A Special Obsession

by A. M. Hargrove

  Jeb laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure you did or else you wouldn’t have done it.”

  “Jesus, I was supposed to meet the landlord.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he did a quick inspection of the place. Just give him a call. Hey, I think I’m getting out of here today.”

  “No way. You just had surgery.” That’s crazy.

  “Spesh, it’s not 1925. They don’t keep people in the hospital long these days. Usually this stuff is outpatient.”

  He’s right. Or he must be if that’s what they told him.

  “Tell me what time and I’ll come around to get you.”

  His gruff laugh hits my ear. “On that red scooter of yours? No damn way.”

  “I could get an Uber or something.”

  “Thanks, sugar, but Marvin is picking me up.”

  “Don’t call me sugar.”

  “Aw, come on. Give an old man a break.”

  “You’re not old. And I’ve gotta go. I’m a working girl, remember?” I tap the End button and the line goes dead.

  Damn, crawling out of bed sucks. Jeb was right. That extra sleep sure did feel great. After I shower and dress, it hits me that I promised to call Weston. It’s not something high on my list, because we really shouldn’t be seeing each other, but I need to make the call anyway. First I call the landlord and he confirms what Jeb said. They need to wait on the insurance adjuster before anything can be done. Next I call Weston.

  “Hello there,” he says, all chipper.

  “Same to you.”

  “How was your sleep?”

  “Good. Really good. I just got up a little bit ago.”

  “You needed it. I worried about you getting home safely last night.”

  “Well, I made it.”

  “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something. I get this feeling you don’t want to be around me because of … well, because my family has money or whatever. But I’m nothing like them so why can’t we be friends? I like hanging out and all.”

  Whoa. That came out of nowhere. Maybe it’s time for the truth. “So, yeah, I’ve been thinking about this. And honestly, maybe we should stop.”

  “Stop? Stop what?”

  “Seeing each other.”

  He clears his throat. “Special, there really isn’t an us. I mean, come on. You shot me. And we barely even kissed. As I said before, I view our relationship as one of friendship. So why can’t we be friends?”

  I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. It’s awkward discussing this because I feel like a reverse hypocrite, and I know he’s going to call me out for it. Taking a deep breath, I plunge right in. “We are from completely different worlds.”

  “And?”

  “It’s difficult seeing you with your … friends.”

  “I already explained that to you. She’s not my friend. And besides, what you’re saying is because we’re different, it doesn’t fit your mold. Is that right?”

  “Not exactly. I don’t fit into your mold, or world to be specific. To be honest, I feel inadequate around you and the world you came from.”

  I hear rustling like he’s moving the covers. “Special, I don’t have a world. I don’t fit into the world in which I was born. So you’re wrong. And don’t you think you’re being judgey?”

  “I only know that your family would never accept me as your friend.”

  A bitter laugh hits me. “My family doesn’t even accept me for who I am, so of course they’ll never accept anyone I’m friends with.”

  Ouch. That must sting like crazy. I’m glad Mimi isn’t like that. Or even Jeb. It reminds me of how Sasha’s parents were. Cold and heartless. No wonder she turned to drugs. Always trying to numb the hurt.

  “I’ll always be an outsider.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you don’t listen very well?”

  “No. Why?”

  He blows out a heavy sigh. “Because you’re ignoring everything I’m telling you. I am an outsider to my family, so what the hell difference does it make?”

  “You don’t seem to understand. You say you don’t care about your family, but you work with your father every day. How would that affect your relationship with him? Not only that, I’m an outsider in your world too, Weston, or whatever your name is.”

  “Okay, I’m trying to explain that I don’t give a shit about all that. You’re the first person I’ve actually enjoyed hanging out with in a long time. As for my father, nothing I do will ever please him, so what does it matter?”

  “It matters because it might make things worse for you.”

  “It can’t possibly get worse. And why did you say that about my name?”

  “Because that girl called you something else besides Weston.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, then chuckles. “She called me Quinn. It's a nickname. Weston is a family name so to avoid confusion my dad goes by Wes, my grandfather went by Clayton, and my great-grandfather went by Michael. I'm Quinn because I'm the fifth Weston. Weston Michael Clayton Wyndham the fifth. But when I went off to boarding school, I decided to drop Quinn and start using my given name. I prefer Weston. The only people who call me Quinn are family and friends of my parents.”

  Admittedly, I feel somewhat foolish. “Well, that’s quite an explanation. It’s a much more dignified name than Special.”

  “But Special is unique. In fact, I’d bet there are more Westons than there are Specials.”

  “Okay, you’ve got me on that one.” My mouth curves upward.

  “So, friends then?”

  “I guess.”

  “Hey, don’t sound so excited about it.”

  “It’s not that, it’s just I’m a little, well, nervous if you want the truth.”

  “Don’t be. Listen, since your place will be closed for a few days, I want to show you something this weekend. I’ll be working my ass off the rest of the week, but by Saturday I should be caught up.”

  “Is that wise? To work so hard right away?”

  “Wise doesn’t have anything to do with it. It’s my father. He’s on my ass.”

  “Wow. That’s a little … inconsiderate.”

  “Everything about him is inconsiderate. So, you up for it?”

  “Can I let you know? I’m not sure what’s going on with the building. We have to wait on the insurance adjusters. And I don’t know what the landlord will do.”

  “Hmm. You don’t own the building?”

  “No. I could never afford that. I just hope with all these repairs they don’t hike up my rent. I’m in lease negotiations right now.”

  “Why don’t you use your connections for the repairs?”

  “Connections?” What the hell is he talking about?

  “Yeah, like me. I’m an architectural engineer, or have you forgotten? I work for the largest architectural and construction firm in Atlanta. I could come and take a look at things, draw up some plans, and present them to the owner of the building. I can guarantee to come in below everyone else.”

  My butt drops back on the bed. I must admit he’s roused my curiosity. “Oh? How would you do that?”

  “For one, I would only charge the owner—or whoever would be footing the bill, what the insurance covers. That’s a fairly big savings. Two, my family has been in this business for three generations. That means we have the best contractors around and can guarantee the best price.”

  He makes a good point. There’s only one problem. “I don’t want to take advantage of our friendship.”

  “You wouldn’t be. I’m offering.”

  “Yes, but you might feel like you have to. You know, with this friendship thing.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  I think about how to word what I want to say so I don’t offend him. I’m silent for a moment. “It’s kind of like this, if you do this, I’ll feel obligated to spend more time with you.” Crap. That did not come out how I wanted it to.

  “Well, fuck me, Special. Do you think I’m trying to bribe you or something?”

>   Shit!

  “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Then explain it to me, please.”

  His tone borders on angry. I’ve never heard him sound like this before.

  “It’s like I already told you. You and I are different, Weston. You saw the house I grew up in. You saw the things I had. I'm not fancy. You had the best and finest things money could buy. To be honest, it makes me uncomfortable. We don’t mix. I belong in my world, and you belong in yours. I’m not trying to offend you. I’m only being honest.”

  “Well, I am insulted. Not only by your words, but by your actions. You’re holding my status in life against me. And that’s not fair at all. I can’t help who my parents are, the same way you can’t help who yours are. When you’ve let go of all this shit you’ve conjured up in your head, give me a call.”

  The line goes dead.

  As his words sink in, it registers how true they are. I am an asshole.

  18

  Weston

  The nurse comes in with my release papers, and after I sign them, I go straight home. Now here I sit, trying to figure out where I went wrong with Special. Only this time it isn’t what I did—it’s her. She’s hung up on my wealth, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It sucks too, because for the first time in ages, I found someone who I enjoy being with and isn’t full of shit. I take that back—she is full of shit. She can’t get over this your world and my world bullshit. She may have pushed me away, but I know damn well there’s a connection between us. I have too many issues of my own to try to solve this dilemma. It’s better to sever the ties and move on before anything else happens. Special’s the type I can imagine myself falling for. The last thing I need is getting in way over my head when those feelings aren’t returned, especially with all the crap my dad hands out to me on a daily basis.

  Exhaustion nails me, so I hit the bed and take a nap. My father will be on my ass if I don’t show up at work, but I can’t go in feeling like this. When I wake up later, it’s dark outside. Fuck me. I expected to sleep only an hour or so—not six! After a brief shower, I head to the office.

  When I step off the elevator, the place is dark, quiet, and empty. Being here after hours means I’ll get more work done without interruptions. When I flick on the lights, the sight of my desk makes me want to turn around and go home. Stacks of folders greet me. This will take a lot longer than I thought.

  Turning on my monitors, I open the first folder and hunt for the matching specs. One by one I begin the tedious process of approving each one after making the necessary corrections. When I finally check the clock, it’s close to midnight. If I had brought a change of clothes, I could’ve just spent the night here on the couch. Shutting everything down, I head home.

  Dawn comes way too soon for my taste. It seems I’ve hit the instant replay button on the DVR. Not long after I turn on the lights and sit down at my desk, Dad makes an appearance.

  “You were supposed to be here yesterday. Where were you?” Dad asks as he gives me a scorching glare.

  “I came in late last night.”

  “Oh.” He sounds disappointed I made it in. “Guess I missed you,” he says. He doesn’t bother to ask about my health.

  “You did,” I say and continue heading toward my office.

  “Well, get to it. You’re far behind,” he snaps.

  I don’t bother responding. There’s no reason to. Leslie, my admin, drops off a sandwich for lunch and keeps me supplied with coffee and water throughout the day. By six in the evening, my stack has finally diminished. My eyes are red and clouded with weariness. Thankfully it’s time to call it a day. As I’m walking to the elevator, Dad cuts me off.

  “Did you finish approving the files?”

  “Not all of them, but I’ve made a huge dent. I’m heading home to get some rest.”

  “Excuse me? We’re past major deadlines. Get back in there and finish your job.”

  “Sorry, Dad, I’m calling it a day.”

  “Quinn, did you hear what I said? We have critical deadlines.”

  “I heard you. But if I don’t get some rest, I’ll make critical errors, and how’s that going to effect construction? I’m not even supposed to be working. My doctor said to lay off for at least a week. But at your insistence, I’m here. I put in twelve hours today and five yesterday. This is all you’re going to get until tomorrow. Sorry, but I need sleep.” By now, an audience has gathered. Although at this point, I’m too fucking exhausted to give a damn. He reaches out to stop me, but I walk through the elevator doors, push the button, and watch his angry expression as the doors whoosh closed. I’m sure I’ll pay tomorrow, but I’ll deal with it then.

  When I get home, I don’t even bother to eat. I fall into bed and don’t wake up until morning. I realize I’ve overslept and laugh. My father will freak. But I’m in the I don’t give a shit mode. After showering, grabbing a quick bite and some coffee, I head to work. When I get there, everyone is busy working. Dad’s face registers displeasure when I enter. I wave, smile, and continue to my office. The sound of footsteps follows me.

  “You think you’re really something, don’t you?” he asks from the doorway.

  “Not at all.” I sit down, turn on my monitors, and pull up the files I need.

  “Oh, yes, you do, with that little display in the hall last night.” His mouth tightens into a stubborn line.

  “That was your doing, not mine.”

  “And what about your late arrival this morning? Are you going to blame that on me too?”

  “I … you know what? I am. I overslept because of the long hours you forced me to put in even after my doctor said I shouldn’t be working. So it is your fault I overslept. And I’m not sorry.” It shocks even me that those words came out of my mouth.

  His complexion nearly turns purple, and the vein on his temple bulges. Oh hell, that damn vein always freaks me out. If he’s going to have a stroke, I don’t want it to be on my account.

  “Impudence doesn’t suit you, Quinn.” His scorching glare should stop me from speaking, but it doesn’t.

  “Being an asshole doesn’t suit you, Father, although you seem to think it does. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He stands there for a moment, his chest pumping with each breath, then leaves. Christ. I can’t believe I said that. Maybe I need to stand up to him more often. It actually feels pretty fucking good.

  By lunch, I’m three-quarters of the way done. My hope is to finish everything today even if I stay here until midnight. But around five, my cell rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize.

  “Weston Wyndham.”

  “Yeah, this is Jeb, Special’s friend.”

  “Jeb, how are you? I heard about the accident. I’m sorry, man. Special said you had surgery on your arm.”

  “The arm’s gonna be fine, but thanks for asking. Hope you’re doing better too.”

  “All’s good here. Just glad to be out of the hospital.”

  “Same here. Can’t get any sleep in those places. But I’m actually calling for another reason.”

  “Oh? What can I help you with?”

  “It’s A Special Place.”

  “What about it?”

  “So you know about the wreck. Well, Special’s lease was about to expire and she’s been negotiating her renewal. But after the incident the owner thinks the building is a danger. They want to sell—get out entirely. Worried about a lawsuit and all that jazz.”

  “Are you telling me she’ll be forced to close?”

  “Possibly, unless we can find a buyer fast. Which is why I’m calling you. You’re the only one I know that carries enough capital to buy the building.”

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to buy the bar?”

  “No. I want you to buy the building. Then you can renew her lease but stay out of her business as far as the bar goes.”

  Real estate in Virginia Highlands is a good investment. I never paid much attention to Special’s building because owning it
never crossed my mind. I haven’t spoken a word while I’ve been thinking and Jeb takes my silence as something negative.

  “Look, I know this might sound like a terrible idea to you, but this is Special’s livelihood. It’s everything to her, and she’s great at what she does. If the bar closes and she’s forced to seek out another space to rent, well, that could put her under. But you could save it. You would be her savior, not to mention everyone who works for her.”

  “We pretty much parted ways.”

  “She told me and I called her a fool. She’s pretty touchy about some things. Don’t ask me why, but she is. But that’s a separate issue from this real estate venture. In reality, owning that building is a good buy.” He gives me the figures and what Special pays in rent. Apparently, there is also apartment space above the bar that wasn’t affected by the crash and more retail space next door. “I’m not sure what the shop next door pays, but it’s a specialty wine and cheese store, and they seem to have a great business.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I can supply you with all the information you need and even get you in touch with the owner if you want. The landlord did say the driver’s insurance company was going to cover the cost of repairs to the building.”

  “Jeb, you work fast.”

  “Listen, I’ll even be your property manager if you’d like.”

  “You also drive a hard bargain, but damn, I have enough on my plate.”

  “I understand. If you change your mind, give me a call, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  Pushing everything he said to the back of my mind, I give my full attention to the stack of files in front of me. When I finally reach the bottom, I stand and stretch. It’s only nine thirty. I’m surprised at how early I’ve finished up. Time to head home for some relaxation.

  On the way, I chew on Jeb’s proposal. It is a good idea. And if I ever do part ways with my dad, at least I would have this paid for and a source of income. Perhaps I should snatch up a few income-producing properties and start bringing in some capital. Doing it now while I have access to the funds in my trust is a good idea. This way Dad would only think I’m investing my money wisely. The more I crunch the numbers in my head, the better it sounds.