“And yes, I agree that I have an obligation to the people whose money I’ve collected in the form of rent. But you’re a lawyer, so you know that the way this plays out won’t have anything to do with what my beliefs are. It’s not a personal decision, it’s a business one. And the business will do what is best for it. It’s not going to pay them more money because we feel sorry for them,” I tell her.
“They are not them. They are us. A country is only as strong as its poorest citizens, Hayes. So you should feel sorry for us as a nation because we are poor. And it should be a personal decision. This is not about contracts to rebuild. This is about Kingdom admitting that they have contributed heavily to the catastrophe their fellow Houstonians find themselves facing, and we will, in equal measure, contribute to the mitigation of the damage,” she shouts at me.
“I agree,” I say grimly.
“God, Hayes. I’m sorry,” she says and covers her mouth with her hands. “This is inappropriate. For me to be discussing this case. And I understand about your hands being tied. I get it. You can’t commit Kingdom to terms that are completely against its interests.” She drops back down and rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her and pull her into me.
“I wish I could snap my fingers and have them make different decisions. But, I can’t.”
“No, I know …” she says as if she’s trying to convince herself as much as me.
“Maybe I’m being crazy. I’m committing career suicide by being the architect of a case that could change the way insurance companies, cities, governments, and banks treat people who have been the victims of natural disasters. I’ll never find a job in this industry again,” she says.
A lightbulb goes on in my head, and I sit up.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, and I realize I’m staring off into the distance, lost in my thoughts. I glance at her brilliant blue eyes and relax because I always see the truth of her feelings in them.
“You could always come work for me,” I say.
“No way,” she says with an incredulous laugh. She looks at me sideways. “And have you signing my paychecks?” she groans, but with a laugh and right then, I know we’re going to be okay. We always have this. Our ability to talk. Connect, argue, challenge each other and yet find humor in the midst of it all.
“Why not? Think about it. The foundation could create a legal defense fund that you could run,” I say. She starts to cough.
I hop up to get her some water.
I pull open her fridge and it’s completely empty. “Where’s all the fucking food?”
“I don’t have any,” she croaks defensively.
“Not even a bottle of water?” I ask incredulous. She shakes her head and her coughing subsides.
“Who doesn’t have water?” I ask, and walk back to the couch.
“Me. I haven’t had time, and I’m barely here. And when I am, it’s just to sleep,” she confesses.
I want to tell her that she should be sleeping in my bed, that she was supposed to be living with me. But I’m not going to ask her again. I want her to be the one to say it.
She yawns and eyes the pastries I’ve spread out. “Thanks for the … croissants, but can we go out for coffee? I want to get a latte from Sweet and Lo’s. They’re delicious, Hayes,” she says brightly. I’m glad for the subject change because it was getting too heavy.
“Croissants? These aren’t croissants. They don’t even remotely resemble them,” I say and pick up the eclair shaped like a piece of bread.
“This,” I say dramatically while I rip the dough in half, “is a kolache.” I put the two halves under her nose. “Lo style,” I add and her eyes light up and she sniffs the fragrant steam wafting under her nose.
“Who would give such a magical smelling miracle such a terrible name? What the heck is a koalachee?”
“You’re mispronouncing it. And it was brought here by the Czech immigrants who settled in Texas. I would say I’d take you to the Kolache Factory, because growing up that’s all there was. But Sweet’s in Rivers Wilde is next level.”
“Mmm,” she moans and licks her lips. “Gimme.” She snatches half from mine. “What is this magic?” she drawls excitedly.
“It’s grilled chicken, eggs, and potatoes wrapped in this dough and baked,” I tell her and she takes a huge bite and swallows greedily.
“Is this a Houston thing?” she asks.
“More like southeast Texas. No one else anywhere I’ve lived has ever heard of them,” I tell her.
“Oh my God, that chicken. Does it have … curry or something on it?” She smacks her lips together, and I frown at her in mild disgust.
“What’s all the smacking for?” I ask.
She smirks and smacks louder. “I’m country, Hayes. We smack our lips when something tastes this good. This is Czech food?”
“Well, the concept is. But, Sweet’s pastries are all made with a flavor of her home country, Senegal—that’s in West Africa. And Lo, his real name is Lotanna, is her husband. He’s from Nigeria, and he’s the reason that Sweet doesn’t give away everything she bakes and makes,” I tell her.
“I love their coffee; can’t wait to actually eat there. Let me get dressed and we can head out,” she says and stands and hurries to her room. And instead of following her like I want, I pull out my phone and call Gigi.
SWEET AND LOW
CONFIDENCE
I step through glass paned French doors of Sweet and Lo’s. that Hayes is holding open. Below the yellow cursive writing of their logo, it says, “We Bake the World.”
The cafe’s abundance of windows, on both the front street facing side and the left wall that opens onto a small garden where people are seated reading and talking, give it a warm airy feel. It’s packed with people, and the only thing louder than the concentrated murmur of conversation is the whirring of the coffee grinders, the hissing of steaming espresso makers, and the background music that’s too low to make out clearly, but loud enough that you know it’s there. I eye the huge chalkboard behind the small hostess stand ahead of us. The menu is written in neat cursive and lists everything from pastries and sandwiches to omelets and salads and specialty breads.
I crane my neck so I can see above the heads of the people clustered and waiting to be seated in the smaller-than-comfortable waiting area.
“Given the menu, I’m not shocked there’s a wait,” I observe. “Can we just take it to go like I do my coffee?”
“Nope,” he says without stopping to even look back at me.
“Why not?” I grumble.
“My aunt is meeting us. She’s here already, seated.” Hayes drops that bomb on me and keeps walking toward the young woman smiling prettily at us as we approach.
I, on the other hand, stop dead in my tracks. The person behind me slams into my back and the sharp edge of his shoulders poke my back and the toe of his rubber-soled shoes scrape against the backs of my heels. I spin around just in time to see a very old, frail looking woman falling backward.
I cry out, my hands over my mouth in horror. She sits right where she fell, flat on her ass, her spindly green floral-painted legging covered legs sprawled in front of her like a newborn foal.
I reach down to help her up and glare at Hayes who’s just made it back to my side. He looks between us with an expression of complete bewilderment on his face.
“I’m so sorry,” I say and reach down to cup her elbow. She swats my hand away and says, “I can get myself up. I look old, but I bet you I could beat you in a race around the block.” Her voice, thin and frail, says otherwise. But she hops up in one quick, acrobatic movement. “See? Right as rain,” she says proudly.
“I’m Sally, Sally Turner.” She says her name like it’s a compliment. She’s got to be eighty years old. Her face is covered in a spray of freckles that even kiss her eyelids and lips. Her eyes, a sparkling dark brown, are full of mischief and her smile is disarmingly youthful.
“Are you okay, Sally?” Hayes asks as i
f he’s been saying her name his whole life as he puts a hand at the small of both of our backs and ushers us out of the way of the customers trying to get to the booth.
“Oh, I’m fine. I was just distracted by the specimen of man meat ahead of me.” She nods at Hayes and winks. “You’re Hayes Rivers. Nice that you finally came down from you tower to visit us,” she says.
Hayes, as unflappable as ever, doesn’t correct her and say that he’s actually been spending a lot of time in town. Instead, he smiles roguishly. “I heard this was the place to come if I wanted to find a pretty girl to talk to. Of course, I came to see.”
She throws her head back and laughs delightedly. “Oh, how wonderful, and you’re charming, too. Those Wilde boys pretty things up nicely. I’d say you’re about to add something better than pretty,” she says and laughs again.
“I’ll leave the prettying to the Wildes and my woman.” He slips a hand around my waist. Her eyes roam Hayes’s body like someone contemplating what part of their steak they’d like to eat first.
“Either way, we can always use another fine piece—”
“Uh, I’m so sorry I stopped like that; I’m glad you’re okay.” I interrupt her before she says any more.
“Oh, if I’d been looking where I was going, I would have seen ya,” she says.“This your fella?” she asks.
I glance at Hayes; he’s grinning from ear to ear. My heart flutters. He’s a goddamn dangerous combination of overbearing and sweet.
I’m addicted to him.
I miss being his woman and everything that meant.
I get near him and I lose my mind. I’m close to giving him whatever he asks for. Close. But …
I smile serenely and say, “Not quite,” to Sally. His hand tightens around my middle.
“Well, if you’re not sure …” She gives Hayes a suggestive sidelong glance and wink.
I laugh.
She looks back at me with an indignant glare. “Honey, if I was just twenty years younger, you wouldn’t be able to fight me for him. They don’t make men like this anymore. I suggest you get sure real quick.” She winks and strides off into the restaurant.
“Yeah. Get sure quick, Tesoro.” Hayes’s lips brush my ear, and his breath makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my insides quiver. His hand slides along my waist and comes to rest on my abdomen. It takes up almost the entire space, and when he pulls me back into him, I feel like I’m melting.
“I miss you touching me, baby.” I let my head fall back and rest on his shoulder.
“Hayes Garfield Rivers, you are in public!” An irate voice from ahead of us breaks the trance and we jump apart.
“Gigi,” Hayes says and steps around me toward the dark haired, hazel-eyed beauty who but for the fact that he called her his aunt, I would never believe was old enough to be.
She glares at him. “Don’t you dare use that voice on me, Hayes,” she scolds even as she throws her arms open to welcome his hug. I watch as she embraces him, smacks his shoulders and then wraps her arms around him. He lifts her off her feet. Her eyes, closed from the instant they touch, pop open and they’re assessing and shrewd as they run over me from head to toe. She’s dressed in a navy skirt topped with a white tailored shirt with a patent-leather, nude-colored belt cinched around her Audrey Hepburnesque waist. Suddenly, my cut-off shorts are both too casual and too short. My white camisole too revealing and my flip-flops, completely inappropriate.
When our eyes meet, I smile my best smile and thank God I tied my unruly hair back so that at least I don’t look completely unkempt. My shoulders sag with relief when a smile—warm and real—blooms across her face.
She disengages herself from Hayes and comes toward me, arms outstretched. “Well, Hayes, look what you did. She’s as pretty as a picture,” she says to him as she wraps me in a hug that smells and feels like comfort and love. It makes me long for my mother. I wish she could see this place.
“I’m Gigi, Confidence,” she says warmly. “I think we’re going to be great friends.” She hooks an arm through mine.
Hayes doesn’t let go of my hand when I try to tug it free of his. He draws it into his lap and holds it there with the other one on top of it. I look at him to demand it back, but my words die on my lips.
He’s laughing at something his aunt just said. His head is thrown back, his teeth gleaming, his eyes closed, and I can envision my future. What life could feel like if I spent it with him. Happy, holding hands, with family who fusses, but forgives. In nice suburban cafes that smell like bread and coffee. And where everyone is welcome, especially me. So, I don’t pull my hand back. Instead, I squeeze his and rejoin the conversation just as our server comes and takes our orders.
Hayes jumps slightly and then lets go of my hand.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. My hand feels cold without his sandwiching it. He fishes into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his phone.
“I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this. I’ve been expecting this call for two days,” he says. He slides out of the booth and strides toward the entrance.
I watch him go. His sky-blue polo neck T-shirt bunches across his broad shoulders as he turns to squeeze between the tightly packed tables. His jeans sit low on his hips and hug that fine ass of his.
“I don’t blame you, sister,” Sally calls from a couple of tables ahead of us.
I jump slightly and blush at being caught ogling. I look at Gigi and smile. She doesn’t smile back. In fact, the friendly light in her eyes disappears completely. My throat convulses in surprise and dread.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“I need to ask you some things, right now before Hayes comes back,” Gigi says the minute he’s out of earshot.
“Okay ...” I say and glance toward the door at Hayes.
“I have a check in my purse for one million dollars. If I gave it to you, would you leave and never bother Hayes again?” she asks.
Shock renders me paralyzed. I think if she whistled, the air she pushed out would knock me over.
“What?” I ask, offended, incredulous and for some reason, a little afraid.
“I could go up to three million. And I will. If you’ll take it,” she says.
Her expression is completely neutral. I can’t believe she can be so calm after what she just said.
“Are you kidding me? Why would you even …?”
“Name your price,” she says.
My heart slows to a hard, slow thud.
“What?”
“I’ll give it to you. If you’ll take it,” she says slowly, like there’s something she’s trying to tell me without saying it directly. But my blood is boiling and I don’t have the time or inclination for her games.
“I most certainly will not,” I say and grab my phone from the table and reach to pick up my purse.
She puts a hand over mine to steady it.
“I’m sorry if that offended you. But it’s not personal,” she says.
“As if it could be anything but personal,” I say without a thought for who I’m talking to.
“Confidence, Hayes is all that’s left of my family. He’s also, underneath that shell he wears, desperate for a place where he feels like he belongs. I will use my money, I will lie, I will offend, and I will do whatever to help him find it. After what he’s gone through with that ex-wife—” she says unapologetically.
I lose my cool.
“I bet you never offered her money to leave him alone, did you? Why? Because she wasn’t a nobody from nowhere, right?” I say angrily. I throw my napkin onto the table and lean in so that I can lower my voice. I am not going to let her bullshit ruin this lunch for Hayes. I glance over my shoulder and see him pacing in front of the restaurant, deep in conversation. I turn back to his aunt.
“That woman is criminally idiotic. I can assure you that I am not. Money is nice. But I don’t want more of it than I need,” I tell her.
“Yeah, right,” she says dismissively.
“I
know it’s hard to imagine people not worshiping the same money god as you do,” I say.
“How dare you?” she asks.
“How dare you?” I shoot right back. “You could have just asked me how I feel about him.” I’m angry and surprised by the sting of tears in the back of my eyes.
“Oh, I don’t need to ask to know it’s obvious. But in my experience, love isn’t ever enough, so I want to know what else you want from Hayes.”
“I don’t have to prove myself to you,” I say indignantly.
“You’re right,” she says crisply, her eyes narrowing on me. “But, let me tell you, If any of the things you think he’s good for are comfort or financial security, then that will prove itself, too. I’m just trying to save us all a little time and a lot of heartbreak,” she says coolly.
I don’t know whether to storm off or hug her. “Gigi.” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the gentle deference in my voice.
“May I call you that?” I ask.
“Of course, you may,” she says archly.
I nod and smile politely. Then, I take off the gloves.
“You’ve known him his whole life and you’re still putting a price tag on him. And I’ve only known him for four months, and I already know he’s priceless,” I snarl.
“How dare you?” she gasps.
“You’re going to have to stop saying that. I dare because no one is in charge of me but me.” I point at my chest. “Yes, I want him to spoil me,” I say, and she smirks knowingly. I wipe it right back off. “With respect, loyalty, and free and exclusive access to his glorious body. But, I can finance myself,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Well then, why are you two doing this dance where you’re not together? What are you holding out for?” she asks in frustration. I can see how much she loves Hayes; I can see how worried she really is for him. So, I decide to ignore her disrespectful questions and innuendos and put her mind at ease.
I sigh and search for the right words to describe Hayes and me right now.
The Rivals Page 25