by R. R. Banks
I shrug. “My favorite writer,” I say. “For some reason, it seems to kind of fit his personality.”
“So, you're a reader,” she says, still lavishing affection on my dog.
“As much as I can be.”
“I'm Paige Samuels,” she says. “I own Bookworms – the bookstore down on Sapphire Avenue. If you ever find yourself in need of reading material, you know where to find me.”
I nod. “Thank you,” I say. “I'll remember that.”
The woman straightens up and looks at me for the first time. And as she does, I see a shift in her face – in her eyes, really. Any trace of warmth or friendliness evaporates like a puff of smoke on the wind and in its place, is an expression colder than an Arctic front.
The sudden turn takes me back a bit, to be honest. And although I don't understand why I'm suddenly getting the frosty treatment, I do my best to mitigate it by giving her a smile.
“Hi, I'm –”
“I know who you are,” Paige says. “You're Liam Anderson, real estate developer. President of the Western Division of Anderson Development Enterprises. Yeah, I know who you are. You're just like the rest of the parade of assholes who've come through town. Just another predatory vulture intent on raping Port Safira.”
“Wow,” I say. “Well, that escalated quickly.”
“Let's just say I'm not a fan of you and your kind.”
A rueful chuckle touches my lips. “My kind, huh?”
“Yeah, your kind.”
“And what kind would that be?”
“The kind that preys on people,” she spits. “The kind that forces people who've been in their homes for decades, out. The kind that destroys local, homegrown businesses in favor of high-end stores. You're the kind that sucks all the life out of a town and ruins all of the things that made it special, and call it progress.”
The heat in the woman's voice, along with the fire I see in her eyes, is intense. I can tell that she's incredibly passionate about her hometown and obviously, doesn't like seeing the changes that are occurring. And I can't say that I entirely blame her for that.
What she doesn't know though, is that we're actually on the same side when it comes to this. No, I don't have the history in this town like she does, but I can feel the charm about it. Can see what makes it special. And I don't like seeing that destroyed any more than she does.
“I think you have me all wrong, Ms. Samuels,” I say. “I'm not –”
“For the last few months now,” she cuts me off. “I've had to fend off dozens of you vultures who think you can just come into my shop, wave some money around, and expect me to fall to my knees, thankful that somebody will take it off my hands.”
“But, that's not –”
“You people never take no for an answer,” she continues railing. “You're pushy. Arrogant. You think you can back me into a corner and expect me to just roll over and die. You people are nothing but bullies. Scumbags in nice suits.”
“Are you finished?”
Her cheeks are flushed, her jaw is clenched, and her eyes are still narrowed as she stares daggers at me, but remains silent – which I take to mean she's finished. Her words struck a nerve with me and I'm feeling pretty angry after her tirade. For her to pop off to me like that – for no reason at all – yeah, it pisses me off. She doesn't know the first thing about me.
“Good,” I reply, my voice cold with anger. “Like I was saying, I think you have this all wrong. I think you have me all wrong, Ms. Samuels. You're making a lot of assumptions here that have no basis in fact or reality.”
“Oh, no?” she says.
“No,” I snap back. “You don't know me and although you think you know my type, as you call it, I can tell that you're absolutely ignorant about what I do for a living. Just because you can Google my name and my company doesn't mean you know the first thing about either.”
“And I suppose you being here, being who you are,” she says, “while real estate developers are crawling out of the woodwork to snatch up land and drive people out, is what – a coincidence?”
I shrug. “Obviously so,” I say. “I'm not here to acquire land or build anything.”
“Then why are you here?”
I open my mouth to speak and then closed it again. She doesn't need to know why I'm living in Port Safira. It's not her business. I don't owe her an explanation. I don't need to justify myself to her. I don't owe her a damn thing.
“Why I'm here is not your concern.”
“That's what I thought.”
“Obviously, your logic and your thought process have some flaws,” I say. “Some very deep flaws.”
“You know what? Screw you,” she snaps.
Without another word, she turns and takes off down the path, continuing her jog. Hemingway watches her go, a look of disappointment on his face that he didn't get more attention from her. I reach down and idly stroke the soft fur on his head as I watch Miss Paige Samuels run down the path, clearly eager to put as much distance between us as humanly possible.
“Yeah, nice to meet you too,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks for being so neighborly.”
Hemingway looks up at me and whines under his breath. I feed him another treat and ruffle his fur.
“That's okay, buddy,” I say. “We don't need her. We don't need that mean old lady.”
I take his leash in my hand and lead him down the path that will take us home. The conversation with Paige still ringing in my ears and fueling the angry heat that's burning inside of me.
Chapter Eight
Paige
“I mean, who in the hell does he think he is to talk to me like that?” I fume. “To tell me my thought process is a problem – I mean, he implied that I'm stupid. What an asshole, right?”
Skyler is sitting on the stool behind the front counter, having stopped by to bring me some lunch. I'm pacing in front of the counter, still pissed off about my encounter with Mr. Liam Anderson – even hours after the fact. Poor Skyler has had to listen to me rail on about him for the last twenty minutes.
“I mean, right?” I say and look at Skyler, who's been strangely silent to this point in my diatribe.
“Well, yeah,” she replies. “I mean, if you're looking for blind support and a show of solidarity, hell yeah. Girl power, baby. Down with the oppressive, condescending, prick of a man. Solidarity, sister!”
I stop mid-pace and look at Skyler, arching an eyebrow at her. She's never been one to hold back or be afraid to tell me the truth of things. Even if that truth is something I may not want to hear. I know I can always count on her for her blunt honesty and sharp opinions. If I'm being unreasonable, I expect her to tell me. And she does. Oh, does she.
But, this is different. I can't explain it – it just is. It somehow feels more personal to me.
“What?” I ask.
“What?” she replies, a saccharine-sweet smile on her face.
“I get the feeling that this is one of those times you're going to say something I'm not going to like.”
She shrugs. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she says. “I'm standing in solidarity with you.”
“Smartass,” I say. “I know you have something to say, so out with it.”
“Well, if you insist,” she says.
“I don't really,” I reply. “But, I know that at some point, you're going to say it anyway. Might as well be now.”
“Well, just imagine this guy's surprise,” she says. “He's just out walking his dog –”
“I doubt it,” I reply. “He was sitting on a log up by Rodham's Field. You know that place that overlooks the whole town?”
“Yeah, I'm very familiar with Rodham's Field,” she says and giggles. “I've spent plenty of hot nights under the stars there.”
“Of course, you have,” I say.
As she sits there preening, I can't stop the grin that crosses my face. Skyler is a woman who enjoys her conquests but enjoys bragging about them too. She might enjo
y bragging about them even more than the actual conquests themselves.
“Anyway,” I continue, “the way he was sitting there looking at the town – I could imagine how he was carving it up in his head. Putting together a list of locations to buy so he could demolish them and put up another damn Starbucks or something.”
“I hate to say it, but I think you're making a lot of assumptions, hon,” she says. “You came at him pretty strong and maybe, given that you don't actually know his intentions, you read him the riot act for no reason.”
“Yeah, that's exactly what he said,” I reply. “But, what else was he going to say when I caught him in the act?”
“The act of what exactly?” Skyler asks. “Sitting up at Rodham's Field, enjoying the fresh air and the view?”
“I doubt that's what he was doing,” I say. “Those damn vultures don't enjoy views. They figure out the best way to put up big, tall buildings that will obstruct the view.”
Skyler is looking at me, a small, sly grin forming at the corners of her mouth. “This man has really gotten under your skin.”
“Hardly,” I say. “And not in the way you're meaning.”
“No?”
“No,” I say. “I just don't like his kind.”
“And what kind is that, Paige?”
“Opportunistic profiteers,” I say.
She shrugs. “Sadly, that's business,” she says. “All businesses. Everybody's doing what they do to make money. Otherwise, why do it to begin with? Am I a horrible person for wanting to make money down at the Grill?”
“That's different,” I say. “You're not forcing people out of their homes and businesses.”
“To be perfectly fair, and to play Devil's Advocate, of course,” she says, “from what I understand, nobody is being forced to do anything. The developers are coming in and are making more than fair offers for people's houses and businesses. Everyone is choosing to take the money and run.”
I stare at her, my eyes wide and my jaw agape for a long moment, not believing what I'm hearing.
“I can't believe you're taking his side in this,” I say.
“Honey, I'm not taking anybody's side,” I say. “I'm just explaining how the business works.”
“Were you made an offer for the Grill?”
“You bet your sweet ass I got an offer,” she said. “A really fat one too.”
“So, why didn't you take it?”
She shrugs. “Because I'm betting on myself,” she says. “Port Safira is changing, hon, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. They're bound and determined to turn it from a blue-collar town to a more affluent place. And I believe they're going to get there. We're already seeing it.”
“I know,” I say and let out a long breath.
“By turning down their offer,” she says. “I'm gambling that I'm going to make more money from the hipsters and the yuppies moving here than I would have gotten from the developers buying my place out. I'm betting on me because I think my place will make a lot of cash and let me retire early – while I'm still young enough to get my tight ass down to the Caribbean and find myself some hot island man to enjoy.”
I laugh and shake my head. That's my Skyler, always thinking with her lady bits. I understand what she's saying, and I know it makes sense. I know we can't stop the wheels of “progress” now that they have started turning. And on some level, I know I'm probably too attached to a town that just a few short years ago, I wasn't sure I even wanted to live in.
But, Port Safira is my home. It always will be. To see everything that I love about the place being ground under the wheels of “progress” just feels like a kick in the gut. It hits me really hard in ways I can't even begin to understand. Seeing my hometown changing so radically, becoming something I don't recognize, is affecting me on a deep level. And, to be honest – I'm not entirely sure why.
“You know you're the first person to actually ever see Gatsby, right?” Skyler asks.
I laugh softly. “His name is Liam Anderson.”
“Details, details. Gatsby is a little flashier,” she says. “Adds an air of mystery about the guy.”
“If you say so.”
“I do,” she says. “So, what's he like?”
I arch my eyebrow at her. “You really want me to go into that whole diatribe again?”
She chuckles. “Not really,” she says. “But that’s also not what I meant. What does he look like?”
“Google his name.”
“Just tell me.”
I let out a long breath. “I don't know, he's a little over six feet tall,” I say. “Dirty blond hair, really light blue eyes. He's big. Fit. Looks like he played football or something. He's got dimples when he smiles and has that stylish scruff on his chin –”
Skyler is smiling wide and I don't know why, but I stop talking because I get the feeling that I just walked into some sort of a trap. A moment of awkward silence hangs between us while Skyler looks like she’s trying to hold in a laugh so badly she’s about to burst.
“What?” I finally ask.
“And you say Gatsby didn't get under your skin,” she giggles. “Sounds to me like you've got a bit of a crush.”
“Oh, shut it,” I say. “I do not. You're off your rocker.”
She shrugs. “Normally, in my own experience, if somebody just pisses you off, if their very presence and existence bothers you, a person doesn’t notice details like cute dimples or stylish scruff.”
She's laughing, and I feel the heat flooding into my cheeks. I can't deny that Liam Anderson is a handsome man. He's ruggedly good looking. I wouldn't say otherwise. But, that's hardly the point. It's what he stands for and what he does that bothers me. It bothers me down to my very core.
“You're really reaching, Sky.”
Her grin only widens. “Am I?”
“Yes, you are,” I say. “Like, a lot.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Fine,” she says, still grinning. “No need to be so defensive and worked up about it.”
“I am not –”
I close my mouth and look at her, trying to stifle the laughter that's begging to burst out of me. The last thing I want to do is encourage her. A moment goes by though, and I can't contain it any longer. The laughter erupts from my throat and all I can do is roll with it. Well, that, and give her the finger, which I do.
“Fine,” I say when my fit of laughter finally subsides. “He's a good-looking man. Happy?”
“Not nearly as happy as I'll be when you bed him.”
“Skyler!” I gasp. “That's so not happening.”
She shrugs again. “Okay,” she says. “But, maybe if he's as good looking as you say he is, I'll give him a go myself.”
“You do that,” I say. “Have at him. He's all yours.”
“I just might.”
“I think you should.”
Skyler laughs and jumps off the stool. “I have to get back to the Grill,” she says. “I'll leave you to your daydreams about Mr. Gatsby. And just so you know, if your little fantasies get to be too much, call Marcia. She can hook you up with some amazing vibrators.”
“Get out,” I say, through another burst of laughter. “Go back to work and get out of my shop.”
She heads for the door, blowing a kiss over her shoulder to me. “Love you, girl.”
“Love you too,” I call back. “Thank you for lunch.”
“Anytime, hon.”
The bell over the door tinkles and like that, she's gone. I watch her head up the street toward her restaurant, her long, lustrous hair swaying as she walks. As I stand at the front windows, I feel my eyes moving of their own accord. Knowing where they're headed, I try to stop them, but can't quite seem to make it happen.
My gaze settles on Sapphire Hill in the distance and the house that sits upon it. Liam Anderson, or Mr. Gatsby, is in that house. I think back to my exchange with him. Maybe Sky is right, and I came at him too strong. Maybe, I read the situation
all wrong. Maybe, he was just a convenient target for me to unleash all my bottled-up frustration and anger on.
All of that is possible, of course. I'm a big enough person to know that I make mistakes. He hasn't come around to the store, trying to get me to sell to him. And I guess, if I'm being completely honest with myself, the fact that Mayor Goodrich hasn't brought him around to try and strong-arm me into selling should tell me that I might be wrong about the situation.
Maybe, it's like I said to Skyler before – he's just a guy that wants some privacy and quiet.
I sigh and tug on the ends of my dark hair. The more I think about it, the more I start to think that I was in the wrong up on that trail. That I shouldn't have jumped to the conclusions I did without knowing his story. Not that I'm all that interested in hearing his story. But, still. He probably didn't deserve the tirade I unleashed on him.
I guess I'm going to have to suck it up and apologize.
Chapter Nine
Liam
“That's fine,” I say. “Just have the contracts emailed over to me. I'll look them over and if it all looks good, I'll sign off and send them back.”
I'm sitting in front of the computer in my office, skyping with Ted Arnold, one of my project managers. We just acquired a large strip center in downtown Seattle and are in the planning stages of building a larger mixed-use structure with a row of shops on the bottom and high-end lofts above. It's a project that I feel pretty strongly about, and think will go over big.
“You know, this would all go a lot quicker and smoother if you were here in the office to look everything over,” Ted says.
I shrug. “I'm pretty sure the time it takes to shoot an email over to me isn't overly burdensome, Ted,” I say. “Last I checked, email moves pretty fast. Christ, it's not like I'm asking you to send it on the back of a mule.”
“I just don't understand what's going on with you lately. I don't get why you're working from home now rather than coming into the office,” he says and laughs. “I guess you prefer lounging around all day in your pajamas sipping cocktails? Finally given into that fat-cat, CEO lifestyle, have you?”
