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“She didn’t look like your type,” Eddie says, standing next to me, as Tennyson edges out of the conversation and stalks off to indulge in the red-nailed assassin.
“What is my type?” I ask him inquisitively, already thinking I may have found a new type. The kind of woman who is smart as a whip and sexy as a minx all together in a small package that would give me nothing but trouble. I am sure of it.
“Tall, Amazonian supermodel,” he fires back a little too quickly.
“I have dated other women.” I’m feeling defensive, but I’m not sure why.
“Literally your last three girlfriends have all been from the front covers of the top fashion magazines. They are carbon copy versions of each other. You don’t stray, so you have a very clear type.” Eddie smirks, and I hate that my history proves him right.
“I don't have a type.” My eyes flick toward the bathrooms again, still seeing the hallway empty.
“Sure, you don’t. What about Sasha?” he questions, pushing his point.
“Let’s not bring up that disaster,” I murmur, wanting an end to this conversation. I grit my teeth at the memory. I feel no pain, simply embarrassment for being so fucking stupid. As I wait for him to push me, he downs his drink.
“I’m off. I need to get up early and check out the building on the east side. Good luck with that Monday morning meeting you were talking about.” He shakes my hand, and we do the manly backslap before he slinks through the crowd, dodging other’s handshakes and attempted flirtations.
I’m feeling unsure about that meeting and have talked at length about it tonight with my brothers. I am still waiting for the full details, but Jonathan Beasley is our biggest law client, so regardless, we’ll have to be successful. He makes us millions each year as we try to protect and rescue him from business deals gone wrong, along with a few misdemeanors in between. We just settled his third divorce, and he is extremely happy with our service to date, given that we have made him more money than ever. His eye is now firmly set on an elementary school property on the outskirts of town in a lower socioeconomic suburb. He wants to use it as a new piece of land to develop into condos, such is his main business. From all the paperwork, it appears that it is a good move.
But navigating the suburbs and entering neighborhoods can be tough. There is a lot of community communication and collaboration that needs to happen, especially since the school is community managed but privately owned. Even more so now that my brother, Harrison, is governor. But as usual, Beasley just wants to throw money at it and get the land. And he will, because money always talks.
Given that we will make a few million on the deal, I can’t really complain. It is just business.
I stand at the bar, swirling the whiskey in my glass, my eyes flicking to the empty hallway a few more times before surveying the room. It is the usual people here tonight, men in suits, women sipping champagne, hoping to be the next missus to many of the men here tonight, including myself.
But being wealthy makes me a magnet for gold diggers, as I learned with Sasha. We dated for twelve months before I caught her with another man. There is a myriad of emotions that run through your body when you catch your partner with someone else. Shock, anger, sadness, disbelief. She totally blindsided me, because I thought what we had was something semiserious.
Now I only do casual hookups. The shitty outcome of my parents' marriage is enough to turn any man off from the act. My mother, who was loyal and caring, changed almost overnight when my father died, leaving a string of girlfriends behind, all who were a surprise to her and us boys. It left us all on edge. None of us like the thought of commitment anymore, except Harrison. He found Beth and hasn’t looked back since, the two of them governing Maryland like they were born to do it.
I tip my glass back and finish the whiskey, spotting a posse of women looking at me from across the bar. Nodding, I turn away from them, not feeling it tonight. I mentally scold myself when my eyes look toward the bathroom. Again. Before I can get too far, I feel a hand wrap around my forearm, and I look down to see painted red glossy nails. I wonder if it is the same woman who was just wrapping herself around Tennyson.
“Well, hello, handsome,'' a feminine flirty voice skirts over me, and I feel disappointed that it isn’t the mystery woman from earlier. Looking over the sea of people, I see Tennyson locking lips with a blonde. He has her pushed up against the wall in a small alcove, but not completely out of sight. Just around the corner from him, I finally spot the woman from earlier with two other women, laughing at something that seems to be incredibly funny as they grab their bags to leave. She looks even better with a smile. I wish that she smiled like that for me. My eyes remain fixed on them, feeling jealous, because I would rather be over there with her in fits of laughter than where I stand right now.
“Come here often?” the woman who is currently attaching herself to my arm asks, not catching my silent hint. Ignoring her line I’ve heard a million times, my eyes remain on Doubtfire as she walks through the crowd toward the door. She must feel my gaze, because her eyes flick back to me, then to the woman who is currently cemented to my side, before rolling her eyes and walking out the door with her friends.
I think I will call it a night.
CHAPTER THREE - EMILY
This can’t be happening. I feel like my heart is going to explode from my chest. I am about to have a full-blown panic attack or throw my glass of water against the wall. Either one of those is highly likely at this point.
My fingers grip the letter as my eyes run over the words. The fancy paper rests thick and heavy in my hands. I want to rip it up and pretend that we never received it. But I learned long ago never to put my head in the sand. To always stand up for what is right and fight the good fight.
“Don’t look so grim. It was bound to happen,” George says from across his desk, looking too calm in this situation. He is my rock, and I have no idea what I would do without him.
“How are you not upset by this?” I ask, perplexed. My blood is already boiling, my grip tightening, the paper almost to the tearing point. He is protective of me, but I am equally as protective of him.
“I have been expecting it for a while. Ever since those new condos went up on Smith Street. Progress is happening. We are not immune.” George remains stoic as ever, but his shoulders are slumped and his face is resigned. I hate seeing him like this. I want to take it all away.
“Well, there won't be any future progress if we can’t educate these kids. They will fall through the cracks if they can’t come here. William Heights Elementary is all they’ve got!” I plead my case to George like he doesn’t already know it. He does. As do I. As does everyone who works here and everyone in the community. Everyone except the big-city billionaires who think they can walk in and wave around their millions. Their only motivation is to demolish, build a row of condos, and resell, then making a tidy profit, no doubt.
“I just won’t accept the offer,” George says with a sigh, sitting back in his office chair. It was donated, just like most of the furniture and décor around the school. The black leather has a tear in the side where the seam once used to run. Our school is like this—run-down, old, in need of repair. But these walls are so full of love and joy, things I never thought I would have in my life, yet George is the one who helped me find it.
We met a few years ago when I was at rock bottom. If it wasn’t for him, I am not sure I would have found my way out. He gave me a job, he gave me a home, gave me purpose to my life, and he gave me hope. Now it is time for me to return the favor.
“It’s five million dollars!” I say with exasperation. It is a lot of money. George would be a fool to reject it. He could do so much with it. But with George, it is always more about giving than taking, and I already know he will indeed reject every offer, regardless of how many zeros are attached to it. I’d like to think that some of his strength has passed on to me after all these years. God knows I’ve needed it.
“There is more to life than money. We both know that.” He is right. We do.
