by B. B. Hamel
“It was never yours.”
“You piece of shit.” Anger rips through me. I step toward him, rage shivering down my arms. “You pathetic piece of shit. You’re so hateful and so jealous of the Lofthouse family that you’ll take this away from me just because you can. You motherfucker.”
“Careful,” he says, eyes narrowing.
“No, fuck you,” I say. “I’m sick of this. I can already see my future working for you, Dad, and it’s looking pretty fucking bleak.”
“Dean. You should stop before you say something you regret.”
“I’m not going to regret this.” I stare him down. “I quit.”
Nobody speaks for ten seconds. I stand there, breathing hard, trying to keep my cool. I don’t want to hit my dad, but goddamn, he really deserves it.
Finally, he nods his head. “Okay then,” he says. “Go ahead and quit. But when you come running back to me, I’m starting you at the bottom again until you can earn your position all over.”
“That won’t happen,” I say and turn away.
Dad snorts. “It will. This bitch will leave you high and dry soon enough, and then you’ll—”
I turn and deck him. I smash my fist into his nose and send him sprawling.
“Don’t you ever call her a bitch,” I growl, anger rippling through me.
My father grabs his nose and groans. Blood pours between his fingers.
I didn’t want to do that. I planned on walking away. But when he called Lora that nasty name, I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stop it.
Nobody talks to her that way. Fucking nobody.
“You just made a huge mistake,” he said, his voice nasal and whiny.
I turn away and walk off. I get the fuck out of there before I do something even worse. Lora hurries after me, horror in her expression. I walk back to my truck, shaking with rage, then turn on her.
“Dean, you—”
I grab her and pull her against me. She looks surprised, but melts into my kiss.
“I should’ve done that a long time ago,” I say softly in her ear.
“Which part?” she asks, a little smile on her lips. “Quitting? Or hitting him?”
“Quitting,” I say and look away. “I shouldn’t have hit him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. He’s a fucking dick when it comes to you. I don’t know why.”
“Still, I feel like I just came between you two.”
I shake my head, holding her tight. “He came between us,” I say. “He didn’t need to act like that. Didn’t need to punish me just for spending time with you. And the fact is, he’s going to keep trying to get one over on me, keep trying to punish me and treat me like a child if I let him.”
“That’s why you quit?”
“That, and it’s just time to move on.” I shake my head. “Can’t stay there forever. He’d never going to step down. Not while he’s still alive. It’s time to do something for myself.”
She grins at me. “Well… I know someone hiring. The pay is zero dollars though.”
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “Sounds great. Sign me up.”
“I’m serious though. Do you… want to come work with me? I can’t pay you yet, but—”
I kiss her again, and I hope that’s all the answer she needs.
13
Lora
Dean comes with me at eight the next morning to Richard Chirad’s office in downtown Loftville.
He’s an older gentleman with a large bushy mustache and an easy smile. He smiles and shakes our hands as we step into his office. “Well, Lora, what can I do for you?” he asks.
“Richard, I was hoping you could draw up a contract for the purchase of the old empty warehouse on Spruce.”
He blinks, clearly surprised. “Excuse me?”
“I plan on purchasing it from my Uncle Ron,” I say. “And I need a contract drawn up.”
He looks from me over to Dean, who doesn’t say anything. He huffs and shakes his head. “This is, ah, are you sure? Last I checked, it wasn’t for sale.”
“We’re making an offer,” I say, “of $1.6 million.”
His eyes bug out. “Excuse me?”
“One point six million,” I repeat. “If you could draw up the papers, that would be wonderful.”
“Well, yes, ah, of course, I could, ah, did you clear this with your mother?”
“This has nothing to do with my mother, Richard,” I say. “Please have the papers drawn up.”
“I just, your mother, I work—”
“You work for the Lofthouse family, is that correct?” I ask.
He nods. “Of course.”
“I will be paying your bill for this work. Please have the contracts drawn up as soon as possible and send them to me via email.”
“Very… very well.”
“Thank you.” I stand, shake his hand again, and leave. Dean hurries after me. We manage to make it out of his office before we both practically fall over with laughter.
“Oh my god,” he says. “Did you see his face? I swear, he thought he were joking a first. And when you said the price? He nearly had a heart attack.”
“I can’t decide if it’s funny or horrible,” I say, laughing. “But I guess it’s funny.”
“When he looked at me, I was about to say… this isn’t my fucking thing, talk to her.” He throws an arm around my shoulder and we walk down the sidewalk together. It’s a beautiful afternoon and his truck is parked down the street. “God, we’re doing this, aren’t we?”
“We are,” I confirm. “And listen, we need to discuss something important.”
“Oh, yeah?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Your title within the company.”
“Ah,” he says, smiling. “I was thinking ‘Grand Lord of All Things’ or something like that. You know, nothing too dramatic.”
I roll my eyes. “I was thinking manager.”
“Yeah?” He smiles at me.
“I mean, I was thinking co-owner, but… I don’t want to be presumptuous.”
“Huh. You want me to be co-owner? Or manager? Pretty different positions.” He smirks at me and I feel myself blushing.
“Sorry. I’m just… I’m trying to figure this out. You know what I mean?”
He stops and turns to me. I take a step back and run into the wall of the building we’re in front of. “I’ll tell you what this is,” he says, head tilted. “I want you and I want this. So if I get to choose, I choose co-owner.”
I bite my lip, heart rate spiking. “Really?”
“Really.” He stares at me for a long moment and I can see the desire in his eyes. “I won’t pretend like I share your dream, but I know I’ll do anything to make it real for you.”
“I believe you,” I whisper.
“Good. If you want me, I’ll step up.”
“I want you.”
“I know you do.” He kisses me gently, and god, he tastes good. “Now we just need your uncle to sign those damn papers.”
“I think he will,” I say. “At least, I hope so.”
“Let’s go find out.” He takes my hand and leads me away toward the truck. I follow him, feeling silly, feeling stupid, but knowing I’d follow him anywhere if he asked me to.
We spend all afternoon fine-tuning the business plan we started the other night, and by five in the evening, the papers arrive from Richard’s office. I print them out and Dean goes over them with a frown.
“These look good to me,” he says. “But then again, I’m not a lawyer.”
“I trust him,” I say. “He’s been the family’s lawyer… Forever. He used to come around at Christmas when I was a little girl and give all of us presents.”
“Sounds like a nice guy.”
“My mom pays him like he’s a prince,” I admit. “And I think he does the work of twenty men for her. So this is no big deal, and I’m sure he wrote it to be as favorable for us as possible.”
“I think it’s pretty
reasonable.” He frowns at the paper and sighs. “All right. So what’s the plan?”
“The… plan?”
“To get your uncle to sell. What are you planning on saying?”
“Well, I was just going to… you know… tell him how much money we have.”
He shakes his head. “Can’t do that.”
“What?”
“Can’t just tell him how much we have. Gotta start lower.”
“You’re joking?”
“No, start lower. But not so low that you’ll insult him. We can change the pricing around in the contract if he actually does bite at a lower price, but I doubt he will.”
“Dean,” I say. “Let’s just play this straight. I mean, he’s my uncle.”
“True, but you said yourself that doesn’t mean much.”
I take a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, fine,” I say, shaking my head. “You have a good point.”
“Just trust me. We’ll go at this sideways. I think he’s the kind of man to appreciate that.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He just shrugs, a grin on his face. “Let’s go find out.” He stands up, papers in his hand.
I groan but stand and walk to the nearest intercom. I buzz Archie and ask him where Uncle Ron is.
“In his room,” Archie says. “Shall I ring him and tell him you’re coming up?”
“Yes, please,” I say. “And tell him I’m bringing Dean as well.”
“Very good.”
I release the talk button and glance back at Dean. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Let’s get it done.”
I lead him through the house and up the main stairwell. Uncle Ron’s room are at the top of the steps toward the back of the house. Aunt Louise is usually in there with him, but she’s been in Barbados for the last two weeks, and doesn’t plan on coming back anytime soon as far as I can tell.
I reach Uncle Ron’s door and stop just outside. Dean hangs back as I knock and we wait together until he answers. He’s puffing on a cigar and is wearing a white button-down shirt tucked into slacks. He chews on the cigar and eyes us both.
“Hello, Lora,” he says. “And who is this young man?”
“Dean Ashman,” he says, introducing himself. “Good to meet you.”
“Yes, good to meet you as well.” Uncle Ron gives him a smile. “I’ve been enjoying my truck.”
“I’m sure you have been. It’s a beautiful machine.”
“It is, it truly is. You know, I never was a truck man, until I drove one a year or so ago. Haven’t been able to get the thought of a big, roaring truck out of my mind since. You’ve fulfilled that desire, Mr. Ashman.”
“Call me Dean, please,” he says. “If I can call you Ron.”
Uncle Ron smiles. “Yes, that would be fine. Cigar?”
“Absolutely.”
Dean slips past me and the men step into Uncle Ron’s sitting room. I linger by the door and sigh, shaking my head.
Boys will be fucking boys, I guess.
Uncle Ron gets Dean set up with a cigar then they sit in easy chairs with glasses of whiskey and talk cars. Uncle Ron seems to know a lot about them, so I sit nearby, ignoring my own glass, and listen. Dean holds his own in conversation, lets Uncle Ron do most of the talking, and only adds in where appropriate.
An hour passes. I sit there, bored out of my skull, but I let Dean take the lead. Finally, after their second glass of whiskey, Uncle Ron stubs out his cigar. “My word, Dean,” he says. “I’ve been talking your ear off. I didn’t know I was so interested in cars, but here we are.”
“You know more about them than most people, Ron,” Dean says. “I’ve just been learning, that’s all.”
Uncle Ron laughs, clearly pleased. “I’m sure I haven’t taught you a thing, but I appreciate the pleasant lie.” He tilts his head and nods toward the stack of papers Dean put on the coffee table when we first arrived. “Say, what do you have there?”
“Ah,” Dean says. “I have to be honest with you Ron. We didn’t come here for a social visit.”
“You didn’t?” Uncle Ron laughs. “But my niece here seems so fond of me. She’s always visiting.”
I don’t take that bait, just smile politely while both of them laugh.
“Really, Ron, we’re here about the warehouse.”
“Ah, yes, of course. The warehouse.” He frowns. “I gave her my price.”
“I was hoping there was some flex in the final number. We were leaning toward $1.2 million, which is really the best we could do, given the economy around here.”
Uncle Ron laughs. “That warehouse is enormous and once serviced an entire region. No, I’m sorry, I couldn’t do $1.2 million, not at all.”
“Come on then. Give me a price, something you’d consider.”
He frowns, shakes his head. “I’d come down to $1.8, and only because Lora is family.”
Dean chuckles and sighs. I can see him mirroring Uncle Ron’s own personal habits. He’s being more erudite and acting like he belongs in a country club.
It’s kind of impressive, actually. He’s falling into a role and pushing Uncle Ron to negotiate, even though Uncle Ron clearly doesn’t want to.
“I appreciate that,” Dean says. “I really do. I’ll play ball then. One point four million, best offer, really is. I don’t think we could go higher.”
Uncle Ron shakes his head. “I’m not playing this game,” he says. “I’ve enjoyed our chat and the cigars, I really have. But I’m not negotiating. I’ll do $1.8 million and not a cent more, I’m sorry.”
I feel my heart sink. He doesn’t come back with another lowered offer, not even a little bit. He actually looks annoyed, but Dean seems unfazed. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable, and suddenly start to think we might be losing this deal after all.
“Well, okay,” Dean says, standing. “Ron, I appreciate the good whiskey, the good cigar, and the great conversation. I can see you won’t change your mind, and I respect that.” He holds out his hand.
Uncle Ron stands and shakes it. “Well, yes, well. You’re welcome back here, if you ever want to talk cars again.”
“I’d really like that. Only if you have more of that whiskey.”
Uncle Ron grins. “I’ve got cases of it.”
Which I’m pretty sure is literally true, based on the way the man drinks it.
“Great.” Dean turns away and glances at me. I stand hurriedly and smile at Uncle Ron.
“Thanks for the drink,” I say.
“Any time, Lora,” he says, sounding kinder than normal.
I follow Dean to the door, my heart hammering. Uncle Ron follows and we step out into the hall. He lingers at the door, watching as we begin to walk away.
“One point six million,” Uncle Ron says.
Dean slows and stops. I see the smile on his face. I want to slap him. Maybe hug him. I can’t decide.
He turns around. “One point six million?” he asks.
“Best offer,” Uncle Ron says. “It’ll hurt. But you and Lora seem like a good team. I can do $1.6 million.”
“Let’s shake on it.” Dean grins. “Better yet, let’s sign.”
“Sign?”
Dean walks past Uncle Ron, right back into the room. Uncle Ron follows, looking confused, as Dean drops the contract down on the table.
“Well, ah, yes, ah, what is this here?” Uncle Ron gets a pair of glasses from the coffee table and squints at the contract.
“That was drawn up by Richard,” I say. “You can be sure that it’s fair.”
“You have a contract?” He sounds genuinely surprised.
“Of course,” Dean says. “We’re serious about this. I wouldn’t come into a business negotiation without a contract.”
“Well, yes, yes, of course, of course.” He reads through the first page and flips to the second. “You have the price in here already.”
“That was our highest possible offer,” Dean says, as if that explains a thing. “Flip to
the next page and make sure the rights are all correct.”
“Well, ah, of course, yes,” Uncle Ron mumbles.
I can tell he’s incredibly uncomfortable. I’m not sure if it’s because he didn’t think we were serious about this, or if it’s moving far faster than he expected, but Dean does a good job managing him. I get the feeling that he’s never actually read a contract before in his life.
“So, pretty standard,” Dean says, reading over some language with him. “The undersigned, blah blah blah, rights revert, yadda, yadda. Pretty boilerplate stuff. And like Lora said, your own lawyer drew it up, so you know it’s ironclad and reasonable.”
“Ah, yes, but—”
“And the price is all right there,” Dean says. “We’re prepared to pay in cash today.”
“Today?” His eyes bug out of his face. “In cash?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Dean says like it’s no big deal. “If you’re interested.”
“Interested, yes, yes, that would be grand.” Uncle Ron flips to the back and signs instantly. “Very grand. If you could send it over today.” He begins to go back through the contract, initialing each page.
“I’ll contact my man at the bank,” I say. “He’ll take care of it.”
“Right, right, your man at the bank.” Uncle Ron looks utterly bewildered, but he flips to the first page, initials the bottom, and hands the contract to Dean. “Yes, today would be good. Very good.”
“I’ll see that it gets done,” Dean says and stands. They shake hands. “Thank you very much, Ronald. We’re going to do nice things with that warehouse, I promise you that. And I’d love to come back for whiskey and cigars.”
“Of course, of course. Whenever you wish.”
Dean turns and grins at me as we walk to the door. Again, we step out into the hall, and this time, Uncle Ron doesn’t follow. We walk away and when I hear the door shut behind us, I turn to Dean.
“Holy crap,” I say.
“I know, right?”
I laugh and jump into his arms. He hugs me back, pulls me tight against his chest. I kiss him on the lips right there in the hallway, not giving a damn who sees or cares.
“That was amazing! I thought he was going to call your bluff. I thought we were finished.”