by Cat Carmine
I catch the attention of the petite brunette working behind the counter and ask for a slice to go. Then Maria and I walk the eight blocks back to the GoldLake offices, chatting and laughing the whole time.
When I get to Wes’s office, Joyce is sitting there like a sentinel, as always. I feel like she’s the sphinx and I’m supposed to answer some kind of riddle before she’ll grant me access to Wes’s office.
“Yes?” she says, raising her eyebrows over her red spectacles.
“Forty-two,” I mutter under my breath. “The answer is forty-two, right?”
“I’m sorry?”
Oops.
“Is Wes here?” I say instead, smiling sweetly.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I haven’t needed an appointment to see him in the past.”
“Everyone needs an appointment.”
“If you call him, and he says I need an appointment, I will happily come back later.”
I’m still smiling and she finally sighs loudly and picks up the phone. I count this as a success — it’s the first time she hasn’t tried to physically bar me from going into his office.
“Rori Holloway to see you,” she says crisply. Hey, at least she remembered my name. “I see. Yes, sir.”
She sets the phone down and purses her lips, then sighs. “He’ll see you.”
I almost bow — it feels like that’s what you should do when the sphinx allows you to pass. Instead I just say thank you and go past her desk, pushing open Wes’s door.
His face lights up as soon as he sees me, and I can’t help the happy fluttery thing my heart does. When he looks at me like that, all my insides turn to mush. It’s kind of ridiculous, really.
“Rori. This is a nice surprise.”
“I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d drop by and say hi.”
“I’m glad you did. Have a seat.”
I sit down across from him, nestling into the oversized leather chair. I remember the first time I sat in this chair, coming into his office with that contract, my hands shaking as I told him there’d be no kissing, no funny business of any kind. Look how well that worked out.
The thought brings a smile to my lips, and Wes looks puzzled.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About our contract.”
“Oh, did you have some concerns with it?” His expression turns serious.
“Not that contract.”
“Oh ... ohhhh.” His concern turns into a wicked grin. “What can I say, I’m a master negotiator.”
“You are. But I was actually thinking that we’re both pretty terrible about holding up our ends of the agreement.”
“True. Don’t let any of my business associates know.”
“I won’t.”
“They might expect me to fall into bed with them too.”
I giggle. “I hope you don’t make a habit of it.”
Wes gives me a funny look, and I clamp my mouth shut as soon as the words are out of my mouth. Why did I say that? I guess it’s not any of my business if Wes sleeps with other clients. It’s not like we’ve had any kind of discussion about … whatever’s happening between us. We’re not even supposed to be sleeping together, and that was my idea, so I certainly have no right to tell him not to be with anyone else.
Even if that’s the thing I really, really, want to do.
But Wes must see the warring go on in my mind, because he shakes his head softly. “I don’t, Rori. I’m not. You’re the only one.”
You’re the only one. How many times had I dreamed of hearing those words from Wes, at one point in my life? And here he is saying them, looking at me with those panty-melting blue eyes, making my toes curl in my heels without even laying a finger on me. Is it any wonder I haven’t been able to keep up with my own agreement?
“Okay,” I say now, flushing with relief. “Me too. I mean, you too. I mean ...”
“I get it.” He grins. “Anyway, what brings you to the neighborhood?”
“What?”
“You mentioned you were in the neighborhood.”
“Oh, right. I was having breakfast with Maria Costa, and then I’m meeting with your HR Director.”
“Oh, good. Ready for Thursday’s pitch?” He grins.
I pretend to wipe my brow. “I don’t know. The pressure’s on.”
“You’re damn right it is,” he chuckles. “I expect you to wow me, after all.”
“I know. And I’ve heard you’re a hard man to wow.”
“I am. Except when it comes to you, it seems.”
My cheeks color again. “Well, then I expect our presentation is going to go spectacularly.”
He smiles at me. “I have no doubt that it is.”
There’s a moment of silence between us, but it feels easier now. There’s still a frisson of energy passing between us, but there’s something warm and comforting too. Sometimes being with Wes seems so simple.
“Hey, I meant to ask you — do you think you could take Maria for coffee sometime? Today’s her first day, and I know she’d love to meet you.”
Wes goes quiet. He looks down and shuffles through some papers, but he doesn’t really seem to be looking for anything. It feels like he’s trying to avoid meeting my eye.
“I’m not sure I can,” he says, still rifling through a stack of file folders. “I’ve got a very busy week ahead.”
“You don’t look busy,” I tease.
“I’m busy, Rori,” he snaps. “Just because I make time for you doesn’t mean I have time to spend my day hanging out shooting the breeze with anyone who crosses my path.”
“I get it,” I snip. “God. Relax. I just think it would be nice of you to have coffee with her sometime. When you aren’t so dreadfully busy, of course.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole. I am busy but I’ll try to make time for her.”
“Thank you. That’s all I wanted.”
I twist my fingers around in my lap, suddenly feeling awkward now. Funny how fast that changed. Wes doesn’t say anything either, so I stand up.
“I guess I should get going. I’m sure we both have lots of work to do.”
“Rori ...” He stands too, but stays behind his desk.
“No, it’s okay, Wes. Don’t worry about it.”
I turn to go, but as I reach the door I remember the styrofoam container I’ve been carrying.
“I completely forgot about this,” I say, facing him again. I set it down on his desk.
“What is it?” He asks. He doesn’t touch it.
“We were at Fran’s. I got you a piece of pie.”
“Pie?”
“Lemon meringue.”
Wes swallows, and the strangest look comes over his face.
“Lemon meringue,” he repeats.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to figure out what’s going on with him. “Do you like that kind?”
“I do, yeah.” His voice sounds thick. Almost ... choked up. “Thanks, Rori.”
“No problem.” I give him a quick wave and then leave his office, thinking that that was one of the stranger conversations Wes and I have ever had. Just when I think I have that guy figured out, he doubles up on the inscrutable.
Twenty-Three
I stare down at the styrofoam container sitting on my desk. It’s right in the middle of a pile of papers, an architectural plan I was reviewing, concept sketches for a row of townhouses out in the Bronx. Not a high profile project, but one bound to bring in a fair bit of coin, given how housing is exploding out there.
But the drawing is far from my mind. All I can see is that take-away container. Sitting there, where it fell from Rori’s hand. Staring me in the face.
Lemon meringue pie.
It’s like she knows. She knows my soul, even when she thinks she doesn’t.
I can try to deny it, but ...
It’s always been Rori. It always w
ill be Rori.
I flop down into my seat, still staring at that damn container. Even with the lid closed, I feel like I can smell that sharp lemon, the buttery crust.
This is a fucking disaster.
Seeing Rori is always the best part of my day. Something inside me lights up when she’s around, like I have a fucking Christmas tree inside my chest. And not a small one either. Like, a big fucking Rockefeller Center tree.
And yet every bright shiny moment is tinged with darkness. Because Rori has no idea what I’m doing. Who I am.
Talking to her about Maria had reminded me just how deep this fault line runs. Her request should have been simple — have a damn coffee with her friend, the one that I hired. But it threw me into a panic. Yes, I hired these women. Yes, the jobs were good. Were legit. But I felt a lingering guilt over our reasons for implementing the program in the first place. I had decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t have anything to do with the program personally. HR takes care of the hiring and then the new hires get put in whatever department they’re assigned to. My hands stay out of the whole thing.
Having coffee with Rori’s friend Maria isn’t part of that plan. If I had coffee with her, I’d have to think of her as a real person. And worse, she might try to thank me for the job. And if she makes a big deal of it, that’s only going to make me feel even more guilty about the motives behind it.
So I’d snapped at Rori. I’d hated myself the second the words were out of my mouth, especially when I saw the surprised look on her face. In the end, I had no choice but to agree to the coffee, because I couldn’t live with hurting her even that much.
So what was I going to do when she put two and two together, and figured out the real reason we hired her?
It’s only a matter of time now, that much I’m sure of. Word is spreading around the Kinsmen Club, and more retailers are starting to approach me on the sly, trying to feel out their options for getting into the space. And even if that gossip doesn’t make it’s way to Rori, it’s still only a couple of weeks until we have to formally submit the proposal for the project. If Levi’s contact at the housing authority is right, it’ll be a quick matter of rubber-stamping it, and then we’ll be ready to start bulldozing.
Rori’s a smart woman. When the negative press starts to come out, she’ll realize why we were so keen to get moving on this hiring initiative. And probably figure out why we hired Marigold, too.
I slowly nudge the container over towards me, using the end of my pen, as if it’s a snake that might suddenly lunge at me. I ease the lid open and am struck with the tangy sweet smell of the lemon. It hits me like a punch to the gut. The meringue glistens, perfect stiff white peaks edged lightly in brown.
The guilt is too much for me. I snap the lid closed again and bring the whole thing out into the reception area. I drop it on Joyce’s desk.
“What’s this?” She looks up, adjusting her glasses.
“Pie. Eat it, if you want. If not, throw it in the garbage.”
“Oh … okay.” She seems a bit perplexed by this development and eyes the pie suspiciously. Then she nudges a stack of file folders towards me. “HR dropped these off for you.”
“What is it?”
“Reports on the status of the hiring initiative. New candidate resumes and copies of the entrance interviews for the people starting today.”
Great. More things I don’t really want to think about.
“Put them on my desk,” I tell her. “I’m going to talk with the strat guys. Give Micky a call and tell him I’m coming down.”
“What’s this?” Levi looks down at the stack of file folders that I’ve just dropped on his desk. He turns back to his computer without waiting for an answer.
I sink down into the chair opposite him, as if this was an invitation. Levi lets out a nearly imperceptible sigh and nudges his laptop a fraction of an inch out of the way.
“I had the strategic division pull it together.”
He raises his eyebrows, then flips the cover open lazily, scanning the top page inside without touching it. He looks at me and raises his eyebrows again.
“It’s a media analysis. Of the last two companies that have taken on these types of private developments on public housing land.”
The first developer to be granted the rights to public housing land was TR Real Estate, who took down a community park and put in an all-glass condo building. The second was Quick Sky Holdings. They ripped up a huge parking infrastructure to put in ... you guessed it. A condo tower. Even though the city had implemented a rule that a certain percentage of the units have to go for below market rates, it hasn’t stopped the resentment from the community, and from the media. The investors love it, of course. They love it when the rich get richer.
Levi’s long fingers flick through the pages now. His face stays neutral, although I’ve looked through those pages so many times that I know with each flick of his wrist what he’s looking at. The flurry of negative media coverage that started when the development was announced and continues to this day. A spreadsheet tracking their stock throughout the entire process, and the dip it took when the project was announced and again when it was completed.
It’s only on the stock price that I see Levi’s expression waver in any way. But in the end, he simply flicks the folder closed again.
“Why are you showing me this, Wes?”
“Because I want to make sure we’re a hundred percent clear on the risks of the Elmwood project.”
“Of course we’re clear. That’s the whole reason we conceived of this ludicrous hiring program.”
“Right.” Neither of us says anything for a minute. I look out the window, which spans the entire left wall, and take in the view of the Manhattan skyline. It’s a spectacular sight, one that still gives me a thrill when I see it. There’s no city in the world like New York City, and the real estate development business here is one of the most cutthroat — and exhilarating — in the world. I can’t imagine doing anything other than what I do.
So why do I have this nagging pang in my gut? Why do I feel like a fucking fraud?
“I heard that Armitage is looking to offload that property in Bed-Stuy,” I say, changing the subject but not quite meeting his eye.
“The one in Ocean Hill?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
I shake my head. “Not enough capital, too many other projects on the go.”
Levi leans back. “Interesting.”
“We could move the project there instead of the Lower East Side. It’s not that much smaller than our current location, and it’s less of a risk. There wouldn’t be any public pushback.“
“It’s also a hell of a lot more expensive. You think Armitage is going to unload that for cheap?”
I shrug. “If they’re hurting for capital, they will.”
He chuckles wryly. “No. I know Richard Armitage, and he’s going to squeeze every dollar he can out of that place. Besides, why would we shift our focus to a new development site when we already have one in mind?”
I gesture to the folder on his desk. “That’s why.”
“This?” he flicks the folder, so that some of the pages start to slide out. “This is nothing, Wes. This is talk. Yes, stock prices dipped, but they’ve rebounded. Both companies have made excellent returns on those projects. This is a good investment, and it’s going ahead. Unless you’ve changed your mind about that?”
“No,” I say hastily. I rub my hands along the front of my thighs. “Of course not.”
“Good.” Levi watches me for a minute. Then he picks up the folder, spins around in his chair, and dumps it into the shredding box behind his desk. He turns to face me again. “Because I phrased that as if it were an option, but it’s not, Wes. This project is proceeding — with or without you.”
I stand up, rolling my eyes. “You’re always so dramatic, Levi. I assure you, you have nothing to worry about.”
I leave his office, feeling annoyed at both him
and myself. I don’t know what I’d hoped to achieve in talking to him about this. I should have known the negative publicity wasn’t enough to dissuade him. As long as the dollars came back in the black, Levi was satisfied.
But was I?
I’m honestly not sure anymore. This project is one I’ve been working on for so long, reviewing plans and proposals, estimates, concept drawings. It was easy to plow ahead when we were in that stage. It was always about moving on to the next step, the next idea. Now that we’re approaching the actual shovels-in-the-ground stage, something’s changed. I don’t have the same sense of euphoria I normally have. I don’t have that same thrill of success.
All I have is a nervous buzz that runs through my limbs, and a sour taste in my mouth. All I have is Rori’s face in my mind, her laugh in my ears.
After my talk with Levi, I get Joyce to cancel the rest of my meetings for the day, and I leave my office. Rori’s visit has me feeling out of sorts, and my conversation with Levi had pushed me closer to the edge. I’m afraid that if I don’t get some fresh air I’m going to tip right over it.
When I get outside, I just start walking. I have no destination in mind, but the sights and sounds of the vivid streetscape occupy my mind enough that I slowly start to relax.
Maybe I’m overreacting to this whole thing. Maybe the media coverage won’t be too bad. Maybe people are getting used to the idea of private developers laying claim to public land. And if the media doesn’t stir the pot, no one else will either. Then Rori won’t have any reason to suspect that I had any reasons for hiring her other than her actual skill and talent.
Which, let’s be clear, she has in spades. Yes, we wanted to work with Marigold for their non-profit cred, but there were still plenty of companies who could give us that. I had spent a lot of time looking at Rori’s work, and for the shoestring budget they worked on, the stuff she and Kyla managed to pull off was truly top-notch.
I’m lost in my thoughts while I walk, thinking about Rori and the woman she’s become. When I look up, I realize … I’m standing right in front of her building.
Damn. How the hell did I end up here?