and honestly, one I don’t care for.

  I miss her and want her back more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life – except at the cost of destroying my company or its reputation. Robert seems to believe the difference in life philosophies is an obstacle that can be overcome. I want to believe him. And I’m going to do my best to overcome it. But Berlin has got to meet me halfway. As much as I love her, I can’t let our relationship be that one-sided.

  After pulling my topcoat around myself a bit tighter and adjusting my scarf, I slip on my gloves and then head down the street, heading for the demonstration outside the Jackson. As I approach, I see the tents that have been set up outside the building. People are warming themselves around metal trashcans that have fires burning inside of them. Very few of them have proper winter coats, and only a handful have scarves and gloves. It’s an altogether depressing sight.

  But as I get closer, what I can see is a steadfast resolve in the faces of everybody gathered there. They are not going to let the demolition and construction crews anywhere near the building.

  “You look lost.”

  I turn to see an older woman approaching me. She’s got to be in her seventies and has a thin, frail-looking body, with skin the color of onyx and a head full of wispy white hair. The thing that strikes me the most about her, though, are her eyes. They are bright and full of life – and an undeniable kindness.

  She hands me a Styrofoam cup of hot coffee. I take it and watch the steam rising from the liquid into the afternoon air for a moment before I raise my eyes to hers.