Just my luck. As I get out and slam the door behind me, I see a car’s headlights sweeping across the ground as it slowly drives past me.
It’s a black town car, sleek and simple. It’s not ostentatious, but it is classy. Sometimes we have limos come through here when teen girls have their Sweet 16s and want something a little fancy, but that’s not this. The car inches toward the front entrance of the alley and I see Mark and Elliot come out of the building, realizing this must be their car.
I should have guessed they’d have a driver. The only other car in the parking lot right now is Carlo’s, and I shouldn’t have counted on a duo of sexy finance hotshots calling up a cab company or ordering an Uber like one of us plebs.
The pair get into the back of the car, and they look so excited and happy to be here. I wish some of their enthusiasm would rub off on me right now.
Instead of sharing in their excitement, I shove my hands into my pockets and start out of the parking lot, over a small strip of grass next to it, and start walking.
We might not be the big City, but we are the country by name only. We still have sidewalks, and street lamps, and all that good stuff, and the road is a wide, four-lane street that funnels into a small strip of shops and boutiques after about a quarter mile or so. I live just beyond that little commercial strip, so I start my walk.
I could wait for Carlo to finish up and grab a ride from him, but that would defeat the purpose of the nice gift he gave me by telling me to leave early.
And anyway, it’s a good opportunity to clear my mind.
I start my walk, wondering what my parents would think of how I’ve maintained their legacy. They purchased the bowling alley in the seventies. My mom was an absolute bowling enthusiast, ranked state- and nation-wide on her high school team, and my dad always wanted to be a business owner. When the opportunity presented itself, then, they jumped at the chance to purchase the property. The old owner had decided to sell and retire to Florida, and back then running and maintaining a small business was much less expensive than it is now.
I’m not able to get very far before I see Mark and Elliot’s car pull up beside me.
“Scarlett, get in the car,” Mark says, sticking his elbow out the window.
“Oh,” I say, waving them on, “it’s okay. I’m not far. I don’t want to make you go out of your way.”
“Don’t be silly,” he says, “I insist.”
Well, if he insists.
The door opens as the window rolls up and I walk over, getting into the car as Mark scoots over to sit in the middle.
“How long have you guys had a driver?” I ask as I settle into the warm, cozy backseat. “Hello,” I say to the driver.
He nods at me in the rearview mirror and I smile at him.
“That’s Simmons. We don’t really utilize him that often,” Elliot says, “when we go to the West Coast we just drive ourselves around. If we’re in DC or Philly, we’ll take him with us. But he’s probably been with us for about three years.”
“When you’re able to get places quickly and efficiently, it really frees you up to be able to focus on what you’re gonna do when you get there,” Mark adds. “What about you? Do you always walk to and from work?”
“Oh, no,” I say, “I just had some car trouble. Happen to see that rusted out jalopy back there? That’s mine.”
“We will pick you up tomorrow for the meeting,” Elliot says as Simmons nods.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I say, “I can just walk. I like walking. My dad used to tell me walking is like putting money in the bank.”
“Putting money in the bank is like putting money in the bank,” Mark says, flashing me his oh-so-sexy smile and knocking the back of his hand against my knee.
I don’t know if he did it on purpose, but I swallow hard and look out the window, because that little touch made me feel butterflies in my belly.
Still, I can’t help a little smile pulling across my lips.
But of course I don’t want him to see.
“Where are we taking you?” Mark says.
“I live just past the main drag up here,” I say, tipping my chin forward and looking out the front window. “I live upstairs from a bakery, actually, in a studio apartment.”
“So it’s just you by yourself there?” Mark asks inquisitively.
“That’s right,” I reply. “Just me and the aroma of freshly baking bread.”
“Scarlett, I was meaning to ask you something,” Elliot says, moving in his seat to look at me, “what do you think about how this area has changed? I don’t think I mentioned it on the phone the other day, but I’m actually from here too.”
“Oh wow,” I say, “I didn’t realize that. I don’t have to tell you it’s changed a lot. But I think it’s good and bad, like anything. It’s good that there are more jobs here and there are industries there weren’t before, but then at the same time some of the old mom and pop places have been forced out. It’s a trade-off.”
“I know what you mean,” Elliot says thoughtfully. “My parents owned a diner here and they had to eventually retire early because they didn’t own the land the diner was on and the owner could get more renting it out to a big chain restaurant. We didn’t blame him or anything. I mean, I honestly would have done the same thing.”
“I think I know what diner you’re talking about,” I say, leaning forward, “are you talking about Pop? I remember when that place closed down and everyone was so sad.”
“That’s the one,” he says.
I smile, but part of me feels disappointed. It’s nice to reminisce with someone about the good old days, but Elliot said he would have done the same thing his parents’ landlord did when they were forced to shut down the diner.
I hope this isn’t a harbinger of things to come. If it is, I don’t know how I’ll be able to enter a deal with him and Mark with a good conscience. I’ve had the opportunity to sell to big developers, and I’ve demurred every time. The only reason I’m meeting with Mark and Elliot is because I thought they’d be different, because Elliot assured me he was interested in keeping the property for its original use - a place where people can come and just have fun. We don’t need another corporate, faceless chain restaurant. Trust me, I love those chain restaurants, but don’t we want something classic too?
Maybe that’s part of why I’ve been so hesitant to face the facts about the alley.
“I loved that diner,” I say, smiling at Elliot. “You guys had the best nacho fries.”
“Nacho fries?” Mark asks, smirking.
“Yeah,” I say, “it’s like when you have nachos, but it’s fries instead of chips.”
“Maybe I can whip you up a batch of the secret family recipe nacho fries some time,” Elliot says, glancing over at me with a smile.
“Let me guess,” Mark says, “fries, cheese, sour cream, diced tomatoes?”
“And ranch dressing,” I say, “that’s the secret ingredient. Gives them a little bit of zing.”
“You figured it out,” Elliot says with a chuckle, “that’s indeed the secret ingredient.”
The car hums along the road as we pass through the main strip.
“We have our temporary offices here,” Mark says, pointing out the window at an old storefront. “We have a few other investment opportunities out here in addition to yours, and we thought it would be good to have the space out here to work from.”
“Oh!” I say, peering out the window past the guys, “that’s where my favorite thrift shop in high school was. God, I loved that place. I got my Betsey Johnson prom dress there for like twenty bucks.”
“Would you like to see the space?” Mark asks.
“Um, yes I would!” I say, smiling brightly.
The driver pulls over to the side of the road, and the three of us get out of the car quietly.
“I remember this place so well,” I say wistfully, “my mom used to bring me here for new clothes at the end of every summer. I mean, they weren’t new exact
ly, they were second-hand.”
I suddenly feel very aware of the fact that the men in front of me are wearing suits that cost more than all the clothing in my closet combined.
“It’s not like we were poor or anything,” I continue. “But like I said, Betsey Johnson for twenty bucks. I mean, how can you say no to that?”
“They may not have been new per se, but they were new to you,” Elliot says, unlocking the door.
We step into the space, and I marvel at how it’s changed. It’s utterly unrecognizable. Gone are the rows of gently-worn dresses organized by color hanging on simple racks on the left. There’s no more tables with stacks of graphic t’s and old band shirts.
Instead, the place has been stripped down and emptied.
“Looks a little different, huh?” Mark says, stepping into the middle of the room.
I have to say he looks good here. The crisp lines of his sharp suit and his broad chest, complimented perfectly by his sexy smile and jaw that could cut glass are all that I can focus on in the big, empty room.
“Yeah, definitely,” I say, walking past him to the back wall. As I brush past him, I feel a tingle up my spine and breathe him in. “There used to be a whole display of old cowboy boots back here!”
The men come up on either side of me as I allow my hand to reach out and touch the red brick wall.
“Ugh, can’t wait to get that covered up,” Mark says.
I feel myself frown as I turn around to face them.
“Cover it up?” I ask. “Why would you do that? You don’t think it looks cool?”
“Mark’s style is a little bit more clean and precise than this. You might even call it clinical. But I’ll try to talk some sense into him,” Elliot says with a smile.
“It’s not my office,” I say, crossing my arms, “so I don’t get a vote. But if I did get a vote, I’d say you should leave the exposed brick. I think it’s nice. I think it adds character.”
I put my hand on the wall again and think about all the memories I have of this place, back when it was the thrift shop. I was able to find a classic Missoni dress here, and the legendary purple and black Betsey Johnson, and when my high school had their annual cowboys and spurs dance, I picked up a pair of genuine leather cowboy boots here that I paired with a red bandana around my neck.
I still have those things, of course, buried deep in the back of my closet. It just makes me sad that no one else will be able to come here again and shop for things that already have history.
I feel Mark and Elliot behind me as I’m pulled out of my silly reverie. I can sense them coming a bit closer to me, and they fill up the space behind me, sucking the air out of the big room.
And then Mark’s hand covers mine on the wall, and he slips his fingers through mine.
I close my eyes and feel my stomach erupt in a flurry of butterflies.
Mark
I walk up behind Scarlett, and I can tell she is deep in thought.
“Maybe I can be convinced to leave it the way it is,” I say, touching her soft hand.
Her fingers, delicate, freeze up and then relax into mine. She turns her head softly to look up at me, and her beauty is absolutely perfect.
Elliot throws me a look of caution, and Scarlett pulls her hand away from me quickly, as though she has touched a hot stove.
“Should we have a drink?” Elliot asks, walking over to the elevator. “There is a small kitchen upstairs in the back where I think there used to be an apartment.”
“That’s right,” Scarlett says, walking over to him. She throws a look over her shoulder and catches my eye. I am practically drooling over her, the small touch between us and the car ride over here swelling up inside me, though in the interest of decorum I only allow myself to imagine her body thrown over my desk and me running my hands over her delectable curves.
We ride up in the elevator in silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s comfortable, even after what just happened back there.
“I remember the owner used to live here,” Scarlett says, walking over to a small area in the back of the wide open space. “The smell of perogis and fried onions always wafted down to the store.”
“And you kept coming back anyway?” I ask.
“Of course I did,” she says, walking around the space in a big circle. “It was lovely. It was familiar.”
“Let me get us that drink,” Elliot says, clapping his hands together silently. “I have a bottle of sparkling white chilling in the fridge. I was going to save it for when we close the deal, but I say we have something worth celebrating now.”
He disappears down a small hallway and I hear the refrigerator open, along with a cabinet, where I know he’s stocked a few pantry staples and plastic cups for the crew that is about to begin their work on building this place out.
“So you said it was just you by yourself,” I say, joining Scarlett by the big window. She’s taking in the view thoughtfully, the slowly swaying trees across the river matching the slow rolling of its waves.
“That’s right,” she says, looking out the window. “Just me.”
“So your boyfriend doesn’t live with you yet? What’s stopping him from proposing?”
She turns to me and smirks, raising an eyebrow.
“I know you’re kidding,” she says as Elliot comes over balancing three cups of the sparkling white wine. “That’s just a very not-so-subtle way of getting me to tell you that there’s no guy in the picture.”
“That’s not true at all,” I say to her, smiling, “I assumed that you had a boyfriend, and that there must be something really wrong with him to have not proposed yet. At the very least he should be living with you.”
“Okay, well you got me then,” she says, taking a plastic cup from Elliot. “No boyfriend. No husband. No nothing.”
“Well I can promise you this,” Elliot says, raising his cup in the air, “you now have two guys who want to do right by you. We want everyone to come out of this with happiness and prosperity. I want everyone to be satisfied with the outcome.”
“Here, here,” I say, raising my glass in the air.
“So we are drinking to the future, then?” Scarlett asks, smiling. “We haven’t even discussed anything yet.”
“That’s right,” I say, “we are drinking to the future. To what might be. Because that’s the most exciting part.”
The three of us put our cups in the air and knock them together gently, and when Scarlett takes a sip of her wine, her eyes flash between both of us as she smiles.
And if there wasn’t another man in the room, it would be the perfect moment to sweep her up in my arms and cover her lips with the kiss I’ve wanted to give her since the second I walked into her bowling alley.
“This is delicious,” she says, licking her pretty lips. “Where did you get this?”
“I have a wine guy in California that I use when I want something special. And this, my friends, is special,” Elliot says.
“Oh, a wine guy,” Scarlett says cutely and a little sarcastically. “I have a wine guy too. His name’s Larry and he’s the guy on aisle three at TJ’s.”
God, this girl is so cute.
There’s nowhere to sit up here, and we should have thought about that before inviting her up. We don’t look like good hosts at all.
“I’m sorry the place isn’t more comfortable,” I say, “we just landed in town today. We have nothing set up yet.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m perfectly comfortable,” Scarlett says, walking over to the window. She bites the edge of her cup and keeps it hanging there as she carefully pulls the big, heavy window open and leans down with her elbows on the window sill.
Elliot and I join her at the window, and all I want is to get to the part where she’s in my arms.
“This really is a great space,” she sighs, “and I’m really glad you’re here.”
“We are too, Scarlett,” Elliot says, smiling down at her and then looking over to me.
“I should probably
go,” she says, taking her last sip of wine. “I have a big meeting tomorrow with two very impressive people.”
“We’ll ride with you the rest of the way to your place,” I say, taking her cup, “and we’ll make sure you get home okay before we go to our hotel.”
“I’d like that,” she says, with the prettiest, most real smile I’ve ever seen.
Elliot
I had no idea she would be so incredible.
When I spoke to her on the phone, I knew she was smart. I knew she was capable. I knew she was hard-working, determined and driven.
I didn’t know she was gorgeous. And funny. And so principled.
I could have guessed the part about her being principled, though. It’s not a secret that the suburbs outside of the big city centers in the Northeast are becoming more and more commercial, with big opportunities for people who have had and held onto their land to sell and make bank with what they’re offered.
So when I had one of my guys reach out to Scarlett to inquire about setting up a meeting, I jumped at the chance when I found out she was available and open to listening to us. It was perfect because we are already developing a few other sites out here, and we already had the new office space planned. Being able to meet with her would just be another opportunity, and getting her to sell would just be another feather in my cap.
Scarlett told me on the phone that the business has been in her family for years, and I guess I didn’t look through to the deeper meaning until today. She’s been holding on for sentimental reasons, for philosophical reasons. The discussion with her about the old thrift store made it crystal clear for me.
She’d mentioned in our initial call that she was interested in selling to someone if and only if they intended to use the land for its original purpose, and I assured her it would certainly be something that we would see to.
Because the truth is that I see the place as a hidden gem, and it’s how I’ve thought of it for years, even before Mark and I began targeting recreational and indoor sports venues.
Double Wood_An MFM Billionaire Romance Page 4
