Not for Sale

by Eden Rayna

  “Come over tonight and we’ll talk.” I’ll tell her how I don’t want to live in the past anymore. I want to create a future. With her.

  “Not a chance.”

  It’s only a matter of time before she succumbs to her craving to get to know me. She’s proven herself curious and I’ve done the same with persistence. I’ll wait for her.

  “I’m going now.”

  “We’ll talk soon.”

  “No, we won’t.” It sounds like she pulls the device away from her face then puts it back. “And by the way, you shouldn’t have Tommy designing your houses if you never intend on letting him do what he wants.”

  I don’t deny all his requests; just those that will stop a house from selling. He’s a kid. He gets to learn hands-on how I design my houses. I encourage him to ask questions, however, there’s more to learn from mentorship than asking and getting. Tommy needs to understand that some requests are unreasonable. I listen to him and give him my answers, and that’s it. I’m the boss. He’s the intern.

  Pops taught me that. Tommy isn’t the first kid to ask for a launchpad to be built in a backyard.

  “I’ll consider your request if you’ll consider mine,” I tell her.

  “How shocking that you’re willing to hinge your brother’s feelings on us,” she says. “Goodbye, Owen.”

  “Goodbye, Princess.” I let her hang up, annoyed and dissatisfied. Wanting more from me.

  I spend a few minutes upstairs to let the adrenaline subside before going back to Tommy. He’s sitting at the counter flipping through the paint chips again. Several of the more neutral colours are set aside.

  “Did you get the answer you wanted?” I ask my Little Brother.

  “Yeah.” He pulls a disappointed face. “She said that we’re both right, but you’re my boss and I have to listen to you or I’ll get kicked off the project. It’s okay to share my opinion because two heads are better than one, but the boss gets to decide in the end.” He gulps for air and counts out another item on his fingers. “And when I run my own site, I can make my own decisions.”

  Fuck, Izzy and I would make a great team.

  THE EVOLVE AWARDS ARE around the corner. This year, instead of entering one of the categories, I offered to sponsor one on behalf of Big Brothers and Big Sisters, which means I get to present the award to the winner. It also means I have to make a speech.

  I tried convincing Scott to enjoy the honour, but he insisted—with a shit-eating smirk—that I be the one to do it as the head of the company. I was tempted to fire him for insubordination until he came up with a great idea: Tommy and I should present together.

  My Little Brother was all over the plan. Any chance to be in the spotlight gets a hard yes from him, and I’m happy to make that happen. The more time we spend together, the more I feed off his energy and exuberance. Some days I question who’s getting the most out of our friendship. Tommy has taught me to relax a little, to smile sometimes, and he forces me to talk about my decisions. His tactics have made our relationship better, and they help with the messages I leave on Izzy’s voicemail.

  Obviously, it would be easiest to talk about sex and desire, but that’s also easiest for her to brush aside or use as a reason to call me shallow. Instead, I tell her about progress on the duplex and what Tommy’s role is. I tell her about things that I fucked up and have to redo. I update her about the guys. I even talk about Pops. Each twenty-second snippet of my life that I offer her is a brick to building her trust. One after the other, I layer them and, hopefully soon, we’ll be surrounded by a fortress so tall and wide that she will feel safe being in there with me.

  There’s a knock at the door and I holler out for Tommy to come in. He kicks off his winter boots and slides into his work boots that he keeps in the front closet before coming to meet me in the kitchen. Tommy shakes my hand, looking me in the eye, then smiles as we launch into our secret handshake. Handclaps and fist bumps complete, he hops on the stool next to me.

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “We got the email from the Evolve Awards office.”

  “Yeah?” His eyes light up. “Who do we give the trophy to?” He can’t get the concept out of his head that this isn’t a sporting event. I tried several times explaining that it’s a plaque and not the Stanley Cup we’ll be awarding, but it’s useless.

  “Don’t know yet. Thought you’d like to open the email.” This being his first public speaking event, Tommy is way more excited about it than I am.

  “Cool,” he says, reaching for my laptop. I point to the line on the screen with the right email, which he opens and reads right away.

  Dear Mr. MacLeod,

  Thank you once again for your support of the Evolve Awards and your chosen charity, Big Brothers and Big Sisters. The committee is thrilled that you will be bringing your Little Brother, Thomas Wright (“Hey, that’s me!”), to assist you, and provide attendees with a first-hand glimpse of the benefits of the organisation.

  We are pleased that you will be announcing the winner of the Best Basement Renovation category. The winner this year is Asher Richmond. Attached, you will find the bio he provided us, as well as links to his website and contact information, should you need anything else from him.

  Please keep your speech to under seven minutes. If you require any A/V equipment, please advise us in advance.

  Best Regards,

  Allan Tremblay

  Selection Committee Chair

  “Hey, I know that guy!” Tommy hoots after clicking on the attached bio. “He’s Izzy’s friend.” He sure is. “That means,” he draws out, either too excited for more words or waiting for me to fill in the blanks. Of all the people getting awards that night, I draw Asher’s name. “She’ll be there!”

  I return my focus to Tommy, who’s bouncing on the tips of his toes like he’s about to pee in his pants.

  “We’ll have to rent you a tux,” I say.

  He scrunches the right side of his face in disgust.

  “Women love a man in a suit.”

  His jaw drops before asking, “Does Izzy like suits?” I go out on a limb and say yes. “Let’s go right now.” He rushes for the door. If I were the type of guy to use the word cute, this moment would call for it.

  “We’ve got work to do first. Grab your tool belt.” I drape my arm over his shoulders and lead him towards his gear, smiling to myself because more than my construction skills are rubbing off on him.

  Chapter 32

  Izzy

  I’ve never been to the Evolve Awards before, but I’ve seen pictures and heard stories. They don’t lie. The Fairmont Palliser Hotel ballroom is elegantly decorated in the Evolve colours of gold and purple, with tall floral centrepieces gracing each round table.

  I’m not here to celebrate one of my projects tonight, but I’m still here to celebrate. Asher is getting an award, and with Kelsey as my plus one, I’m here to show him I want us to be friends.

  A seating chart shows us that Asher, Kelsey, and I are at a table near the front of the room, and importantly, we’re not seated with Owen and the Black Ladder clan. I know he’ll be here because Asher told me that Owen’s presenting the award for the category Asher has been nominated for.

  Oh, the irony.

  Kelsey pokes me in the ribs when she sees my eyes roaming over the seating chart long after we found our table. I want to know if Owen brought a date—only so I’m not caught off-guard—but she doesn’t give me the opportunity.

  I could have had him if I wanted him.

  I don’t.

  I get enough of him in my head. The worst times are right before my period, when I’m hormonal. And after watching a particularly good chick flick. It also happens when I contemplate getting my own place to live. That cash of his is still sitting in an account waiting to be spent.

  Alright, thoughts of him are near constant. It doesn’t help that he won’t stop calling me and I can’t stop listening to his messages. I love how his voice rumbles in my chest through t
he recording. When his number pops up on my screen, my fingertips buzz, waiting to dial into my voicemail. Did he leave a sweet message, telling me about having a good visit with his dad? Did he leave me a panty-melting message that has me slipping my fingers between my legs? Did he leave me a message, asking my opinion on his designer’s recommendations?

  The calls taunt me and, irrationally, I look forward to listening to them because I secretly like that he still wants to call me. I like thinking that there could be more to him than a damn good builder who’s hot as hell. That there’s a little nugget of emotion hiding inside that tough skin.

  I know I’m projecting my emotional self onto him and it’s all an act. He can read a scripted message and make it sound real. He can play the guy with feelings and forward-thinking plans. Too bad he could never be that way to my face other than when he was trying to get me naked.

  I’m not leading him on. I told him I don’t want to be in a relationship with him, and I haven’t wavered. All his messages have gone unanswered. At some point, the chase will get old, or he’ll find someone else to flex his arms at. He’ll tire of calling and never hearing my voice. Eventually, he’ll want to spend time with someone who’s with him in the flesh and not only in his mind.

  Kelsey has wandered off, bored with the conversations Asher and I have with acquaintances from the industry. Above the small talk we make, I catch the baritone voice I crave hearing. Goosebumps erupt on my arms and I shudder, nearly spilling my drink. My saving grace, and the one thing that turns my panic into a smile, is focusing on how he brought his brother as his date.

  A long sip of wine hides my face as I watch Owen.

  He’s wearing a trendy monochromatic tuxedo with velvet lapels and a black tuxedo shirt. Of course. Silver cuff links stand out as much as his hazel eyes. His beard is newly trimmed, and each hair is perfectly in place, prepped to make women of all ages and marital statuses swoon. His hand comes out of his pocket to rest on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy wears a matching tux, albeit with a white shirt.

  Asher’s hand lands on my back and I jerk, startled at being caught staring.

  “We should say hi.”

  “No, we don’t have to.” Words disguise my body’s true desire to approach him. It would be awkward and not fair to Asher.

  Before Asher can insist, Tommy spots us.

  “Izzy!” he shouts and comes running. I try to crouch to meet him, and brace for contact, but my dress is too fitted, and my heels are too high for such gymnastics.

  “Whoa, Tommy.” Owen’s voice is firm, but holds a hint of laughter behind it. Tommy slows just in time and comes to a halt with his black patent leather toes nearly touching mine.

  “Hi, Izzy,” he all but yelps in excitement. Then, as if remembering something he’s practiced, he holds out his hand towards me. I drop mine into his and he brings it to his lips and kisses my knuckles. My heart melts and I bend and kiss him on the cheek. He squeaks then angles towards Owen, blond curls bouncing as he hops from one foot to the other. Owen gives him a brief nod and Tommy reciprocates.

  “You look lovely tonight, Izzy.” We’ve amassed a small crowd and there are a few soft chuckles and awwws around us.

  “Why thank you, Tommy. You look very handsome.” I smile at Owen and offer an approving nod. Whatever issues we may have with each other, I can’t deny he’s taught his brother a few civilities.

  “I wanted to match my pocket square to your dress.” He pats his breast pocket. “Owen said that you like purple ’cause he saw you in a purple toque once. So, I chose purple. But it doesn’t match.” He frowns at my floor-length, single shoulder, asymmetrical dress in hunter green. “But do you like it, anyway?”

  “Very much. That’s extremely thoughtful of you. You can tell Owen he’s right, purple is one of my favourite colours.” I’m surprised he remembers what toque I wore that day in the backyard when we raked leaves.

  “Tell him yourself, he’s right here. Bet you didn’t recognise him ’cause he’s all dressed up, hey?” He points over his shoulder with his thumb and our crowd erupts in laughter.

  Oh, I’d be able to pick him out of a crowd with no issues. Just ask my ovaries to turn on their radar.

  “Hello, Owen,” I offer, conscious of our audience.

  “Izzy.” The one word is innocent enough, but I hear what he’s really saying—he hasn’t forgotten his promise to change my mind.

  Without a hitch, he greets Asher with an outstretched arm, leaving me sweating over repeated visions of our scandalous afternoon.

  “I’m going to get a refill. Would anyone like anything?” Asher asks.

  I hold out my glass for him and he walks away. Owen tells Tommy there are servers walking around with plates of food and he should find something he likes.

  With our little entertainer gone, our crowd disperses. And then there were two.

  “You’re beautiful.” His eyes travel over my dress, from my bare shoulder to the slit down my right leg. His voice hits me in all the wrong places for a public event. I can’t look and risk drawing attention to them, however, I think my nipples enjoy the way he ogles me.

  “Thank you. You too. I mean handsome. Not beautiful.” I was wrong about a man in a suit versus work wear. They can also be sexy as hell. At least this one can be.

  He smiles at my jabbering, and I pull my lip between my teeth to hide my grin. I love how I can make him smile and hate it at the same time. He’s making it too easy to want to find a dark corner to duck into.

  “The answer to your question from earlier is yes.”

  I knit my brows. I didn’t ask him a question.

  “Do I really remember what toque you wore that day, or was it a lucky guess?” He comes closer so he can whisper in my ear. “I remember all the details about you. I remember the tiny mole above your right nipple. I remember three beers are definitely your limit. I remember never to bet against you in a game of pool.” He stops, satisfied that his point is made. Besides, I’m already leaning into his hand wrapped around my waist.

  “I’m not what you think I am,” he says.

  “And what’s that?”

  “Nothing more than a brute.” His answer is a good reminder of how incompatible we are. I back up.

  “You kind of are.” Memories of being pushed against walls come to mind, not to mention every yelling match we had before that.

  “And you kind of like that.” He kisses my cheek, lingering longer than he should. “Still, there’s more to me. More, that without you, I never would have discovered.”

  Asher returns and Owen moves away, leaving a more respectable distance between the two of us. Ash hands me my wine and I thank him—more for putting an end to my alone time with Owen than for the libation.

  It doesn’t matter how hot Owen looks tonight or how much he says he’s changed, he’s still the same guy who stole my dream.

  THE MEAL IS DONE AND the awards part of the evening is underway. As they get closer to announcing Asher’s category, his jitters escalate. He wrings the napkin in his hands and drinks sip after sip of water. Aside from the marketing and salespeople or real estate agents, I’d say that most of the people here work by themselves or in small groups and never, ever, have to speak to a crowd. Asher falls into that category.

  “You’re going to win this, Ash,” I reassure him. I don’t call him the best because he’s my friend. He really is a fantastic contractor.

  “Thanks, Iz.” He squeezes my shoulder and I place my hand on his thigh to sooth his nerves.

  Both Owen and Tommy go to the podium and look directly at Asher and me. Tommy is all grins and Owen is the typical Owen. He’s serious and focused and here to do a job. All business. Until he sees where my hand is and his whole body stiffens. Then he’s the new Owen. The jealous Owen. The I-will-have-Izzy Owen.

  I don’t want to, but I like it. Maybe it’s because I need to hold some kind of power over him. Or maybe it’s as simple as wanting to be desired by a sexy man. Every woman, single or par
tnered, is panting over him. I overheard someone in the washroom saying he’s the type of guy to pull a woman away from her table discretely, take her into the service hallway, fuck her blind, then bring her back to her seat with no one noticing she’s gone missing.

  I’m glad to know others have wild fantasies about him. It makes me feel normal. It legitimises the dirty secret I hold where I still listen to his messages before going to bed.

  Owen commands the crowd like someone who does public speaking tours for a living. His voice is smooth, without nerves or hesitation. He speaks clearly and at a perfect tempo. His voice carries to the back of the room, and he has the attention of everyone in it.

  It’s another way of showing off how good he is at masking how he really feels. There’s no way he wants to be on that stage right now, talking to a couple hundred strangers. Yet, there he is, perfectly composed, a voice as confident as it is in the messages he leaves on my voicemail.

  His eyes rove around, but they always settle in my direction. It’s as though he wrote this speech for me rather than for anyone else in this room. I pull myself out of my head and tune into what he’s saying.

  “With the history of the organisation out of the way, I’d like to share my personal connection with Big Brothers and Big Sisters. When I was five years old, my mother passed away.” There’s a collective gasp by the attendees, and I form a part of it. I can’t believe he’s telling a roomful of strangers about his childhood tragedy. As far as I know, he kept it buried from everyone except his closest friends until he told me that night. What compels him to bring this up tonight?

  “My dad, being the brilliant man that he is, knew he needed help, and he found me a Big Brother to spend time with. That decision saved me from heading down the wrong path more than once. My Big Brother kept me out of trouble by keeping me occupied and offering a sympathetic ear.”

  Owen lays a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “This is my Little Brother, Tommy.” While Tommy waves at everyone and they wave back, some saying, Hi Tommy, I nearly swallow my tongue in shock. That kind of little brother?