Better Off

by Tanya Chris

  “Only because I want to get all this settled, and I don’t know how.”

  Hailey crouched down so they could see eye to eye. “I’m sorry my business is a thorn in the side of your business, but you and me? We’ve got nothing to settle. We’re just enjoying each other. Now, eat up so we can get to it, okay?”

  Mac let Hailey go back to the counter where he’d left his plate. He picked up his own fork and resolutely started on the food in front of him. He had no idea how to explain to Hailey what he really wanted, so for now he’d make do with sex.

  Chapter Ten

  Mac managed to stay away from Hailey for two whole days after Declan accused him of being pussy-whipped.

  “Or whatever the equivalent is when there aren’t any pussies involved. What were you hoping to achieve, Mac? Did you expect him to realize the error of his ways and fall into your arms with a relieved sob?” Declan’s voice rang over the speakerphone on Mac’s desk. He should’ve refused to take his call. He’d known Declan was calling with the sole purpose of giving him grief.

  “Something like that, I suppose. I told you I liked the guy, and you said you’d get on board with it.”

  “That was before I realized how unsuitable he was. You made him sound like a waif, an adorable little poppet you could coddle into compliance, but that’s no waif you’ve got there, Mac. What you’ve got is an activist.”

  Mac winced at the word. Activists weren’t bad, exactly, but they always seemed to be tying themselves to trees C&G needed to chop down or circulating petitions to limit how many stories high they could build. Activists had certainly done some amazingly good things in the world. Mac just wished they’d go do them somewhere farther away from his own projects. But it wasn’t like Declan was telling him something he didn’t already know.

  He stopped pacing in front of his desk and sat down heavily in one of his own guest chairs.

  “I’m well aware,” he told the speakerphone. “Hailey gives me grief on pretty much everything.”

  “And then you cave in to it?”

  “Not to all of it.”

  “Then why do I have an email in my inbox telling me to hold off on the purchase contract for the church? A lot of strings got pulled to expedite the sale before the planning committee could meet again.”

  “Because maybe we shouldn’t be trying to sneak it through without a hearing. I’m not saying we won’t turn the lot into a parking structure. I’m saying it should go through due process. Is it really so horrible if Hailey checks my ethics?”

  “I’m withholding judgment until I see how far you’re going to go. Really, Mac”—and Mac could hear the exasperation in his voice—“where’s the end state on this? You going to marry him? Tote an underdressed hippie along to berate investors while you wine and dine them?”

  Lauren had made an excellent companion for those wine-and-dine events—impeccably dressed, smoothly mannered, comfortable talking shop but knowing when to stay out of it too. Lauren was the sort of partner everyone had expected him to end up with, and not just because she was a woman. She was his people.

  “He doesn’t have to come on sales calls,” Mac hedged. He hated those dinners anyway. They were a necessary part of his job, but one of his least favorite. If he had Hailey at home, he’d like going out with business associates even less. Maybe he could delegate? No, probably not. The MacPherson name was an important part of the financing process.

  “When you said he was magic, I thought you were kidding,” Declan said. “But now I’m thinking I should send you for a blood test. What’s he giving you?”

  “No idea. Wish I did. I mean, he’s a good person. He’s kind and thoughtful, helps people whenever he can, thinks more about others than he does about himself, doesn’t judge anyone.” Except him. “Shouldn’t all that count?”

  “Probably, but I don’t recall that being your criteria before.”

  “He’s got this shine in his eyes.”

  “Like he’s about to cry?”

  Mac scowled at the phone, wishing he could smack Declan right through it. “Like he’s happy. Are you happy?”

  “Happy enough,” Declan said with a shrug in his voice. “There’s always room for more.”

  Was that how happiness worked? Was it a quantifiable thing that could be accumulated? For all Mac’s possessions and accolades, the accomplishments he could point to, the money safely squirreled away in various profitable ventures, he couldn’t say he was happy or that he’d be happier for having more of it. Happy was a sense he got when he was with Hailey—a sort of potential. Like he could be happy with Hailey if only he deserved him.

  But Declan wasn’t wrong about the two of them not being suited for each other. Sure, Hailey would make an awkward partner at fundraising events, but more importantly, Hailey wouldn’t want to be there for them. He’d be… tainted by Mac’s world. Mac should do Hailey the favor of not pursuing whatever limited potential they might have, especially since he still had to figure out how to get Hailey’s Comic out of the building.

  That was when he decided to disengage completely—both from Hailey and from the effort to evict Hailey’s Comic. He had people who could handle that. People who, in retrospect, he wished he’d allowed to handle it in the first place. He could no longer remember why he’d thought it was a good idea to go down there himself. Best to pretend he never had.

  Which was why the only reason he went down to Hailey’s Comic Wednesday night was because Julia-Louise wanted to attend the book club, and he could hardly allow his little sister to wander around Ball’s End on her own. He told her to take the parking space behind the store, and by the time he found a place to leave his own car, she’d already disappeared into the back corner.

  Hailey was at the cash register for a change, ringing up an actual customer who had a stack of books so high it seemed unlikely they could be read in a lifetime. Hailey chatted with the woman as he went through the books, checking each one for the price written inside the cover as he restacked them into a new pile.

  “Ooh, one of my favorites,” Hailey said about the book in his hand, though he was making eye contact with Mac when he said it. Mac caught himself smiling and turned away, pretending to be interested in a display of tarot cards. Those probably made good money. They looked handmade—very chic and trendy, the sort of thing you might find on Etsy. Hailey should stock more items like this.

  But no, no. It was none of his business.

  “Hey.”

  Finished with his customer, Hailey came over and put a hand on Mac’s arm. Whatever foolish story Mac had told himself about leaving Hailey alone evaporated. He kissed him, lingering over it despite the people roaming the aisles.

  “What brings you down tonight? Not that I’m not glad to see you.”

  “Julia-Louise wanted to come to the book club. I’m just here to make sure she gets to her car safely.”

  “You know there’s five other women back there, right? You planning to provide escorts for all of them?”

  “They live here.”

  “And? What does that mean exactly? That they’re not entitled to be safe, or that they’ve been granted some kind of immunity?”

  “It means they’re accustomed to dealing with… whatever. I’m not saying it’s right, but Julia-Louise was raised in more civilized spaces. She’s not used to being harassed or having to monitor her environment for predators.”

  “You should ask her about that,” Hailey said with a wry look. “But if you’re going to stick around for the next couple of hours, you can make yourself useful.”

  Which was how Mac found himself with a stack of books, trying to figure out which shelves they belonged on, as if there were a smidgen of order to the place worth maintaining. Why was Hailey even acquiring new inventory? The shelves were overstuffed as it was, and he was supposed to be moving out. And here Mac was merrily working against his own best interests because Declan was right. One blink of Hailey’s sable eyelashes and Mac would do anything he asked
.

  He didn’t even mind it, not once he got into the rhythm of it. The store grew cozy as the light outside faded. A faint murmur came from the back corner where the book club was having what sounded like a friendly debate, excited voices mingling with feminine laughter. Occasionally Hailey would call out a greeting in answer to the tinkle of the door, or the old-fashioned ka-ching of the ancient cash register would ring out.

  Edgar made a typically tottering appearance, and Hailey brought him another of those free cups of coffee, probably trying to sober him up. Edgar had the cup in one shaky hand and three hardcovers in the other, clearly more than he could manage in a single trip. Mac headed over to help and arrived just in time to catch a chest full of coffee when Edgar stumbled.

  Mac had changed before coming down tonight, at least, but even so, the Armani button-up he wore was probably worth everything Edgar owned combined.

  He suppressed a sigh at the way his shirt now clung damply to his chest and guided the trembling man into the chair he’d been headed for before taking the cup into the back to refill it.

  “Let me get you a clean shirt.” Hailey appeared to unbutton Mac himself. He threw the stained shirt down onto the bed and went to the nook he called a closet. Mac couldn’t wait to see what he would come back with, but it was only a plain black t-shirt, much too snug over his broader chest but better than damp cotton.

  “Sorry about that,” Hailey said, smoothing the fabric as though there were room for wrinkles.

  “It’s not like he meant to.”

  “No.”

  “But honestly, is that man ever not drunk. You should get him to one of those meetings you have.”

  “Where’d you get the idea he’s drunk?”

  “He slurs his woods. He can’t walk without tripping over his own feet. What else am I supposed to think?”

  “He had a traumatic brain injury, Greg. There’s a really sharp mind in there if you take a minute to listen to it. Do you have to jump to the worst possible conclusion about everything? Try to give people the benefit of the doubt.”

  Fuck. Great. Just great. Another thing he’d screwed up. Where was Mac’s benefit of the doubt? It’d been a perfectly logical assumption.

  “I told him I’d bring him another cup of coffee.” He refilled the cup and brushed past Hailey through the curtain. The sound of the bell distracted Hailey from pursuing him, for which Mac was grateful. He couldn’t face Hailey’s disappointment in him anymore.

  “Mumble-mumble I’m mumble sorry about the mumble shirt.”

  “Not a big deal.” Mac handed Edgar the cup. He turned to leave, then stopped himself. “What are you reading?”

  Edgar raised the book in his lap using both hands.

  “Shakespeare? Pretty heavy stuff.”

  “Mumble-mumble that’s why I stick to the comedies. Mistaken identity is always mumble-mumble good for a laugh, and Shakespeare’s comedies always end in mumble-mumble marriage.”

  “Like romance for scholars,” Mac said. Now that he was actually listening, he realized Edgar’s mumbles weren’t words he had to decipher. They were more like the grinding of a motor. Once Edgar’s internal gears caught, he moved forward in his speech again. All Mac had to do was ignore the mumbles.

  “Shakespeare was all about catering to the masses,” Edgar said. “He only became literary in retrospect. In his day, he was trying to entertain, make them laugh, keep their attention.”

  “You remind me of my high school English teacher. She was always telling us Shakespeare was funny, but I never got it myself.”

  “We try.” Edgar’s mouth tilted into something Mac recognized as a smile.

  “We? Are you a teacher?”

  “Was. Before….” Edgar tapped his head. “Fifteen years at Gilling’s Prep.”

  “Gilling’s? Seriously? Wait, Mr. Talita?”

  Edgar nodded, pride flashing across his face.

  “I never had you, but I remember you.” Mac’s classmates had had good things to say about the fiery teacher. “I wouldn’t have recognized you,” he said before realizing how rude that was.

  Of course Edgar looked older now than he did twenty years ago, but also so ravaged between the facial droop that might be caused by the TBI, the shabby dishevelment of his clothes, and that constant tremor. “I’m really sorry about….”

  Edgar shrugged. “I still have my books.” He raised the one in his lap again.

  “Well, I should leave you to it. Hailey gave me work to do.” Mac went behind the cash register to grab a stack of books, brushing against the backs of Hailey’s legs as he bent down to pick them up. He wanted to go all the way to the floor, to sink back there behind the counter, safe and hidden with Hailey.

  “How’d he get like that?” he asked in a low murmur. “I mean, not the injury but living in Ball’s End. Isn’t anyone taking care of him?”

  “He’s on disability. Which isn’t much, I’m afraid.”

  “He lived upstairs?” Mac was afraid to hear the answer.

  “No, he’s down the street. In what you guys call Phase II.”

  So there was Mac’s Ghost of Christmas Future. In less than a year he’d be pushing Edgar out to who-knew-where. At least here he had a place to come where he could read and have someone bring him coffee.

  Mac forgot about shelving books and went into the back, almost sleepwalking past the people browsing them. He lay down on Hailey’s bed, the smell that wafted up from it unable to comfort him. He didn’t deserve to be here, in Hailey’s space.

  Hailey stuck his head through the curtain, glancing around until he found Mac on the futon. He came over and plunked himself down on the edge of the mattress. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. You should be out there.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  “I didn’t know, all right? I knew the numbers and codes and permits, but I didn’t know about the people. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. It’s impersonal. How can it be personal? I can’t interview everyone, find out what their situation is, figure out how to fix it for them. I’m going for an end result here—more open space, refurbished architecture, safety and light, buildings that meet health codes and are ADA compliant in neighborhoods where the residents feel comfortable living. And I’m sorry it’s hurting people like Edgar and Elisa and Yolanda, but am I supposed to weigh them against the good this project will do and pick them?”

  “I get it,” Hailey said. “But the world always punches down, you know? I’d love to see the same kind of time and money be put into helping people at the bottom of the ladder instead of always helping people who’re higher up at their expense.”

  Mac rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. He couldn’t stand it anymore, this tearing of his self into two pieces—the Mac he’d always been and the Greg who wanted Hailey to like him. Not just lust after him or love him the way Hailey loved everyone, but actually like him.

  Declan thought Mac’s fascination with Hailey came from the fact that Hailey didn’t like him, and maybe he was right. No one had ever been so thoroughly disapproving of him. He obeyed the law, he worked hard, he supported good causes—financially at least—and he hadn’t ridden on his parents’ coattails. He’d earned his own money, built his own empire. He was polite, personable, educated, interesting. He was likable, goddammit.

  “Tell me you like me,” he demanded, rolling back over to face Hailey again. Maybe if he could believe Hailey liked him, it would cure this obsession. “Lie to me if you have to, but tell me.”

  “I like you,” Hailey said easily.

  “Are you lying?”

  “Not even a little. I see you, Greg. You might’ve thought Edgar was drunk, but you didn’t scream at him when he spilled coffee on you. You don’t approve of me having the kids here after school, but you grilled Alexander on his spelling words, bribes included. You arranged for Elisa to have an interview—”

  “And we’re hiring her,” Mac interrupted, eager to plead his case. “And I talked to HR
. There’s a day care facility in our building, and C&G is going to subsidize the cost for anyone who makes below a certain threshold.”

  “That’s fantastic. That’ll help more than just Elisa, I’ll bet.”

  Mac nodded. His HR person had thought he must be kidding when he’d brought up the idea, but she’d gotten on board fast once she realized he wasn’t.

  “Can we start over?” he begged Hailey. “I made a bad first impression, screwed things up. I can do better.”

  “If you’d made a bad impression, you wouldn’t be lying in my bed, but sure. We can always do better.”

  “And if I do better, you’ll like me.”

  “Too late,” Hailey said with a laugh. “I’ve always liked you.”

  That, Mac couldn’t believe, but if Hailey would just give him time, he was pretty sure he could do better. Scrooge MacPherson II had seen the future. Now it was time to change the present.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Hola, Miguel.” Mac was trying, really trying.

  Edgar liked him now. He often kept Mac company while he worked on the bookcases, organizing the jumble into something that soothed his need for order. Listening to Edgar required patience, which wasn’t Mac’s strong suit, but he made a point of not chiming in with his own thoughts until Edgar had made it through his, and he found a sort of peace in letting the mumble-mumble of Edgar’s words wash over him as his hands sorted through their manual task.

  And the kids were always glad to see Mac when he was able to make it down to the store early enough that they were still there, but that might be because of his habit of handing out financial rewards for good work. Edgar didn’t approve of his teaching methods, but Mac couldn’t resist the joy that a dollar brought to their little faces. He walked around like he was on his way to a strip club these days, pockets stuffed with singles.

  The women in the book club gave him shy goodbyes when he showed up to walk his sister to her car on Wednesdays. He still did, even though he understood Hailey’s point about there being predators even in the upper-class circles where Julia-Louise normally moved. He’d asked her, as Hailey had suggested, and had heard a couple of stories that made his blood boil.