TWENTY-THREE

 

Dick Can Suck it for a Change

 

Harrison

 

 

The sun is just starting to set as I hurry over to Libby's building. I take the steps two at a time and hold the door open for some of our guests who look dressed to go out for dinner.

“Have a great night,” I say as I hurry past them, feeling completely alive.

When I knock on her door, my chest pounds with excitement and I think about the wonderful evening I have in store for us. I lean on the doorframe and grin as I hear the chain unlatch.

When the door swings open, I say, “Hey, beautiful” at the same time a man says, “There you are, darling.”

We both stare at each other for a long moment before either of us says anything more. The guy has the phrase ‘old money’ written all over him, with his lame boat shoes and fancy ‘I’m on a tropical vacay’ pants, and I’m pretty sure he’s never seen the business end of a wrench. I immediately dislike him, and not because he called me darling either.

I’m the first to speak again. “You must be Dick.”

“Richard. And you are…?” he says, cracking his knuckles.

“Harrison Banks.”

“Oh, yes. Libby told me about you.” His eyes are hard enough to make me wonder if she told him everything. “Can I help you with something?”

“No. Is she here?”

“I’m afraid she’s just stepped out. Oh, you’re probably here for her report, yes? She was printing it just in time for my arrival.” He turns and walks over to the desk. Picking up a stack of papers, he says, “She finished her work just in time to celebrate our future. I’ve been made partner at the largest law firm in the U.K.”

My stomach drops to the floor at hearing Dick’s happy tone and seeing the smug grin on his face. Through clenched teeth, I ask, “When will she be back? I need to ask her a few things about this report.”

He walks back to me, his gait stiff. Handing the report to me, he says, “Why don’t you email your questions to her? She’ll be a bit busy tonight, if you get my drift.”

I stare at him for a moment, pressing my tongue against the inside of my teeth while I decide whether or not I should just punch him. Realizing that's not really the best option, I say, “Yup, I'm pretty sure I know what you mean.”

“We'll probably lock ourselves in our little love nest here for a few days before going back home to get married. Or if she’s in a real hurry to get on with the wedding, we may just beam out tomorrow morning. Shall I tell her you said goodbye?”

What a fucking douche.

“No need. I know how to get in touch with her.” I glare at him for a moment, rage coursing through my veins. “You know you don’t deserve her, right?”

“Oh, and who does? Someone like you, perhaps?” he says, wrinkling up his nose. “A man who ran his business into the ground? I think she’ll be better off with me, thanks — someone who can really take care of her.”

“Take care of her?” I scoff. “You mean like abandoning her on her wedding day and telling her she’s too boring for anyone to love? Like that, you mean?”

His head snaps back in shock, and he opens his mouth in what I’m sure would be a total douchey douche bag comeback, but I cut him off with, “Nice fucking boat shoes.”

With that, I turn and walk out, letting the door shut behind me.

 

***

 

Have you ever been faced with something so horrible, the effort you put into wishing it wasn’t true was enough to make you feel like you’d just finished an Ironman? Because that's how I feel right now.

I’ve been sitting on my couch sipping bourbon and reading over Libby’s report line by line. She’s written a scathing assessment that basically makes me sound like the world’s most inept resort operator.

Her projections for Paradise Bay are bleak, to say the least, and I do my best to separate my feelings for her from what she's written, but it's nearly impossible. It all feels so personal because it is. The failures she sees are mine to claim.

Among the papers is a sheet I'm certain she didn't want me to see. Part of me wonders if Dick saw it and tucked it in for me to find, because I can’t see her being so cruel to include it on purpose or so careless to leave it in by accident.

 

HARRISON’S WEAKNESSES:

- me in lacy knickers

- hero complex

- attachment to staff

 

Richard’s smug face pops back into my head every twenty seconds or so, and it's all I can do not to go back over there and beat him to a pulp. I try not to think about what they might be doing right now, because the thought of his hands on her — and any other part of his body on her for that matter — makes me want to vomit.

Maybe if I’d had a few more days with her, she would have realized I’m the one who sees her, not him. I don’t need her to be someone she isn’t. I love her exactly the way she is. Or I thought I did. I stare down at the report again, and it finally hits me: I’ve been played.

She was just stringing me along so she could…what? Get in my pants?

Sipping my drink, I try to figure out what the hell just happened and what my next move should be. I toss the papers onto the coffee table and sit back on the couch, rubbing my eyes. How did I go from feeling so incredible to so incredibly bad in one evening?

I cringe when I think of all that cheesy shit I said about her being a beautiful butterfly, not a clam. What was I thinking? This was just business for her and should have been for me too.

Part of me can't help wondering if maybe the two of them do belong together. She'll obviously never want for anything with Dickhead, whereas she clearly sees me as some sort of…I don’t know what.

The door swings open, and in walks Emma, three sheets to the wind. “Hey, brotha! Whatreyoudoinghere?” She plunks herself on the couch next to me. “I thought you’d be spending the night with your laddddayyy. Did you two get into a fight or something?”

“Not exactly. More like, I found out what she really thinks of me, and it turns out it’s not all that flattering.” I point to the report.

Emma leans forward and picks it up, then squints at the first page for a minute. Turning to me, she says, “Yeah, can you just give me the gist? I’m a little tipsy right now.”

“You don’t say,” I answer, wincing at the smell of her breath. “It basically states that the resort is poorly built, has been poorly maintained, and would be a horrible investment.”

Emma wrinkles up her nose. “What? That’s crazy. Why would Libby say that? She seemed so nice…”

“I honestly don’t know. Last night she sounded like this place was full of potential, but this…” I shake my head and sigh. “She played me.”

“But why? So her company would be able to buy us for cheap?”

“That’s the weird thing. She recommended they don’t make an offer.”

Emma looks up at the ceiling. “Okay, I’m not following, but full disclosure, I am actually really very drunk, so…”

“That’s okay. I’m not following either.” I rub the back of my neck. “Maybe we should just sell to Stewart. We could use some of the money for you to finish school and protect the pension fund. And I could maybe buy a catamaran and spend the rest of my days taking people out on booze cruises.” The thought makes me want to hurl, but then again, how much less stress would that be for me compared to this?

“Are you serious? One bad report, and you’re ready to give up?” She tries to snap her fingers but misses, then gets distracted trying to snap them again and again.

I pat her leg and smile. “You should have a glass of water and get some sleep.”

She finally lets her hand fall to her lap and rests her head on my shoulder. “You can’t give up, Harrison. This is our home.”

“You need to know when you’re beat. And when you are, you have to roll with the—”

Sitting up suddenly, she points a finger in my face. “Don’t say it. Do not say roll with the punches. That’s just an excuse for giving up,” she slurs. “And you’re not a quitter. You’re Super-Harrison. I know I’ve never told you this, but you’re my hero. You can do anything. Always could, you beautiful bastard.” Emma leans in and pats me on the cheek, too hard. “But don’t tell Will. He thinks he’s the hero, but it’s you. It’s always been you.”

I feel a lump in my throat for some stupid reason and clear it away. “I’m not super anything.”

“Yes, you are. So don’t go making some stupid excuse to give up just because she hurt your feelings.”

“It’s not an excuse, Emma. As the guy who’s been holding it all together for over a decade, I’m probably the best one to know when it’s all unraveling.”

“Nope. We can fix it. We’re a family, which means we can fix anything if we work together,” she says, nodding wildly. Then she closes her eyes and leans back on the couch. “Just give me a minute to think of a way…”

“And she’s out,” I murmur.

I get up and pick up a blanket off the armchair, then take off her shoes and cover her up. As I arrange Emma on her side and tuck a pillow under her head, I think of the last woman I looked after who was in this shape.

The thought twists my insides, and I realize I completely forgot my own motto: Never get too attached. Ha! I screwed that one up, didn’t I? And for a brief moment, I was even willing to sell out my family for her.

Holy shit, Harrison. What were you thinking?

Lesson learned — again. And this time, I won’t forget.