by Hayleigh Sol
In the kitchen, he asked which of three options I’d like for dinner and I voted for the Moroccan tagine he’d made while we’d been camping, crossing my fingers my fussy intestines would behave. We ate outside on his patio, where I could see myself spending more time in the future. It was cozy, relaxing. Like everything with Lukasz.
Except the very stimulating, scorching–hot, sexy fun times.
Partway through dinner, I noticed something was different about the meal. It took me a few bites to figure it out. “This is less spicy than last time, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I toned it down a bit for you. Still taste okay?”
This guy. My heart flipped over in my chest.
Over dinner, we caught up on the inconsequentials and made smoldery eyes at each other a time or two. Once we’d pushed our empty plates away, he reached for my hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the back of my knuckles.
I couldn’t remember another guy having ever done that before. It was definitely something I could get used to. You know, if he wanted to make a habit of it.
“Alright, I can’t stand the suspense anymore. How was your meeting?”
Uggh, I’d managed to block that out for a while. Almost.
“Well, he showed up with a partnership agreement already drafted and ready for my signature. No, I didn’t sign. Told him I had to think about it. He wants to be fifty–fifty partners.” Luka’s eyebrows lifted but he didn’t say anything. “I know, not something I’m comfortable with. But…the loan amount is money we could really use. Especially with the tax bill I just got.”
“What did he say about your bigger plans, about the staff issues?”
I laughed ruefully. “Yeah, he wasn’t as open to listening to those ideas as I’d thought.”
Luka was frowning and shaking his head, but he didn’t look surprised. I hadn’t really been either.
“As for the staff, I think they don’t want me to come back because Brad’s been letting them skate.”
“Ah, it’s a take advantage of the substitute teacher deal.”
My head tilted in acknowledgement. “Sounds like he hasn’t been checking their work, which is something I always have to do.” Except for Evan’s.
I summarized for Luka the costly errors I routinely discovered, the efforts I’d gone through to prevent them, and, ultimately, giving up and fixing the problems myself. Seeing the frowning disbelief on his face, I was once again struck by the absurdity of how easy I made everything for employees who didn’t appreciate or want me around. Employees who were hired to make my job easier, make it so I had less work. Not more.
“Maybe I’ve been too nice.” It wasn’t the first time I’d had the thought. Not with Brad so often comparing our management styles.
Lord, was I sick of that phrase.
“Maybe I should go Devil Wears Prada on their asses. Everyone worked hard for that lady. Fear’s the universal motivator, isn’t it?”
I was mostly joking. Working with as many different people as I did, from contractors to building owners to materials vendors, I’d seen plenty of employees who couldn’t stand their bosses. But they sure worked hard to keep those bosses from flying into a rage and firing them.
Luka squeezed my hand. “That’s not you, though.”
I shook my head and gave him a sad smile. “No, it’s not. And I don’t want to change who I am to get them to do their jobs.” I could just imagine the awful things they’d say about me behind my back. Hell, they probably already were.
But that was no reason to become an asshole I couldn’t face in the mirror.
“Does your ex realize that your staff is like this?” I nodded. “And what’s his brilliant idea to get them on track?”
“Dunno, he didn’t seem to think it was a problem.” The laugh I huffed out was one of disbelief. “He actually wants to put them on hourly compensation, which means they’ll be less productive. Oh, and he’s completely uninterested in the green aspects of having them work remotely; apparently, they’ve all been driving into the office every day.”
Luka was frowning even more now. It was sweet of him to be so invested in what I was dealing with; it actually made me feel a little better.
“If you did sign this agreement, what would your ex do to earn his half ownership? I still can’t believe that, by the way.”
When Brad had first suggested a partnership, I expected we’d negotiate over terms. That hadn’t changed, which I told Luka. “I’ve been thinking about something, though. Something that might make everyone happy.”
“You’re going to let me lend you the money and tell Brad to butt the hell out?
I kissed his cheek and shook my head. “No, but it really was kind of you to offer.”
“The offer still stands, Maya. I don’t have a great feeling about you working with this guy.”
“What if my new idea meant I didn’t have to? I was thinking, maybe he’d be willing to take over Green for Green. All of it. And then, I could start over with a new company or division or something. One that’d focus on the design consulting I’ve always wanted to do.”
“Start over? As in, you’d sell him the company?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just an idea I’ve been kicking around. He’d get to run Green for Green the way he wants and I’d get a do–over. New focus, new clients, new staff—actually, it’d probably just be me for a while, until I can turn some kind of profit.”
“Is that what you want? To give up everything you’ve worked for all these years? And to someone who, sorry to say, doesn’t sound like he gives a shit about sustainable anything.”
Luka’s posture was rigid, his jaw tense. He looked…mad at me.
I hadn’t seen him like this before. Not smiling, happy, positive Luka. The closest he’d come to the rigid expression he was currently wearing was… Crap, the night we’d gone out for dinner and Brad’s calls and texts had interrupted the evening.
Confrontation wasn’t something I dealt well with. I avoided it whenever possible—probably why my staff walked all over me—and, when I couldn’t avoid, I usually conceded. Keeping the peace was better than having someone upset with me. Further evidence of my wimpy nature.
“What else can I do?” In the face of his frustration or disappointment or whatever it was, my plea was nearly a whisper.
It only seemed to upset him more. He was full scowl now. “Damn, Maya, don’t let this guy take your company. You’ve worked too hard for that. Don’t just roll over and play dead.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.” My hand withdrew from his. “If I sold, I’d have the money to start something new.”
“But you’d be giving up everything you’ve already built. And I know you’re proud of the work you do, even if it’s not your ultimate end goal. You really want to turn that over to someone else? Come on, I know you don’t want that.”
“I might not have a choice. It’s this—which I don’t even know if Brad will go for—or take the loan and give him half the company anyway.”
A frustrated growl slipped out as Luka spiked a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up and all over the place like it did after a night of passion. Which this very much was not.
“Why won’t you let me help you out? You’ll take money from your ex but not from me? I don’t get you.”
Something in my chest twisted. I felt like Luka was the first boyfriend who really did get me.
“I told you, I don’t want to start our relationship like that. It makes me feel weak when I’m trying to be strong.”
Surging forward, he captured my upper arms, fire in his eyes. “Then be strong. Be strong with this douchecanoe who’s hell bent on keeping you down.”
The intensity in his gaze was too much for me. I couldn’t match it. I felt like he was seeing right through to the core of me. The not brave, always making mistakes, incompetent core.
Staring at my lap, I pressed my lips toget
her and swallowed. And swallowed again, choking back the damn tears that wanted to erupt. Crying wasn’t for professionals, for business owners. It was a little girl’s ultimate sign of weakness and the inability to fight it off was even worse. I was determined not to show Luka I was any more pathetic than he must already think I was.
“Maya, I’m sorry, I—”
“I think I should probably head home.” My voice only broke a little as I squeezed the words past my too tight vocal cords. When I looked up, there was no chance he didn’t see the moisture in my eyes.
“Please don’t go. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay, I just have a lot to think about, decisions to make over the next few days. I should go…get to work on that.” I stood and he mirrored me. “Dinner was great and”—my voice cracked again—“thank you for thinking of me with the spiciness.”
He tried to apologize again, to convince me to stay, but him being nice to me was only making me crumble that much faster. I wasn’t about to sob all over him the first time I came over to his place.
I hoped it wasn’t the last.
It was the sight of my overnight bag, left to sit forlornly in the front seat, that did me in. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Wasn’t how my life was supposed to go.
Sure, go ahead and wallow in the melodrama, I thought to myself as the tears came. Why not?
As I worked to sniff them back—a car accident caused by soggy visual impairment was just what I needed right now—I berated myself for the scene at Luka’s. First for being overly emotional in front of my new boyfriend. Then, for fleeing rather than defending myself and my choices.
What did Luka know about the situation anyway? He sounded like Bailey, convinced Brad wanted to take over my company. A company that was barely eking out a profit most months. I didn’t think Brad was being totally altruistic—he would be an equal partner if I signed off on his terms, after all—but I did believe this had all started because he wanted to help me keep my business solvent.
Brad was a busy guy with his own company to run. What would he want with mine? He wasn’t even into sustainable energy or reducing carbon emissions; Luka was right about that. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know it. Any time I got worked up over a news article about deforestation or the amount of plastic in our oceans, Brad had always been half a breath away from rolling his eyes.
Luka’s concern that my ex was launching a hostile takeover of my little eco–consulting company was laughable. But Luka didn’t realize that. He was a new player in the game, an observer. Not someone qualified to comment or give advice. Or to play white knight to my distressed damsel.
It made me so mad—at myself, mostly—to think I needed either of these men to bail me out. I had been running this company for the last ten years.
Okay, with the aid of Brad’s smaller loans for the past year.
But I’d felt like I had a good plan when I was up at the lake. A way to cut back on expenses without needing a bigger loan. Why hadn’t I been more vocal about that at the meeting with Brad?
Because you always let him steamroll you instead of risking an argument.
And why the hell did I care about arguing with him now? He wasn’t my boyfriend anymore, not my business partner—yet.
Now was the time to push for what I wanted. To make sure I was heard.
Would that do any good, though? Whenever I had been more vocal in my opinions with Brad in the past, he’d always found a way to overrule me. It was a special talent of his. One I hadn’t recognized when we’d first gotten together and he’d used his charm to convince me his plan, his idea, his opinion was best.
As the veil of early infatuation had slipped, I’d seen through his skilled manipulation attempts and pushed back. But it was exhausting to pit my weaker will against his.
Perhaps that was why I hadn’t said much at this afternoon’s lunch meeting. About the changes he’d implemented or wanted to with the staff, the partnership agreement, or my own ideas. I’d been programmed—through his actions as much as my own—to act a certain way with Brad.
It was habit. And four years of behaving a particular way was a difficult habit to break.
The enticement of his sizeable loan didn’t help, either. Money might not buy happiness—a quaint notion I had mixed feelings about—but it sure could prevent bankruptcy and abject failure.
Before I’d made the conscious decision, I found myself pulling into the parking lot of Green for Green’s office space. It was deserted, naturally, on a Sunday evening. With the lights out and the only sounds those of vehicles passing on the street, I was reminded of the times I’d come here when the space was being remodeled for our use.
I was so excited, so proud back then. I’d come and sit in the empty space and let my imagination run wild, leaving with a smile on my face, a fire in my belly, and big dreams in my head.
A spark of that fire was something I thought I’d gotten back when I was at the lake. With Luka, who seemed to believe in me, who thought I was stronger than I did. Seeing myself through his eyes made me feel strong again. Fearless and capable.
Who was I kidding? What difference could two weeks of encouragement make in years of self–doubt?
I let myself into the building and dropped to the floor in the center of the main room. A deflated version of my former self. The tears were giving me a respite, but the hollowness in my chest warned it was only temporary. In the dim illumination of the emergency lighting, from my low position on the ground, I looked around. Everything seemed bigger from down here.
My eyes took in the desks made from reclaimed wood, the empty conference and break rooms, the photographs I’d hung on the wall of projects we’d completed and smiling clients we’d helped.
It felt like saying goodbye.
Was I ready for that?
If Brad did buy me out, I could start over. Thirty–two wasn’t that old and I’d learned a lot from various mistakes I’d made over the years. Maybe a clean slate was my best option.
I did like the idea of not having to work with my ex any longer, of our only interaction being ironing out details of the sale and making the transition as smooth as possible for clients, vendors, and staff. The first step would be discussing the option with Brad, seeing if it was something he’d even consider. If I were smart, though, I’d also come up with alternatives in case he wasn’t interested. I’d identify points from his partnership agreement to negotiate.
Pushing myself up from the cross–legged position I’d assumed, I wandered over to the framed—also in reclaimed wood—photos along one wall. There were the solar panels we’d installed for the Nelsons; technically, we hadn’t installed them, but we’d shown them the savings, hooked them up with the right vendor, and overseen the installation. Next to that was a shot of massive, bright red tomatoes from the Carlisles, the best crop they’d ever had, they said, and all thanks to the composting bin we’d set them up with.
A grinning image of Bob Marlowe, posing next to his bike after a race he’d finished last year. He’d gotten addicted to cycling after he’d followed my bike–to–work example and had written me a personal email, thanking me for helping him drop the “Dad weight” he’d been carrying around and lower his blood pressure to numbers that meant he no longer had to take a prescription. I’d written back that I was so happy for him, telling him he’d done all that himself and that I’d see him out on the road.
My tour took me past the conference room, where I glimpsed a mess of papers. It was an unusual sight in a primarily paperless company, as were the plastic water bottles balancing atop the full recycle bin. Probably Brad’s; he was the only one of us I’d known to not bring his own reusable containers.
Curiosity—and, perhaps, a misplaced sense of protectiveness over the tidiness of my office—had me shuffling through the p
apers. They were handwritten notes, some with doodles in the margins. Brad’s slanted scrawl was identifiable; he used to leave me post–it notes if he left his place or mine before I was up in the mornings. They were so sweet I’d never said a word about the non–recycled paper. The notes had stopped anyway over time.
On another page was handwriting I didn’t recognize and I nearly turned away, planning to take the recycling out before I left. My eye snagged on my own name and, really, who among us would stop reading something about themselves?
As I followed the lines, my heart stuttered. My breath stalled.
Something inside me shifted.
No. It ignited.
This changed everything.
Chapter 29
There was an all–staff meeting on Monday morning. All of my staff. The ones who worked for my company. How had I found out about it?
Brad had sent out an email to all of them the night before, then texted me that I shouldn’t come because he thought it would be best if we made final decisions on the partnership before subjecting the staff to any further disruption or change.
As if they were small children being uprooted by a contentious divorce, rather than adults working in a professional setting.
Was I pissed?
After my discovery the night before, you bet your ass I was pissed. But, in an eerily composed way. Mostly.
Sure, after I’d found them, I’d almost ripped those damning notes into tiny shreds before setting them afire in the parking lot. And I’d cried—again—but this time they were angry tears of shock and betrayal. The kind that feel hot on your face as your entire body trembles with the injustice of it all. Or maybe your face burns so hot it makes the liquid on your cheeks feel warm.
Either way, I’d gotten my tears of anger under control much more quickly than I ever had tears of despair. My thumb had hovered over Brad’s contact information on my phone screen; I was ready to rip him a new one over what I’d read.
