What you make me do

by Emma Quinn

  “Yes,” she answered. “But they were forced to!”

  He nodded. “I understand, but it’s going to make things harder. Roth, Inc. is going to try hard to say that your parents agreed to the terms—” When Helen looked like she was about to argue again, he held up his hand and continued, “—regardless of whether or not they actually were okay with those terms or harassed into compliance.”

  “So… we’re screwed?”

  Mr. Packard sat back in his rickety old chair, considering Helen carefully. “Honestly?”

  Helen nodded.

  “Probably.”

  There was that word again. Probably. Maybe. Potentially. All of these uncertainties. She hated it. “So, there’s nothing we can do?”

  “Now, I didn’t say that,” Mr. Packard said. “We’ll certainly try, but you need to understand that Roth, Inc. has a lot of resources and they’re using an obscure law that allows them to take a parcel of land if it’s impeding what they deem is progress.”

  “Can we prove it’s not progress?” Helen offered hopefully. “That park—” she began, but Mr. Packard was already shaking his head.

  “But we’re not talking about the park,” he said carefully.

  “Of course, we are! They’re going to bulldoze that lovely park, just like the restaurant!”

  “Yes, I understand that, and I’m very sorry,” Mr. Packard answered patiently. “But you need to remember that the park’s welfare is determined by the city. This,” he held up the documents for the restaurant, “is only about your parents. Since they have the rights to the restaurant, they have grounds to argue with the progress. But the park isn’t theirs and the city has already granted Roth, Inc. permission to move ahead on that.”

  Helen felt her heart break a little further.

  Those evil corporate bastards were going to destroy her park and tear down her parents’ restaurant and no one was even going to get enough in the end to restart somewhere else. And it was sounding like there was less and less chance she could do anything about it.

  “If you want to focus on the park,” Mr. Packard continued, “we can petition with the city to preserve it, but keep in mind that’s an entirely different fight.”

  Helen worried at her lower lip. “Can we do both?”

  He nodded. “We can, and I would be happy to do so. But if you wanted to focus on preserving your parents’ restaurant, it might be enough to save the park, too. The entire project would have to halt, because of the restaurant’s central location, and if we win with the restaurant, they might cancel the whole thing.”

  It sounded like a pipe dream, but Helen clung to it like it was her lifeline. She knew a long shot when she heard one, but she also knew that she was desperate enough to try anything.

  “Okay, so what do we do?”

  Mr. Packard scratched at his thinning gray hair. “Well, the law says that the company only has to pay a reasonable price – in this case not enough to do anything with – in order to continue. However, if a new buyer were to show interest in the restaurant, they could offer to pay a higher price.”

  Helen frowned. “Wait, so my parents would still have to sell, but to someone else?”

  Mr. Packard nodded. “Yes. But they would get a reasonable price for it.”

  Standing, Helen tried to think that through. A reasonable price… by selling it to someone else. Why? So that the new buyer would turn around and be forced to sell to Roth, Inc. in the end anyway? For less than initially paid.

  It didn’t make any sense, and no one would go for something like that.

  Helen shook her head. “I don’t see how that would work.”

  Mr. Packard shrugged. “It’s a little muddy, I admit. Basically, this new buyer could show an interested which at the very least slows everything down because it ties Roth, Inc. up in negotiations and bids.”

  “In other words, it buys us time,” Helen filled in.

  “In a sense,” Mr. Packard admitted. “But if we could find someone who was an interested party who found a reason why leaving the restaurant intact was the best thing for the neighborhood, well, that might be enough to stop the project.”

  “Where are we going to find someone like that?” Helen asked, almost feeling worse to have this slim near impossible hope dangled in front of her.

  Mr. Packard lifted his shoulders in a heavy shrug before slouching back down. “Don’t suppose you know any billionaire philanthropists, do you?”

  She clenched her jaw. “None that would help.”

  Helen was at work, testing contaminated waters again and wondering vaguely why she bothered. The park was going to be demolished and her parents were going to lose everything they’d ever cared about. And it was all because she bothered to trust some backstabbing, sexy man who really was the devil in the end.

  “Got a hot date tonight?” Fiona asked, grinning broadly at her friend.

  Helen glanced over her, raising her eyebrow. “No,” she said flatly.

  She was working hard not to hold it against her friend for pushing her to give things a shot with Mr. Roth in the first place. After all, it hadn’t been Fiona’s fault that she saw the best in people despite the evidence to the contrary.

  Still, it was hard not to point out how tragically her love life had ended recently. Unlike Helen’s parents, Fiona had most of the gory details. She didn’t know about that wonderful night Helen spent with Michael or how she’d been tempted to move in with him, but Fiona did know they had been serious. And that Helen had been teetering on the edge of falling hard for him.

  What a horrible mistake that would have been, she thought.

  “And I’m not even worried about it,” Helen added when it looked like Fiona might start babbling about her romance novels and fate again. Helen wasn’t in the mood for that one little bit. “In fact, I should be grateful I don’t have a date. The fact that Michael—Mr. Roth, I mean, did what he did was actually a blessing. Now I know what kind of snake he is instead of finding out later on. What if he’d asked me to marry him and I stupidly said yes because I thought he was this total good guy when he in fact really was the devil? Then there would be this huge messy divorce and—”

  “I have a date!” Fiona burst out, cutting Helen off before she could continue. She looked like a puppy ready for a walk, all energy and excitement. “I’m so sorry, that was like the worst way possible to announce it by asking if you had a date, because I know everything that happened with Michael—I mean, Mr. Roth, because we aren’t using his first name anymore, but I really needed to tell you that George asked me out!”

  Fiona’s rambling subsided, but her grin stayed in place, almost electric in its power and excitement.

  She seemed like pure energy in that moment, bursting from her mortal coil into something spectacular. In that moment, she was amazingly beautiful and it shocked Helen that it was such a transformation.

  Helen stared at her friend, feeling like she was processing this information is slow motion.

  At first, there was a spark of jealousy. Fiona was so happy, so excited for this romance in her life! And Helen’s had just ended so disastrously… But that only lasted for a second before it was replaced with genuine happiness for Fiona.

  Helen couldn’t honestly say that the timing didn’t hurt a little bit, but the truth was that Fiona had a right to be happy and sometimes timing didn’t work out perfectly. But more to the point, that timing had absolutely nothing to do with Helen.

  “What? George the IT guy?” Helen asked, her eyes wide. “When did this happen and why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  She could guess the answer to that second question had to do with the turmoil that was her love life and the massive betrayal by Mr. Roth, but she asked just the same, determined to be supportive.

  “I didn’t want to stir the pot,” Fiona said.

  Helen waved her off. “Never mind that, how long have you two been almost dating?” Helen asked with a laugh.

  Fiona grinned. “Well, we sta
rted flirting a couple of weeks ago, because I accused him of constantly stopping for coffee and how weird that was. He was self-conscious, but then he said that he only did it so that he got the chance to see me.” She giggled. “I joked that I would start breaking more things so that he’d have an excuse to say hi!”

  “Oh, that is so cute! What did he say to that?”

  “I was only joking, and I really didn’t expect to see him again,” Fiona said, her eyes dreamy as she pushed her glasses up her nose. “But then he showed up and asked why I wasn’t breaking things, and didn’t I want to see him?”

  “He said that?”

  Fiona nodded. “I know, right? It’s so cute!”

  “What happened then?”

  “He finally said, ‘if you’re not going to break things to see me, then I’m just going to ask you out,’ and then he asked me out!” She let out a squeal of delight. “And now I have a date!”

  Helen indulged Fiona for the rest of the afternoon, dutifully listening to Fiona go on about her date and making all the appropriate motions at the appropriate times. She was happy for her friend, she really was, the she was also sad for herself. She couldn’t help the small fist of bitterness wrapped around her chest that made her hurt and angry at the world for being able to move on and be happy while she was left to wallow in betrayal.

  But Helen didn’t tell Fiona any of that. She insisted she was happy and promised herself that she really would be.

  She would get over Michael; she was sure of it.

  20

  Michael

  M

  ichael closed one eye shut in an attempt to better focus the other, but it didn’t really help. Not that it mattered. He pulled back his right arm and the club he was clutching in it but made the mistake of trying to take a drink out of the whiskey bottle in his left hand at the same time. The result was a horrible swing that missed the ball entirely and sent Michael stumbling backwards until he fell on his ass.

  There was a twinge of pain that shot up through his spine, but Michael barely noticed it. The booze was busy numbing him and it made everything a lot more entertaining.

  Letting out a laugh at his own antics, Michael dragged himself up and tried again to aim. This time when he swung at the ball, he managed to hit it, though it landed nowhere near where he’d been aiming. The huge windows of his huge house remained mostly intact, except for the two-up top. He’d managed to hit those while still half-sober, meaning they were broken and jagged.

  That was what he’d been trying to do to every window in his house—but he was a poor shot.

  “Damnit, Roth!”

  Michael let out a laugh. “Sorry Mr. Robinson!”

  “It’s Richardson!” Michael’s grumpy neighbor barked at him. “At least get the damn name right!”

  “Right, sure, Rickman. Got it.” Michael gave his neighbor a thumbs up.

  Richardson was red in the face, the skin blotchy and mottled as he tried to control his rage. Ultimately, he shook a fist in Michael’s direction. A fist that was clenched around a white golf ball. “I’m keeping this ball!” Richardson shouted at Michael, then hobbled back into his home.

  Michael couldn’t be bothered by the man’s grumpiness.

  They were half a mile apart! The fact that Michael managed to get the damn ball into the man’s garden was simply a testament to Michael’s prowess as a golfer.

  “And that I need to work on my aim,” Michael muttered to himself.

  He took another swig of the whiskey in his hand then took care to set it down on the ground beside him. Mostly because it was empty. Then he used both hands this time to aim at the little white ball in front of him. He had a whole pail of them, and Michael was happy to donate them all to Mr. Richardson if necessary.

  Wiggling his body to align with the ball, Michael finally drew back and swung. The club made contact with the ball with a loud thwap and launched it through the air. A second later, there was a crash.

  “Yes!” Michael crowed. “Direct hit!”

  Michael didn’t get much time to celebrate before a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Michael spun around in a drunken surprise, half-expecting to find his grumpy neighbor back and complaining. Intending to say that Mr. Richardson had no reason to complain since Michael was now managing to hit the balls at his own house, Michael nearly tripped over his own tongue when he saw Jake Morris standing there behind him.

  “Holy shit, are you kidding me?”

  Michael’s irritation and hate for the world melted away in an instant.

  Jake was like a snapshot in time. He’d barely changed beyond the jarhead haircut and the sundried skin across his nose and cheeks. The broad, toothy grin and those dark crinkled eyes looked just the same as they always had.

  “Jake fucking Morris how have you been?” Michael demanded, pulling his best friend in for a hard hug.

  Jake laughed, dropping his duffle bag to embrace his old friend. “I was going to say you’ve probably been better, but now I’m looking at your drunk ass and I’m starting to think that’s not fucking true.”

  Michael waved him off but nearly stumbled back to the ground while doing so. “I’m fine.”

  “I can see that,” Jake muttered, his smile slipping. “Well, better invite me in. I need a place to crash anyway.”

  Michael laughed. “Way to ask for a favor, buddy. Did you learn that in the Marines?”

  “Nope. I learned that from my mother. She’s got mad skills.”

  Michael led the way inside, not bothering to apologize for the broken windows or the empty bottles of booze littering the ground. Maybe when he was a little more sober, he’d at least be embarrassed, but he’d known Jake for a long time. And besides he was upset enough with everything that it was hard to make himself care.

  Jake stepped inside after Michael, glancing around. “Well, this looks like hell.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Want a drink?” Michael offered.

  “Are you sure there’s any alcohol left in the place?” Jake sounded like he was joking, but not really. As he looked around the place, it was clear that he was worried about his friend. “Man, what the hell is going on? Last time I saw you, you were on your way towards being Mr. Bigshot. Now…” Jake trailed off, gesturing towards the mess of a house.

  Michael ran a hand through his hair, then shrugged. “What? People change. People get stupid.”

  “Not like this,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Not out of the blue. Something happened—what the hell was it?”

  For a moment, Michael thought about telling Jake to find some other place to crash. He wasn’t in the mood to be lectured or to tell his sad, pathetic story about lost love and business and family. He was tired of dwelling on the things he’d lost.

  But as he stared at Jake, so obviously concerned for his life-long friend, Michael relented. He crashed down onto the couch, shoving aside bottles and old newspapers to make room for himself.

  Jake eyed the couch suspiciously and ended up taking a seat in the empty armchair adjacent to Michael.

  “I lost everything, man,” Michael finally told him. “I lost my business, because I let in some beautiful, smart, passionate woman and trusted her and proceeded to fuck that all up, because I lost the business.”

  “Wait, you lost me,” Jake said, shaking his head. “You lost the business ‘cause of the girl or the girl ‘cause of the business?”

  “Both,” Michael said miserably. He suddenly wished he had more whiskey. “There was this project and Ethan was handling getting the land for it. I was the money man, because I’m always the money man.”

  Jake nodded his head to show that he was listening. “Okay. So, what happened?”

  “There was this restaurant and they wouldn’t sell,” Michael explained, thinking of Helen and her parents and that cozy little place they’d built. “I went down there to see if I could help and that’s when I saw her. She was a spit fire and didn’t give a damn what I thought I was doing there. She gave me a piece of her
mind.”

  Jake laughed at his buddy. “Sounds like love at first sight,” he teased.

  “It was,” Michael mumbled, not sure if that was the whiskey talking or not. “I invited her for a meeting. We talked. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure about the project. Suddenly I was questioning whether or not we should be tearing down buildings or bulldozing this park. I invited her to dinner… Her name’s Helen.”

  “Helen of Troy,” Jake muttered. When Michael paused, eyebrow raised, Jake waved him on. “Sorry, never mind. Keep going with the story.”

  “She showed me that the park was beautiful and that tearing it down was a travesty.”

  “Why is this a bad thing?” Jake asked.

  “Because I didn’t do it!” Michael barked, suddenly pissed off that he had listened to her—and that she’d been right all at once. “I called off the project. That’s why Ethan voted me out of my own business. But Helen doesn’t believe that I had nothing to do with putting the project back on. Now they’ll pave over the park, tear down the restaurant, Helen will never speak to me again, and I have nothing.”

  There was a long silent moment where Michael slumped in the cushions of the couch and Jake remained quiet. Michael wallowed in his own self-pity, thinking of how he had been on top of the world days ago. How it had changed in the blink of an eye even though he’d done everything right!

  And now he had nothing to show for it.

  Pathetic.

  “You’re pathetic.”

  Michael blinked. For a second, he thought his mind was on repeat, mocking him with his failures, but then he realized that Jake had gotten up from the armchair to stand in front of Michael, his arms folded across his muscled chest. He’d been the one to call Michael pathetic.

  “What did you just say?” Michael demanded, pissed even though his own mind had supplied him with the exact same word.

  “You heard me,” Jake challenged. “I said you were pathetic.”