Lone Wolf

by Anna Martin

  It went against everything he’d built his life around for years, and the thought of being confined to the city with so many people made him nervous. But Leo was here. Leo’s life was here, and Jackson wanted Leo to see he was making choices with him in mind. It would still only take thirty minutes to get out of the city into neutral territory.

  He wasn’t going to fuck up again.

  For the first few years, he’d invested most of the brewery’s profits back into the company. During those early years, that meant taking a tiny salary for himself, barely enough to exist on, but he didn’t do much other than eat, work, and sleep anyway.

  At his accountant’s insistence, in the last two years, he’d started taking a bigger salary, one that meant he could take a few vacations a year and clear off his mortgage. There was spare money for that, so he did. Plus a trust fund for something, he wasn’t sure what, and some savings.

  When he’d bought the house and brewery, Jackson had learned, very quickly, that house hunting sucked. So he called a realtor, Miriam Wynn, told her what he was looking for, and let her do the donkey work for him.

  While the insurance assessors returned to their offices to start figuring out what the fuck was going to happen to his business, Jackson went to look at condos. Entirely theoretically, of course. Buying a home was a big deal.

  The first two places he knew were duds before he even stepped inside. The neighborhood was all wrong, or the building was ugly as fuck, or it had been recently built and to shitty specifications. Or a combination of all three. The next one wasn’t too bad, but it was a two-story house in a suburban soccer-mom neighborhood, and that wasn’t really the sort of vibe he was looking for.

  A few weeks later, Miriam called again.

  “I think you’ll like this place. It’s a bit over your budget, though.”

  “Huh,” Jackson said, and wished it was more acceptable to have an english muffin in his mouth while continuing this conversation. “Where is it?”

  “Riverside.”

  “I didn’t know there were any residential units in that area.”

  “There’s a few. The property was converted from an old factory. The condos in the building are either one or two floors, and they’re all well soundproofed. This one is a two-floor, so it’ll be very in-demand, but it hasn’t been posted online yet. I can get you in early if you’re interested.”

  The rest of Jackson’s day included Judge Judy and more toasted english muffins. He was pretty sure he could squeeze a visit into his busy schedule.

  “Sure. I can meet you there in an hour?”

  “Perfect,” Miriam said. “I’ll see you there.”

  It only took Jackson thirty minutes to get to the apartment building from his parents’ house, even in the late-afternoon traffic. Miriam was waiting for him, ducked out of the rain in a small porch.

  He’d been intimidated by her at first. She was a striking woman, tall, with dark hair and a penchant for dark red lipstick. She had the sort of no-nonsense attitude that would, once upon a time, have turned him the hell on. Jackson was fine being intimidated by beautiful women. Miriam certainly fit that description.

  Today she was wearing a calf-length black tailored coat and red heels the same color as her lipstick.

  “Mr. Lewis,” she said as Jackson approached.

  “Hi.” He shook her hand again and tried not to notice the black leather gloves. Failed.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  He followed her into an old-fashioned elevator and made small talk about the freezing weather as they rode up to the fourth floor.

  “The first floor unit is empty at the moment, though there’s planning permission for a couple of restaurants or cafés. I’m not sure when construction on those will start, but we’re fairly confident you won’t notice the work. This building was constructed in 1901 and built to last.”

  She opened a shiny black front door and stepped aside to let Jackson in.

  The entrance hall was tiled in black-and-white checkerboard tiles, with some odd furniture scattered around.

  “The owners are relocating to Atlanta,” Miriam said. “They’re open to selling the furniture if you’re interested.”

  No thanks, Jackson thought, taking in an extraordinarily ugly sculpture on a tiny table.

  Interesting décor choices aside, the condo was beautiful. The entrance hall opened into a huge living space with views out over the city. The floors melted from tile into exposed wood, and the walls too were left bare to expose the red brick.

  “Wow,” Jackson murmured.

  In his mind’s eye, he started rearranging the space. It had the potential to be very industrial, and he was already filling it with leather couches, big fluffy white rugs, and heavy, dramatic curtains to soften it all up. He loved this process: looking at something and figuring out how to make it work.

  The kitchen was a little smaller than he’d hoped for, considering how his family had always used it as a socializing space, and there wasn’t room for a table in here. Instead, the kitchen was the L-shaped connector between the living space and dining room. He figured the huge staircase took up the rest of the first floor space.

  There was a half bath off the entrance hall, which he looked at dispassionately—it was a half bath; there wasn’t much to be said about it—and then Miriam was leading him upstairs.

  The current owners of questionable taste had installed an enormous chandelier, which hung over the curving staircase. In most circumstances Jackson would have denounced it as ugly as fuck; however, there was something about this space that meant it actually worked. Jackson wasn’t sure his buddies would ever forgive him for having a huge Liberace-esque chandelier in his house, though.

  “Three bedrooms,” Miriam said. “The master has a full en suite bathroom, and the family bathroom is just ahead. Currently one of the bedrooms is being used as an office.”

  He’d do that too, Jackson thought. They wouldn’t need three bedrooms, and it would be nice to offer Leo some office space, if he wanted it. Jackson would need an office too; he hated working in his living space. Having his business practically on top of his home meant he needed that line between work and play.

  He stopped right in the doorway to the third bedroom and blinked, reassessing his own thoughts.

  Living on top of work.

  “Hey, Miriam,” he said, calling out to the realtor.

  “Yes, Mr. Lewis?”

  He hated that she called him that, but put up with it to keep in her good graces. Plus, it was a frequent reminder that she was working for him and he should keep his thoughts appropriate.

  “You said there’s commercial units on the first floor.”

  She walked over, her heels clicking.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know who owns them? Are they for sale? Have they already got tenants?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, looking confused. “I can find out for you, though. Why, are you interested?”

  He turned away from the incredible view of rainy, gloomy Spokane stretching away from him.

  “I want to see it, yeah.”

  IT TOOK Miriam two more days to dig out the information Jackson needed and arrange for him to meet the current owner. In the meantime, he held off her nagging about the condo, wanting to see the commercial units first.

  If he could make this work, it could change everything.

  Miriam set up a meeting between Jackson and Mr. Pasqualino at the apartment building. He wasn’t what Jackson was expecting. A short, portly man with an impressive mustache and a shirt that stretched dangerously over his enormous belly, Pasqualino shook Jackson’s hand firmly and ushered him inside.

  “Got three offers in at the moment,” he said. “Miriam insisted I see you before accepting them, though.”

  “What for?”

  “Huh?”

  “What are the current offers for?”

  “Oh.” He scratched his belly and pulled at the suspenders valiantly attempting to k
eep his trousers up. “Uh, a Starbucks, a Mexican restaurant, and a retail unit. Retail would only be small, though. More of the same across the street when those renovations get underway.”

  Jackson nodded and walked deeper into the space. He could imagine how Pasqualino would split the space up; there was plenty of it.

  Here, like the condos upstairs, there were huge high ceilings and the faint whiff of industrial-chic. The floor was a mess, poured concrete, which made Jackson wary of his step, and the walls were almost caked in thick black muck. Someone had gone to the effort of clearing out everything from the space except the original walls and supporting beams, so anyone thinking about what it could be used for next could see the potential.

  Jackson saw lots and lots of potential.

  “What do you want to do with it?” Pasqualino called from the front of the building. He hadn’t ventured farther in with Jackson, instead hanging back where there was natural light.

  “Bar,” he called back. Then amended the thought. “Microbrewery. And a restaurant.”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the torch. The unit stretched back farther than he realized. It would be a fucking big Starbucks, that was for sure.

  “Microbrewery,” Mr. Pasqualino said as Jackson walked back up to the front door. He sounded suspicious.

  “Yeah. I own Lone Wolf Brewery,” Jackson said. “Currently looking to expand.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, but he wasn’t prepared to give any more than that away just yet.

  Mr. Pasqualino raised his eyebrows. “Lone Wolf? I’ve heard of you.”

  Jackson gave him a winning smile. “That’s great.”

  “What would you do here?” he asked.

  “Enclose the back so I could brew on-site,” Jackson said. “Small batches. A little kitchen for small plates, tapas style, you know. Then a nice, big, warm bar out front.”

  “It would be a big bar.”

  “Not once I sectioned off the space I need for brewing,” Jackson said. “Though I’m thinking we’d separate with glass instead of brick so people can see in. Put a mezzanine level around the top. Big, wide spiral staircase.” Like the one in the condo.

  “Huh.”

  “What’s your price, sir.”

  Mr. Pasqualino raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t looking to sell.”

  Yeah, Jackson had heard that before. There wasn’t much of a line between “I’m not looking to buy” and “I’m not looking to sell.” And he’d convinced a hell of a lot of people to buy his product who’d had no intention of doing so when he walked into the room.

  “I understand.” This was when Jackson had to figure out the man’s angle. He wasn’t sure whether he was after money or status, since those were usually the main aspects of any deal. Often more money than status. “I’m really not interested in leasing the space. I’d need to do considerable renovations to make it suitable for what I want to do, and it would mean vastly reduced potential for income for you in the future. Essentially, you’d have to find someone else who wanted a microbrewery in this corner of the city.”

  “Easier to sell to Starbucks,” Mr. Pasqualino said jovially.

  “I’m sure it is.” Jackson stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “What can I do to convince you, sir?”

  He left with a better deal than the one in his head, blessing his business degree and the negotiating skills that had been hammered into him during his studies. Mr. Pasqualino was interested enough in a hipsterish bar slash restaurant that would bring in a younger generation than Starbucks and chain-restaurant Mexican food. It turned out he owned several of the old factories in the area. He wanted Riverside to become the newest, hippest area of the city.

  With the deal done on a gentleman’s handshake, Jackson called Miriam on his hands-free as he headed back to his mom’s house feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

  “Miriam Wynn.”

  “Miriam, it’s Jackson Lewis. If the condo’s still available, I’ll take it.”

  “Mr. Lewis. I’m so pleased you called. I take it things went well with Mr. Pasqualino?”

  “Very well, thanks. Can we get the wheels in motion for the purchase?”

  “I’ll start getting the paperwork together for you today.”

  “Thanks.”

  He rung off after confirming a few more details and wondered how soon he’d be able to show Leo around the new apartment.

  “YOU DID what?”

  “Valerie, lower your tone at the dinner table, please.”

  “Mom, Jackson bought a house and a business. In one day.”

  “Congratulations,” his mom said, smiling politely. “Where is it?”

  “Riverside.”

  “Ah.”

  Her smile dropped slightly.

  “There’s this guy,” Jackson said, digging into his mashed potatoes, “Pasqualino. Bought up a bunch of derelict factories in the area. The first two have already been converted into luxury condos. I bought the retail space on the first floor of the building with the condo.”

  “Cash?” his dad asked.

  “Not quite. Small mortgage on both. Nothing I’m worried about.”

  “You’ll be a lot closer to home, now.”

  Jackson nodded. “That’s the plan.”

  “Jackson,” Valerie said, still waving her fork at him. “You can’t just go out and buy a condo and a business in one day. That’s crazy.”

  “It wasn’t in one day,” Jackson said. He knew his sister well enough to be sure his calmness in the face of her outburst would only annoy her further. “I’ve been looking into it all week. And it’s not a new business. I’m just relocating the one I already have.”

  “But—”

  “Look.” He had no qualms interrupting her either. “The old brewery was fine for a startup business. It worked well for the time I had it, but it was in the middle of nowhere, and that meant my transportation costs were high. I don’t live in more than half of the house, which you’ve bitched about since I bought it—sorry, Mom—and having a smaller condo makes sense.”

  “What does this have to do with Leo?”

  “Nothing,” Jackson lied smoothly.

  “Is this going to hamper the insurance investigation?” his dad asked. “Surely buying another location so soon after the last one was destroyed looks suspicious.”

  “I already called to ask about that. Since I’m buying the new place out of my own savings, not any insurance payout, I’m fine.”

  BEFORE HE could make any progress on the new site, there were a few customers Jackson wanted to talk to in person about the future of Lone Wolf. A few people he sent generic emails; others deserved more than that. Those were mostly friends, people who had supported him right from the start. It wasn’t always easy; admitting that the business was essentially toast was hard to do. They deserved his honesty, though.

  Grant and Adam were at the top of the list.

  Jackson headed over to their bar on a Friday at lunchtime, before they would open up. He’d always liked the atmosphere they created in their place; it was different from what he wanted to do, but he still liked the vibe.

  He knocked on the window and waited for Grant to come let him in.

  “Hey,” Grant said, pulling Jackson into a back-slapping hug. “I heard what happened to your place. I’m sorry, man.”

  “Thanks.” Jackson followed him to the bar, where one of their usual bartenders was setting up for the evening rush.

  “Let me get you a drink. Do you want lunch? Adam’s out back making sandwiches.”

  “That sounds great.”

  They’d always done business like this, easy and casual, and it suited Jackson just fine. There were times that called for a suit and a briefcase. Grant and Adam weren’t those people.

  Jackson chatted easily to the barmaid until Adam came out with a few plates of sandwiches and chips. They took the food and beers over to a booth. Everything here looked different during the day—a little more ordi
nary when the dramatic lighting wasn’t in full effect.

  “Do you have any more info on what happened to the brewery?” Adam asked as they sat down to eat.

  “The fire investigation team is still working on it. They haven’t ruled out arson completely, though it looks far more likely to be an electrical fire at this point.” He sighed and winced as he thought it through. “You know how it goes. Big old wooden building. All it takes is a spark to raze the whole thing to the ground.”

  “Man, that sucks.”

  “Yeah. I mean, nearly all of the wiring in the building was put in when the place was renovated. I’ve contacted the building firm who did it all to check, because I’m pretty sure there wasn’t even electricity to the building before we started. It’s not their fault—everything was signed off by the buildings inspector—but….”

  “Shit. Do you know what happens next?” Grant asked.

  “I’m rebuilding,” Jackson told him. “That’s part of the reason why I’m here, actually.”

  Adam and Grant ate in silence, content to listen as Jackson talked them through his plans for Lone Wolf going forward. He’d been one of their main suppliers, so he’d already done the work to research other local breweries who might be able to step in and take his place.

  In the end, they were supportive of his ideas, even offering to go through his business plan and iron out any of the finer details since they’d been there themselves.

  “Anything that brings more business to the area is good for us too,” Adam said, pushing his plate away and reaching for his beer. “The main problem we have is that people who come out here don’t have anywhere to go if they want to move on, except a café or restaurant.”

  “Exactly.” Grant drained his own beer and leaned back in the booth. “Once you’re up and running we can work out some cross-promotions too, if you like.”

  “That’s amazing.” It was such a relief to have these guys on his side. Jackson felt the weight off his shoulders almost immediately. He rubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t believe how great you guys are.”