It’s a relief to be out of that room, but it’s short-lived. Now that the deal with Phoenix Enterprises is going nowhere, it’s time to figure out where we stand. The pile of bills from the kitchen counter is heavier in the crook of my elbow than I thought it would be. Some of them slip out when I get to the top of the stairs, fluttering to the floor like thick feathers.
Every one of them has FINAL NOTICE printed on the front.
I shouldn’t waste the water on a second shower, but I have to scrub the humiliation and disappointment off me. I’m lucky our water heater hasn’t broken. I’m lucky there was a sale on my favorite scent of Suave shampoo. I’m lucky, lucky, lucky to be able to do this for my parents.
Ironically, the last expensive item of clothing I have left is a lounge set in cashmere. No one would buy it because it doesn’t look like it’s worth anything.
Maybe Mason Hill didn’t want the deal because I don’t look like I’m worth anything.
No. Stop. I won’t think like that.
My mom is a still crest in the sheets, her hair spread out on the pillow behind her. The two of us have the same blonde hair. She kept hers shoulder length for years with monthly trims from her personal stylist, a man named Chris who came to the house with a team of three other people. One person’s entire job was to be on hand if my mom wanted a drink. Now it’s down past her shoulder blades. If it gets any longer, she goes to the Great Clips at the strip mall and refuses to take off her sunglasses so that no one will recognize her.
I’ve tried to tell her that this is impossible—no one we know would ever go to that strip mall. That conversation ended in tears. I haven’t brought it up again.
My phone is vibrating when I get back to my bedroom.
“Hi,” Elise says as soon as I answer. “I was going to wait to call you, but I couldn’t. How did it go? Did you knock their socks off? Of course you did.”
“Well.” Tears ball up in my throat, but I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to break down over this, or sob, or panic. “Nothing got signed today.”
“Is that a good thing?” Elise’s cautious but optimistic. “Like, maybe you’re still negotiating the terms and it’ll be a done deal by next Friday?”
“Not with Phoenix Enterprises.”
“Who did you meet with?”
“A man named Mason Hill.”
She gasps. “Are you serious? He’s not just at Phoenix. He owns Phoenix. I can’t believe they didn’t tell you you were meeting with him.”
“Yes, I’m serious.” I flop down on my bed and watch the rainclouds roll overhead through my window. “He was an asshole. Not interested in the deal after all.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her what else he said. A night at his apartment. His vile suggestion.
But then—
He didn’t actually say anything. I was the one who made it seem dirty.
“What a dick.” Elise’s pissed. I can hear her pacing back and forth in her apartment. “A total dick. How could anyone look at you and not want to work with you? What the hell?”
“When I got there, he said the original deal wasn’t good enough. He wanted a majority stake in the company. And… he wanted a time commitment from me.”
“Wait. Wait.” Her pacing stops. “Like, he offered you a job?”
“It wasn’t really a job.”
Not a job at all. His apartment for a night—that’s not a job. That’s an arrangement. That’s—
I won’t let myself think of it.
The words hover in the air. I think about telling Elise, about her getting offended on my behalf. She’d probably march over to Mason Hill’s office herself and tell him off. Does it count as sexual harassment if I don’t actually work for him? “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “He was an asshole. A major asshole. The deal’s never going to work.”
“Shit,” she says on a sigh.
“Yeah.” I pull the envelopes onto the bed with me and rip open the first one.
“Uh-oh,” says Elise. “Going through the mail?”
“Not mail. Just bills. Just a huge stack of bills.” She stays on the line while I open envelope after envelope. More money owed in each one. The water bill is overdue. The electricity will be past due next week. The bank wants an updated repayment plan for Cornerstone. Everyone wants money. I don’t have any. Above my head, a shingle detaches from the roof in the rain and rattles down the side of the house. Everything is falling apart. “I can’t pay these.”
“I’m sorry,” says Elise.
“But…” The papers cover my lap and half of the bed. I’ll have to dig my way out before I can do anything. “If Phoenix was willing to offer me anything, then someone else might.”
“Who?”
“Someone. There has to be someone out there. A company that wants to be part of the Cornerstone Development. And this is a chance—this is a chance to find them. I’ll take the proposal I did for Phoenix and send it to my father’s old contacts. Somebody will bite.”
Someone other than Mason Hill.
“Of course they will,” says Elise. “Maybe you’ll even get Hill to reconsider.”
“I don’t care if he does. I’m never going back. I’ll do this myself.”
5
Charlotte
I’m not going to be defeated by one man in a perfect suit with a cruel mouth and gorgeous eyes. I’m just not. So the new proposal gets every bit of my attention, and none of it goes to thinking about Mason Hill.
I’ve positioned Van Kempt Industries the way I would a piece of my clothing I wanted to sell on eBay. All the good things front and center. It concentrates on how it’ll feel to make a profit off Cornerstone, which is practically guaranteed once it’s finished.
All I have to do is sell it.
I smile confidently at nothing in the waiting room, trying to get the rest of my body on board. The racing pulse is excitement, not nervousness. The ache in my abs is strength, not tension. I don’t know how to categorize the vague sense that I might throw up. Intense anticipation, maybe.
The secretary appears at my side. She’s dressed in slacks and a sleeveless sweater. More casual than I am, but then, it’s a Saturday. The only opening in the schedule when we made the appointment early in the week. “Mr. Morelli will see you now.”
Mr. Morelli’s secretary wears a kind smile while she leads me to a pair of double doors set into the wall. The smile has to be a good omen. I’ll take anything at this point. Any sign this will go well. She pauses with her hand on the handle. “Ready?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
She pushes the door open. “Ms. Van Kempt for you, Mr. Morelli.”
He’s already in motion when I step into his office, striding through a space that’s natural light on dark neutrals. Some men can’t wear black on black without looking like they’re going to a funeral, but Leo Morelli isn’t one of them. Whoever does his clothes has a good hand. Because he’s moving, I can see that the jacket of his suit has been painstakingly crafted to fit him exactly. Not closely—exactly. That kind of tailoring does more than make the clothes more flattering. It also reduces the friction between the layers themselves.