Page 64 of Worth the Trouble

“I thought if I built enough,” her father said, “you’d never have a reason to go. Then you left anyway. And you did it the honest way, which I never really managed to do. Standing up for your own future happened in front of everyone, and while I watched it happen I was so proud of you. But I felt like I lost at the same time.” He turned around. “I don’t know how to be a father to someone who doesn’t need one. I’m going to have to learn.”

“You looked at the rooms.” It wasn’t a question.

“I heard a rumor. I’ve made it a habit to know about the real estate in every place I’ve developed. Not so hard in this place with the rumor mill in a small town like this.” He shrugged and didn’t apologize for asking questions.

“Fair point. What do you think?”

Cecelia took the napkin out of her purse and unfolded it and put it on the desk. He picked it up. He read it as he read a term sheet, once, fast, and then again.

“The rent’s a little high,” he said.

“I know.”

“Pay it.” He set the napkin down. “Don’t negotiate year one. You need her to like you more than you need two hundred dollars a month. Negotiate the second year, when you’ve been a good tenant and she’s used to the money.” He looked at her. “That’s all I’m going to say about it. It’s your lease.”

It was the most useful advice he’d ever given her, and he’d said it in under a minute, and he hadn’t offered to pay a cent of it.

“You could start by not leaving at ten.”

“The car’s booked.”

“Cars can be unbooked.”

He looked at her. Then he took his phone out of his jacket, and he made a call. “Push it to noon,” he said and hung up. It was the smallest favor he’d ever done her. She’d remember it longer than the rest.

There was a knock at the door.

Jason had his hat in his hand and his coat still buttoned, and he’d come up the stairs instead of the elevator. His color was up. He looked at Cecelia, then at her father, then at the bags.

“Sir.”

“Mr. Dennison. Come in. She’s just hired herself a client and I’d like a witness.”

Jason came in. He didn’t sit. He stood beside her chair with one hand on the back of it, not on her, and waited to be told what the room was.

Her father told him. The retainer. The towns. The version of the story where everybody knew everything before he did. Jason listened without a word, and when it was done he looked down at Cecelia.

“You said yes.”

“I said yes.”

“Good.”

That was all he had to say about it, and it was enough.

Her father looked at the two of them, and his face settled. He crossed to the bags and picked up the smaller one and set it down again, and then he held out his hand.

“I owe you an apology,” he said. “For the dinner. I’m not going to make it, because I’d do it again to any man who came near her, and you’d know I was lying. But I’ll tell you what I told her. I’ve bought a great many people in thirty years. You’re the only one who ever handed it back.”

Jason took the hand. “I’d do it again too, sir.”

“I know. It’s why I’m shaking it.” Her father didn’t let go right away. “How many head?”

“Six on the books. Eleven if the phone keeps up.”

“Get a bookkeeper before you get to twenty. Not your brother.”

“Yes, sir.”