by Sera Taíno
Forget reading her Star Wars novel. She had to shove the novel under the bed because it reminded her of Philip. And thinking of Philip was something she couldn’t afford to do.
Not that it was easy. She was genuinely bummed. She liked him. He was a little reserved and couldn’t dance to save his own life. But he seemed genuinely nice, and she had a feeling those still waters ran miles deep.
He’d also lied to her by omission. And he was a Wagner. What was she supposed to do about that?
“Just delete his number,” Olivia said around a mouthful of pepperoni pizza they’d ordered one night, as she tried to get through another episode of her favorite show without getting distracted by her circular thoughts. “Because that guy right there is nothing but trouble.”
“You’re probably right,” Val hedged.
“I could create a designer virus. You know, a little hacker’s special, just for my prima.”
“You are not going to use your programming skills for evil, you hear me? I’m not bailing you out of jail when you get caught.” Val shoved another slice of pizza in her mouth to keep from confessing the truth: deep down, she didn’t want to sever ties permanently. She couldn’t stand to think that door was closed, even if she didn’t see a way of stepping through it. But she couldn’t reconcile her desires with dating her enemy, the person responsible for the frustrations, the outright suffering of the people around her. She couldn’t balance the equation.
Instead, she chose to work herself to distraction. When work wasn’t enough, she cleaned. Washed down her kitchen. Scrubbed her floors. Dusted ceiling fans. Polished every piece of wood she could find. When Rafi stumbled on her furiously scrubbing away at the grout in his bathroom, his shout pulled her out of her mindless state.
“¿Pero qué tu haces?” he asked, clutching his chest. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Val wiped the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her T-shirt. Her hair was wrapped in a bandanna and she wore industrial strength rubber gloves that reached all the way up to her elbows. “I figured, since I was cleaning my bathroom—”
He placed a hand on her arm and gently helped her up from her kneeling position. “Sis, you need to calm down before you end up power washing the whole block.”
“Only the sidewalk. And only in front of the restaurant.”
Rafi held his hands before him in prayer. “Ay Dios mío.”
Val crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at her brother. “I might have gone overboard,” she confessed.
“You think?” He tugged her out of the bathroom, disrupting her grout cleaning. “Come on. Let’s have a little talk.”
“Don’t you have grading to do?” Val asked, glancing at the pile of papers on his kitchen table.
“I always have grading to do. I grade in my sleep,” he said. “Some of that is for the mortgage application. It’s staggering how much information they want.”
“I know. And don’t talk about checking all the certificates and permits.”
Rafi moved the papers aside. “Sit. Cuéntame todo. Tell me everything.”
Val pulled off her gloves and rinsed her hands before taking a seat at the table in her father’s kitchen, an exact mirror image of her own.
“I’m busy, that’s all,” Val muttered.
“Your natural default is busy. You know, the normal kind of busy, like anyone trying to run a business. What you’ve been lately is maniatica.” He bustled about the kitchen and, to Val’s eternal gratitude, set a kettle to boil instead of making coffee, which would only keep her from falling asleep and make her prey to the thoughts of a certain blond man she couldn’t get out of her mind.
Val sat quietly as Rafi placed dried leaves inside a metal tea infuser and poured the boiling water over it. He pulled out the local orange blossom honey that Val loved so much and poured a generous spoonful into Val’s cup. When he’d set the mugs down on the table, he took a seat opposite Val. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain someone who stopped calling for, oh, I don’t know—” he waved his hand in the air in mock questioning “—the exact same amount of time you’ve been out of your mind.”
“We went out once. And I’m not out of my mind,” Val protested. “I’m leaving now. Thanks for the tea.” Val stood, collecting her gloves and tea. Rafi put a hand on her arm.
“Val, please. I’m only kidding. You’re going through something, baby girl.”
No, she wanted to say. Nati and Rafi were her babies. Val was the big sister, the one who should know better than to have problems like this one, the one who should be mature enough to understand that you couldn’t always have what you wanted, and that losing was more a part of life than winning. She was the one who had to show them that when they fell down, they got back up, learned the lesson and moved on. She was good at the losing part. The getting back up was always a struggle, and she ended up cleaning every surface in their family’s house instead.
All the memories she’d been burying beneath a to-do list the length of the Hudson River barreled into her consciousness. Her and Philip’s first—and only—dance. His pigheaded loyalty to the chaos that was the Expanded Universe. How close they’d come to kissing before he pulled away.
“Val!” The sound of her brother calling her name snapped her out of the haze of memories. When she focused on his face, she was struck by how lovely it was. Her father’s face, but with his mother’s fine bones. Wide-set brown eyes flecked with earthy green. Eyes that now looked at her in concern.
“I’m sorry. I’m a mess.” She leaned on her elbows, tugging at her thick curls. “It might have something to do with Philip.” She looked up, the compassion in his eyes freeing her. She told him everything, including Philip’s revelation that he was a Wagner. She laid it all out for Rafi, finding a measure of relief in releasing her disappointments from the compulsion of her thoughts.
When she’d finished, her brother gave a low whistle. “Damn, girl. Drama just finds you, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not dramatic,” she said. “I just happen to have a little bad luck.”
“You’re not kidding. First Luke, and now this. Except Philip was probably minding his own business, doing whatever it is rich people do and then he meets you of all people, so he can’t even tell you who he is because he’s actually the enemy, and wow, that’s the plot of a soap opera.”
She would have laughed if she weren’t so miserable. “I went out with him one time. What the hell is wrong with me? You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson.” She buried her hands in her hair again, tugging at the strands until tears nearly sprang to her eyes.
Rafi chuckled, dislodging the bandanna that held her mane in place, and with it, her hands. “Are you trying to go bald? Look, you like him, that’s your problem. But even though he’s good or what have you, he also happens to be the one guy you do not need to be thirsting after. This situation’s got you turned out.”
She sat up, snatching her bandanna from him. After a few half-hearted attempts to tame her hair, she let the curls fall free. She was sure she looked like some mad island spirit. “You’re right. I mean, he’s out of my league anyway.”
Rafi wrinkled his nose as if he’d caught a whiff of something rotten. “Out of your league? You’re out of his league. You’re the one trying to do right by everyone else. He can’t even tell you who he is, and when he does, come to find out his company is the one causing all the trouble. You are gold, sis. You don’t need any part of that.”
Val melted. “You think I’m gold? That’s so sweet.”
Rafi ruffled her messy hair. “Don’t let it get out. I have to keep up my reputation as a badass.”
Val giggled. Rafi was about as threatening as a pug. “You’re right, though. I don’t need any part of that.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Rafi scanned her up and down, like he didn’t believe a word she said. “But, let’s jus
t say for the sake of argument you did want a part of that action,” Rafi said slowly. “He’d have to do something to show you what he’s about. Because no matter what you guys feel for each other, it’s his company causing problems.”
That was the crux of it. If Val didn’t care about her community, she could ignore the consequences of Wagner Developments’ project for everyone she knew and just follow her attraction to Philip.
But she did care. This time, she really couldn’t have everything she wanted.
“I noticed your baseboards are looking a little dusty,” Val said.
Rafi put his head in his hand, groaning in response.
Chapter Ten
“Have you been outside today?” Andreas asked without preamble when he walked in and took the seat across from Philip’s desk. Philip had his hands full with the new project proposal for a large-scale industrial complex in Syracuse and it hurt his head to break away from it.
“I’ve been a little busy.”
“Take a look.” Andreas gestured toward the office window. Philip rose from his chair. Even from his distant vantage point, he could see a large group of people on the sidewalk outside the building, holding signs. It looked like they were chanting, though he couldn’t hear it from where he stood. He squinted at the boulevard separating their building from the waterfront.
“Is that a news truck?”
Andreas sank into the chair across from Philip’s desk. “I’m afraid so. They think public shaming is going to work on me.”
Philip had no idea what he was talking about. His father huffed at his confused expression.
“A community group has lodged a formal complaint with the city, temporarily blocking our project in East Ward’s opportunity zone. We’re fighting it, of course.” He leaned back, gripping the arms of his chair in obvious frustration.
It sounded like the kind of thing Val would get involved with. “Wouldn’t it be worthwhile to see what the complaints are about before deciding you’re not going to work with them?”
“I sent Leighton to get rid of them. Protests are bad for business.” George Leighton was the head of the company’s legal department and knew better than anyone what the company was allowed to do.
“Sending a lawyer to speak for us is a bad look. You should go, too.”
“But I am within the boundaries of the law, so there is nothing to discuss.”
“It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to arrange a meeting to discuss the complaints. Maybe have PR announce the meeting to the media as a show of good faith—”
Andreas scoffed. “Good faith? That’s your mother’s area of expertise.” He picked imaginary lint from his immaculate trousers. “This is a business, not a charity.”
Philip’s breath was coming hard now. “I don’t see how running good PR translates into charity.”
“It comes from a sentimental place, an approach not suitable for business.”
His father always did this. Always made Philip feel like he’d been made from a defective blueprint. He’d grown accustomed to his father’s impossible expectations, how tied to his affections they were, and learned to ignore how that fact hurt him.
If Andreas noticed—or cared—about Philip’s rising temper, he gave no indication. “If either of us goes out there, it will look like a capitulation and I won’t be seen to do that. Protest or not, this project will come to fruition.”
“You’re not listening,” Philip said, his head suddenly heavy. “We have a whole department dedicated to interacting with the community. Why wouldn’t you use them?”
Andreas paused at the threshold on his way out. “If you’re so concerned about it, you take care of it. As long as you make them disappear.”
“And you’ll consider listening to their complaints?”
“You can feel free to listen to their complaints. I have a company to run.” With that, he walked out.
Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. His father was exhausting sometimes. Everything would be so much easier if his father would simply allow a new idea into his head, but listening and admitting he was wrong were two things he seemed constitutionally unable to do.
Philip took the elevator to the ground floor and stepped out into the familiar atrium, a vaulted glass and metal entryway designed to inspire awe for its pristine futurism. A towering tree embedded in a faux spring stretched upward into the open space, three stories high, a nod to the ecological efficiencies and elegant aesthetics of Philip’s designs.
George Leighton, a diminutive man whose entire demeanor screamed polish, was deep in conversation with a younger woman Philip didn’t recognize. Philip pulled him aside. “Who is that?”
“She’s an intern from Media Relations.”
Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “An intern? Don’t we have anyone more experienced? What about a community liaison? Someone who’s had contact with this group before.”
Leighton shrugged. “Mr. Wagner suggested that anyone in PR would be able to handle communications with community reps, so we don’t actually have a community liaison.”
“Well, obviously, not just anyone can do the job, otherwise there wouldn’t be protests outside our door. I don’t want an intern anywhere near this project after today. We need a designated liaison and we need to appoint them as soon as possible.”
Leighton, to his credit, said nothing, calling over the young woman and quietly dismissing her to go back to her office.
“I’ll take over until then.” Philip indicated the group outside. “Who is their organizer?”
Leighton gestured toward the crowd. “Felicia Morales is a housing advocate and lawyer with the East Ward Fair Housing Coalition. She’s a familiar player in this community’s activism.”
Philip followed Leighton’s gesture and saw the woman in question. Tall, dark-haired, she held a colorful, hand-painted sign that had the company name covered with a red circle and backward slash. But it was her companion who sucked all his attention away.
Surprise twisted in his chest at the sight of Val, holding her own sign, deep in conversation with Morales. Surprise combined with the effect she always seemed to have on him, made worse by the conviction that he thought he’d never see her again. Of course, she’d be here. She was the cofounder of the organization. If his revelation of being a Wagner had been enough for her to leave him on the side of the road, then he should have anticipated she’d be a participant, if not leader, of a protest like this.
She was irresistible, especially now, with the flush of excitement coloring her cheeks. Her hair was tied back and, even in jeans and her restaurant T-shirt, she was as magnetic as she’d been the night they met.
“Are you ready to speak to them?” Leighton asked.
Philip started at the sound of his voice. “Yes...yes, of course.”
He tugged at his tie, hoping Leighton hadn’t picked up on his distraction. While going slack-jawed over a woman was not unheard of in the history of humanity, he should probably not do so in front of his employees.
Chapter Eleven
Val delivered her prepared statement and answered questions from the local news crew, making sure they understood that Wagner Developments had so far been unwilling to communicate with community leaders on their demands for fair housing, driving them to picket outside the company headquarters to raise awareness and to follow by filing a formal complaint. A heady rush of empowerment accompanied the wrap-up of the interview, the euphoria of knowing that all the planning and organizing of the past few months were finally yielding something concrete.
“You’re a natural, Val,” Felicia said proudly. “You’ll see. They’ll have to pay attention to your demands, if only to save face. Corporations like this hate bad publicity, almost as much as they hate delays in their project schedules. And we hit them with both.”
“Doesn’t it sometimes seem like all we’re
doing is throwing pebbles at a mountain?” Val said.
“David slugged a stone at Goliath, and you saw how that turned out.”
Val smiled, but it melted when the glass doors of Wagner Developments’ headquarters swished open and out came the star of her every dream, tall and handsome and treacherous as always. She’d entertained the possibility that she might see him, though she thought it a remote one. He was a designer, a job that didn’t require him to interact with the public. She wasn’t prepared for his appearance and found herself unable to tear her eyes away. He was accompanied by another man, but he was of zero interest to her. She was glued to the way Philip moved, how his suit, with its modern cut and almost too-snug style, molded itself to his body. Probably tailor-made for his wide shoulders, narrow waist and legs that didn’t know when to quit.
Legs she shouldn’t be ogling like some sex-starved spinster.
Of course, someone else hadn’t gotten the memo, either. The memo that said you shouldn’t show up at someone’s protest, especially if you were the target of said protest, looking like you’d stepped off a runway. Philip’s face was impassive but his gaze was all over her. Val put up her sign between them.
Not today, Señor Diablo.
“Val,” he said, his voice cool and measured. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You’ve met?” Felicia asked.
“Only...that one time in Aguardiente...” She trailed off. She wasn’t technically lying. They’d met. That one time. In Aguardiente.
“Well, that helps,” Felicia said, side-eyeing Val strangely. “Felicia Morales. I represent the community in East Ward. Your company has been remarkably unresponsive to us.”