Bianca

Who does he think he is? Game over? This isn’t a game to me. This is my livelihood…my future.

I can’t take it anymore. His proximity is making me claustrophobic. I need to get away, to be able to think. Pushing off him, I turn, breathless, and grab on to the counter. I try to clear my head; this whole situation is overwhelming.

“This isn’t a game.”

“I’m pretty sure you pretending to be a Realtor trying to scare me off from taking over this place is some kind of game.” He comes to stand beside me. “Especially when the real Realtor is out there as we speak.”

Too close.

“That wasn’t exactly my intention.” I turn to face him “Wait, she’s out there?”

“Then why? Why pretend to be the Realtor?” He ignores my question.

Throwing my hands up in the air I say, “I don’t know.” I start to pace the room. “I buried my grandmother four days ago. I thought everything was right with my world, but come to find out Grans lied to me.” I turn to face him. “I thought this was my building, but she took a loan out on this run-down piece of crap to pay for my schooling.”

“It’s not a piece of crap, Bianca. This is a prime piece of real estate right here. One that if you were to sell to me, it would pay off the loan and let you sit comfortably for a few years.”

“Don’t!” I swing around. “My situation is not your problem. It’s mine.” I point to myself. “And I’m not selling. This building, as run down as it is…is my dream. My gallery.”

“I’m more familiar with your problems than you think. I knew your grandmother. She actually trusted me enough to leave the building to me. If you decide to pass, that is.”

“You?” My voice is barely audible.

“Yes, I have first dibs if you decide you want to sell.”

“That’s you? The one she thought of like a pesky grandson?” I recall the reading of the will — the mystery man, the one who couldn’t even be bothered to show up.

He begins to laugh. “Yeah, she always used to say I was the pesky grandson she never had.”

“How…how is it…”

“Bianca, what is it you are asking?” He’s in front of me, a little too close for comfort.

I’m not sure myself what I’m trying to say. Am I accusing him of something? Asking? I’m not really sure. “Why you?”

“Well, it’s actually a funny little story.” A smile creeps up on his face, genuine and almost child-like. “I approached your grandmother a couple years ago about selling your building. Offered her a pretty penny — that I was sure she would take — but she did something I wasn’t used to. She rejected it.” He shakes his head. “Nope, she didn’t take it, but she shook my hand and told me if I wanted to buy her lunch the following week she would reconsider my offer.”

“That was you? I thought she had a secret boyfriend or something.”

“Nope, but each week, we would meet up and have a nice lunch. One that would start with an offer and end with a rejection.”

“She wasn’t going to sell.”

“Well, after about the fourth or maybe the fifth week, I began to realize that, but something about your grandmother and her stories kept me coming back.”

“I loved her stories. I never knew if they were real, but it’s those stories that inspire my paintings.

“She had that way about her—”

“Bianca, I don’t mean to interrupt our trip down memory lane, but we have bigger fish to fry right now: the building.”

“What about it?”

“You have a loan you have to pay off in thirty days or the bank takes possession.”

“I’m so tired of people telling me that today. I get it. I have a shit ton of money to come up with, but I’ll do it. I’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

He’s pissing me off. Who does he think he is and why is he even here to begin with?

“You know what?” I swing my head around, ready to chew him up and spit him out. “You don’t know me.”

“Well, actually, I do,” he interrupts. “You were the topic of conversation every week. I feel like I know more about you than most.”

“Like what? You know what? That doesn’t matter.” I head toward the door. “You don’t belong here and neither does some money-hungry Realtor. I own this building and neither of you has the right to be here. Both of you are trespassing.”

“The bank says different,” he points out.

I hate the way he thinks he knows everything. “They have to notify me before they show the place, and guess what; they didn’t.”

“I’m pretty sure you were carbon copied on the same letter I received.”

My stomach drops. That little card that I failed to take to the post office.

“Is it coming back to you now?” He mocks me, making my blood boil.

“You know what, douche canoe? Forgive me for not remembering. My Grans just passed away; and I spent the last four days getting things together and burying her, so excuse me for letting it slip my mind.”

“Bianca, I didn’t mean to—”

“Nope. It’s fine. I have everything under control. I don’t need you…or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Just listen to me. Please.”

“Why should I listen to you? You don’t care about me or my situation.” I’m beginning to feel frantic. The circumstances are becoming more than I can handle. Him, here, in front of me. Her, out there. Everyone waiting for me to fail.

“I have a proposition that could be beneficial to both of us.”

“One minute, Ford. That’s all you get.”

One minute before I kick your ass out.

“The will states that if you choose to sell the building, I have first dibs. Well, if you don’t pay the loan, that option goes out the window. The bank will then take the property, and they have a right to sell it to the top bidder.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Bianca Black, let’s make a deal.”

“I’m listening.”

“Let me in. Let me start to bring this building up to code — get a head start on the renovations.”

“What? I thought you said we’d make a deal. What I’m hearing you say is I’m going to fail.”

“Well, do I think you can come up with three hundred thousand in thirty days? No, I don’t.”

Why is it people doubt me? I’m not about to let him or anyone else tell me I can’t do something. If I have to beg, borrow, and steal, I’ll come up with the money, proving him and everyone else wrong.

I reach up and push his hands off my shoulders. “Well, I’m going to get the money, so why would you want to invest in a property that you don’t own?”

“The deal: If for some reason you can’t pay the loan, you sell to me. The renovations I want to make give me a head start on the opening of my newest club.”

“If I do pay the loan? What then?”

“The repairs you needed done to this place were just made free and clear.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Is it a risk? Yes, but it’s one I’m willing to take.” He holds his hand out. “Bianca Black, do we have a deal?”

Do we have a deal?

Why wouldn’t I take this? It’s a way for me to get the gallery in the shape I need, so I can have the show that could possibly make me the money to pay off this loan. Risky? Probably so.

“Deal.”