‘Is that what he said?’ My fingers rake the top of my head and snag on a tangle.
‘He also mentioned you were utterly bladdered, lost him, and when he found you, you’d already called someone for a ride. I think you may have scared him a bit too, Libbs. He mentioned something about horrid accidents and missing body parts? You OK?’
I laugh, remembering. ‘I’m fine. Jasper came and got me.’ I shake my head, then regret the movement. ‘I’m a bit hung over.’ I sit up and take a full breath. ‘Yeah, I need to get home.’
‘What do you mean, get home? Where are you?’
I bite my lip and look to the ceiling, wishing I’d kept my big flap shut.
‘You’re at Jasper’s, aren’t you?’ Her voice jumps three octaves to rattle my oversensitive brain. ‘Oh my God, that’s great! That’s the most incredible—’
‘Can I call you later?’ I rub at my temples and cringe. ‘Yeah, I’m not feeling well.’ I wait till she says OK, then disconnect. Clicking over to last night’s exchange with Jasper makes me smile. To say I text-bombed him is an understatement. And there are four missed messages: two from Dora and one from Finn. Wait, that’s three. Wake up, girl. I select Finn’s and read.
We need to talk tomorrow. It’s about the store. Can you come my way around noon?
I knew he’d figure something out. I type ‘YES’ in shouty caps, then add I’ll meet him at ’wichcraft, a tasty grab-and-go cafe near his firm’s building. Wait, tomorrow is today, and he sent that last night. I retype another message to say ‘Make that one’, and hit send.
Setting my empty cup in the dishwasher, I wander around Jasper’s being a nosy hen. I can’t help it. I’m dumbfounded. I’m not sure what I expected – maybe a dingy hole with framed Nineties grunge posters, a hodge-podge of furniture and really, a bit messy.
Definitely not this.
For one, the apartment is spacious, which isn’t the norm in New York City. And for another, it’s quite stylish, which isn’t the norm for Jas. How can he afford this place on what I pay him? The main sitting room is urban and cool in blacks and greys. The oversized sectional with perfectly placed scatter cushions sits atop a white fluffy rug. The back wall has built-in shelves and everything’s organized and neat.
Neat.
Jasper’s not neat. He’s dishevelled with his flyaway hair, arm tats and questionable T-shirts. How’d I peg him so wrong? My stomach drops. Maybe Dr P.’s right. I don’t really ask or allow myself to get to know anyone.
Stepping closer, I eye the books and black and white photographs set with purpose on display: Jasper with some friends at a concert, another surfing, and the last photo is maybe his family. I squint and regard it closer. It’s him with, I assume, his brother, and a woman who might be their mom. She’s pretty, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a tiny frame. Returning it, I sit down to process. I really don’t know him outside of Pretty in Pink.
What do I know about him? He’s from LA, moved to the Big Apple on impulse and considers himself a forever bachelor. Oh, and he can play guitar and has a decent singing voice. I’ve heard him belt it out more than once at the store.
But what was so bothersome in LA that he had to escape? Does his family still live there? I don’t think I’ve ever asked. Maybe I should. Or maybe I should keep my mouth shut. Apparently I’ve already said quite enough.
He heard me say something about Ollie.
CHAPTER 15
‘Burning Down the House’
Talking Heads, 1983
Adding fuel to the fire
After I manage to get home and grab a shower, I dial Dr P. to cancel tomorrow’s session, only to remember that he was expecting me in later today. Just as I’m about to hang up he answers.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, it’s Libby. I was calling about rescheduling tomorrow, but—’
‘You promised you’d be here today, as well as tomorrow and Friday, and I take your word to heart, Libby,’ he lectures.
Guilt instantly percolates. ‘No, I know. That’s just it. I was thinking it was Thursday—’
‘We also have an appointment on Thursday.’
‘You’re right. I know. I screwed up the days, thinking today was Thursday, and a meeting popped up for the store, which is actually today, and then I realized it’s only Wednesday, and we changed the times, so, yeah, I’ll be there. Sorry.’
‘You OK? You sound . . .’
Drunk? ‘I’m fine.’ I switch the phone to my other ear and hunch over the table.
‘OK, as long as I can count on you for all three days. Remember, you promised to be here and do the work this time. I know EMDR can seem intimidating, but it’s a means to an end.’
The end is what I’m most worried about.
Waiting for Finn at ’wichcraft, I’m lucky enough to grab some stools near the front. I check my hair in the window’s reflection. Yeah, I look hung over. It used to be I’d tie one on, and other than a slight headache from dehydration, it didn’t even faze me. My body has no recovery any more. My focus shifts from myself in the glass to Finn approaching on the other side.
I give a little wave to get his attention and he smiles. It’s a good one, the kind that pulls everything up and must mean he has good news. Yes, that’s a good-news smile if I ever saw one. He sits beside me and the smile falters.
Uh-oh. ‘Hey,’ I say, suddenly thirsty and taking a drink of my water.
‘Hey, yourself.’ Finn leans up on his elbows, his gaze gliding over my hair, making me at once self-conscious.
‘It’s fine, Finn.’ My optimism taints with annoyance. Sure, it’s a curly mess and maybe I should’ve tied it back or something, but with pending news on Pretty in Pink, I don’t have to be pretty. ‘So?’
‘Let me get a tea, first,’ Finn says, adding that he really can’t stay, but this is of the utmost importance.
Longest five minutes of my life.
When he returns, I bombard him. ‘Are we waiting on Seth?’ My fingers nervously fiddle with the salt and pepper shakers. I’ve rearranged their placement twice. ‘And I’m really hoping you have some fantastic news.’ My eyebrows hike. ‘You do, right?’ Between waking up at Jasper’s and this lingering headache, I could really use some.
‘I do, yes.’ He smiles, then reaches into his tan briefcase.
He has good news! I knew it. My heart floats high in my chest like a balloon, no, make that 99 red ones, just like the Nena song. I’m soaring that high.
As he sorts documents, Finn glances up with a twisted smile. ‘First, you have to explain the parrot.’
‘You already knew about the parrot.’
‘Yeah, but Libby . . .’ He laughs. ‘Seth has it in the office. And sure, it was a novelty for about an hour. But seriously, Libbs? He won’t shut up.’
‘Bluebeard, or Seth?’
He rocks his head as if considering, then severely scowls. ‘Both.’
I launch into the short and fast version of my ‘how Seth ended up with Bluebeard’ story, desperate to return to his how-to-save-my-store one. ‘OK, what’s up? What is all this?’ I ask, thumbing through the stack of documents.
‘It’s a complete prospectus based on the financials you gave him. This clearly shows Pretty in Pink’s worth, profits, projected growth and fair market asking price. And, you ready for this? You, my unfortunate frizzy friend, have an offer.’ His smile pulls wide.
Mine completely disappears. ‘How do I have an offer?’ My eyes dart from the paperwork to Finn’s. My toes squeeze inside my yellow jelly shoes. There’s an uncomfortable unease that bristles under my skin and fizzes through my veins. ‘Why would someone make an offer? I didn’t provide a—’ I look down at the neatly secured document’s index: P&L, growth analysis, comparative market, and yeah, it’s a professionally organized prospectus. Anger creeps up my spine, one vertebra at a time.
‘What’s the matter? Thought you’d be thrilled. I would be. The offer’s substantial. Now you can refurnish your apartment. Look .
. .’ He taps the paperwork. ‘Page three.’
Lips pursed, I death-stare him a moment, then snap my gaze to the paperwork and quickly peel back pages until I land on three to see the magic number.
Wow, it is a good offer. My eyebrows lift. My anger doesn’t.
‘Keep reading.’ Finn chin-nods.
I scan the stipulations, my finger tracing each line, but stop dead on line 16, item b. ‘They want the name too?’ I glance up, appalled. ‘They would keep the store as Pretty in Pink? Then what do I do?’
‘Well, that’s why the offer’s so high.’
‘Are you? There’s no way I’m selling.’ I slump low on the stool and eye him with suspicion. ‘In fact, I never ever said I wanted to sell. I gave Seth my financials because he said he had real-estate connections and it’d help to know my bottom line.’
Finn’s brows furrow deep, and his mouth hangs slightly open in confusion. ‘Wait, I thought . . . Are you telling me you didn’t ask him to—’
‘Ask him to stab me in the back? No! You need to call him and get him here right now.’
‘Oh, boy . . .’ Finn wets his lips and glances away momentarily.
‘Oh, boy?’ I tilt my head. ‘Oh, boy what, Finn?’ My heart’s racing, knowing he’s about to say something I won’t like.
‘Due to the conflict of interest, Seth’s stepped away from you as counsel. I thought—’
‘Stepped away?’ I repeat, as if the words will make more sense if I say them.
‘Yeah.’ Finn’s face tightens. ‘He’s been placed on retainer with the Lander Property Group.’
‘The Lander Property Group?’ I do it again.
He leans back and taps the counter with a knuckle. ‘They own the commercial property Pretty in Pink is on. They’re the ones evicting you, Libby.’
‘I know who they are, I just . . .’ My jaw hangs open as his words sink in and resonate. ‘That’s not legal.’ My voice is shrill, rising with each point. ‘Seth had all my financials, he’s already reviewed everything. It was already a conflict. How could he legally share them?’
‘Oh, shit.’
My heart stops cold. Oh, shit is definitely worse than oh, boy. ‘What does that mean?’ I may have said that too loud. The gentleman seated beside us glances over. ‘How could Seth give them my financials without my consent, Finn?’
‘Did you sign a confidentiality agreement?’
‘No.’
He slides one hand over the other, brushing at imaginary crumbs. ‘What about a formal contract authorizing him to represent you legally?’
Oh God. I slowly shake my head.
He squares his shoulders and pulls his game face. ‘Then oh shit means just that. Legally you never secured him as counsel. So it’s technically not a conflict. That’s why I thought—’
‘Technically, that’s total bull! I mean, are you kidding me?’ My voice has reached inappropriate decibels, but I don’t care who I disturb; I’m disturbed! ‘How would I know to ask for one? Isn’t that why you seek out an attorney? For advice on these things?’ My entire being shakes.
Finn scoots his stool closer and leans in with lowered voice. ‘You said it wasn’t a date, so didn’t you discuss roles and proceedings?’
‘You wanna know what we talked about on our non-date?’ I lean back, flustered. ‘His stupid ex-wife and kids. He did ask if I’d consider selling, but I said no. Then he said he had some real-estate contacts, and having my financials would help him understand . . .’ I shake my head from the enormity of the situation. ‘You know what? Forget it. He completely swindled me. I knew something was off.’ I smack the counter, attracting dirty looks. ‘I knew it.’ Maybe the voice inside my head isn’t crazy after all. It’s mean, but not mental.
Finn lets me stew a moment. Good thing, because I’m about to lose it. He drinks his tea. I push my water away, feeling weary to my core.
I shake my head, still unable to wrap it round the turn of events. ‘Seth Merriweather certainly lives up to his name as the Criminal, doesn’t he?’ The look I give Finn is more wounded puppy than ravaged pit bull. ‘How could you put me in this position?’
‘Me? Oh, no no no no no . . . I didn’t know anything about this. This is an unfortunate—’
‘Unfortunate?’ I spit the word. ‘Unfortunate is missing the elevator, or getting the wrong take-out order and not realizing it until after you’re home. Unfortunate is what’s gonna happen to this guy if he keeps gawking at me.’
The man sitting nearby huffs, but looks away.
‘This is criminal, Finn. Pretty in Pink is mine.’ I built the name and grew the customer base. But it’s not even about the money, it’s really not – it’s about me, and the one thing I’ve done with my stupid life. My fingers drum in quick, angry beats. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter if they’ve seen it; I don’t have to sell, do I?’ My chin lifts in defiance.
‘You forget I’ve reviewed the numbers, too, Libbs. You’re profitable, but only in your current situation.’
I don’t say anything.
‘I get that Seth played you, I do.’ Finn rests his manicured hand on top of my agitated one. ‘And I’m sorry. I feel awful. You know I wouldn’t intentionally allow anyone to take advantage of you.’
I know Finn wouldn’t, but Seth did.
‘Look, regardless – you have a good offer on the table. At least consider it. If it’s what you decide, all you have to do is adjust the list of tangible assets. This was only a guesstimate. And if—’
‘How would they even know what to guess?’ My eyes narrow, then round. ‘Oh my God, Seth was at the store, that nasty bastard! Jasper called and said an attorney from your office was at the shop the other day. He was there snooping.’ I shake my head. ‘This whole thing was planned.’ I’m an idiot.
Finn drops his shoulders with a sigh and runs a hand through his hair again only to leave it there and rub, seemingly in thought. ‘OK . . . OK, well, like you said, you don’t have to sell, but . . .’
‘Yeah, but what’s to stop them from replicating my exact business model in my space? They have everything they need to do it now, don’t they?’ My heart’s lodged in my throat as my mind runs scenarios. ‘Finn, even if I find a new site, why would a customer follow me when the store’s still there? Even the name would be the same.’ I shake my head. ‘I’m basically dead in the water.’
This is the first time I feel like I’m drowning in the daylight.
‘Sorry, Libbs. I am.’ His eyes meet mine. ‘But at least there’s an offer, because like you said, with forcing you out, they could open a duplicate store anyway, right? And it’s quite a lot of money. You could take some time off, or start something else.’
My hands knead my forehead. The headache’s returned and throbbing. I look up. ‘That’s what you don’t understand. There is nothing else.’
Mindlessly I flip magazine pages while I wait for Dr P. There’s a physical tension in the air. Well, at least in my neck and shoulders. They’re corded tight, adding to the colossal pressure that radiates under my skull. Agitated energy travels in random paths, lighting me up from head to toe because every nerve, just like my hair before the trim, is frayed and split. I don’t want to be here, and yet, it’s exactly where I need to be.
‘Hi.’ I say when he finally opens the door. I offer a half-hearted smile as I pass him, the kind that says I’m not sure about this, or you, or anything, but here goes. I take my seat in the white wingback and take a deep breath, trying to get a grip. It’s definitely slipping.
‘Thanks for making it in.’
Dr P. is wearing the same sweater from last time. That explains why they’re so worn out, or maybe it has sentimental meaning, or he’s superstitious, or doesn’t like to shop.
‘You OK?’
‘I guess.’
‘Any improvement with the sleeping?’ he asks, leaning casually back in his chair, the one that squeaks with the smallest movement.
‘No.’ That’s a lie. I slept really well last
night at Jasper’s. I may have had a nightmare, but it didn’t wake me. It could’ve been because of the waterbed, I don’t know, but it’s not something I want to analyse with him. I have yet to pick it apart myself.
I shift so one leg’s folded under the other, and eye him. I don’t care how relaxed he appears, he’s not fooling me. He’s ready to pounce. I’m ready to bolt. I mean, really, why three days in a row? And with everything else going on, it’s just too much. My world is compressing, and if I wasn’t claustrophobic before, I am now.
‘How’d the homework assignment go?’
‘Which one? The who am I essay, or the get to know your date thing?’
‘Both.’
‘Not so much with the essay, but this happened . . .’ I unload, aggressively filling him in on Seth Merriweather the two-bit Criminal, the illegal conflict of interest and the forced offer to buy my store.
His brows knit, making one long furry line over narrowed eyes. ‘And you don’t want to sell?’
‘No,’ I say with a flustered breath. ‘But I may not have a choice, and then what?’ The question’s weighted with meaning. ‘Everything’s changing.’
‘Libby, I give you my word, if you’ll just trust the process, trust me, eventually, it’ll get better. Things will feel back in sync because you will have changed as well.’
Change – it’s the stupid theme of my life as of late. Doesn’t it matter that I don’t want to? At least I can change the subject. ‘I did make an effort with Princess Adrian.’ On autopilot, I fall right back into my familiar rhetoric, telling him about the dance-off and the bar conversation, but leaving out how I called Jasper for a ride and crashed there. The story lacks my usual animated flair and humour, and comes out flat. ‘See? I tried. I put in the work.’
A small smile forms on his lips as he nods. ‘Good. This is good.’
I half-smile in return, believing the words, but knowing there’s more. We sit like this a moment. Dr P. deciding if the conversation should go further, and me standing my ground because it shouldn’t.
‘OK . . .’ He sits up, pushing against his thighs with his palms. ‘Are you ready to try what we talked about?’
Holding Out for a Hero Page 15
