CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HAMPTON
I’VE BEEN KEEPING SECRETS.
IT’S a delightful, hidden feeling all through dinner. I know something Stacy doesn’t, and I can’t wait to tell her.
As of this morning, the deal on Billings & Pile is practically final. I got the last inspection I care about, and now the only thing that could derail it would be for Newport to inexplicably pull out — something they won’t do, because they know I’ll sue them for more than they may fathom they could gain on a different deal.
And really, why they hell would Newport pull out? Before I started showing interest, there were no potential buyers. No interest in the building at all. It’s sat there on Elm like a blight, empty and decaying for six or seven years. Newport is lucky to have me.
I watch Stacy, trying to decide the best way to play my hand. Ever since picking her up, I’ve played deliberately distant. I told her I was annoyed by some political bullshit happening at headquarters so that she’d think my lack of chatter was due to a terrible mood. It’s hard to be like this to her — sullen, almost, and barely conversant — but it’s the only way to keep the surprise.
I get to tell her that this town has one less Newport building.
I get to tell her what I did with the renovation rebate, and how I’ve donated two hundred grand to the city.
I’ll do it during dessert, which can’t come fast enough. Maybe it’s twisted, but I’m finding this quiet between us to be a turn-on. Stacy seems irritated. When I invited her to dinner, she agreed without fanfare. When I picked her up, already pretending to be annoyed so she wouldn’t sense my glee and blow the surprise, she barely spoke. She’s sensing my artificial mood and replying with irritation of her own.
It reminds me of our first meeting, when she was bright and I was foul — when, soon after, I grew to hate her while she hated me. The way we relate these days is better in every way, but seeing her glare now, it’s hot.
When I tell her what I’ve done, I hope she doesn’t get so happy with me that she loses that edge. I kind of want to hate-fuck her right now. I want us on the floor of this restaurant, under the table, my cock in her pussy while we try to claw each other’s eyes out.
Fuck, I’m hard.
“How is your chicken?” I ask.
“Fine. How is your steak?”
“Fine.”
We chew.
“It’s not burnt, is it?”
I look at the bit I’ve just speared. I see a wide span of red, perfectly medium rare. “Not at all.”
“It’d be terrible if they burned it. If they ruined it by trying to do too much with it.”
“They—”
“And then never told you what they did. Just tried to hide it.”
Her eyes leave mine. After a moment, I return my attention to my steak.
We finish. The waiter comes, and I order dessert for us both.
“Why did you do that?” she asks.
“Do what?”
“Order me the chocolate bomb?”
“Because you love chocolate.”
“Maybe I wanted the blondie pie.”
I turn in my chair, starting to raise my hand before she speaks again.
“I’m not saying I don’t want the bomb,” she says.
I look back.
“It’s no big deal. I can call him back and change your order to the blondie.”
“I don’t want the blondie.”
“You just said —”
“I just think it’s interesting that you presume to know what I want.”
I watch her, waiting for more. She looks away, then takes a sip of water.
After a few long beats, I say, “This is a nice place. I like it here.”
“A lot of people like it here,” she replies.
“Including us.”
“Well, they’ve been here longer than you.”
“We’re on dessert. I’d say we’ve been here longer.”
“Well,” she says again, “I have.”
“Is anything wrong?”
“Nope.”
“You’re acting funny.”
“You too, Hampton.”
“Look, I’m …”
My heart is beating faster. I pushed this too far. The acting was fun, but now she thinks I really was pissed about a meeting at HQ. The coolness I’ve affected through dinner to hide my excitement has come across as genuine distance. I should knock it off. Rip off the Band-Aid. Tell her my surprise.
“What are you?” she prompts when I run out of words.
“I was just saying that this is a nice place.”
“Maybe Newport will buy it. Turn it into a mall.”
“What?”
“Wouldn’t you like that? It’d be so much better.”
“I wouldn’t like that. I like it how it is.”
“Right. Maybe we should leave well enough alone.”
She goes silent again.
“Seriously, Stacy. What’s wrong?”
“What did you do today, Hampton?”
“I flew here to see you.”
“Anything else? Any meetings?”
Dammit. The jig is up.
Disappointment hits my face. “So, you know.”
“I think I know enough,” she says.
“I didn’t want you to know. I’ve been trying my best to hide it.”
“Damn right, you have.”
But this is wrong. Something is amiss.
“What exactly do you know?” I ask, feeling my brow furrow.
“I don’t know. What have you been hiding from me?”
I sigh. “Okay. Fine. I guess you know about the building.”
“I heard it through the grapevine.”
“Do you know what I have planned for it?”
She’s shaking her head. Annoyed or perhaps even sad. She has some sort of false impression. Some hitch I’m not considering.
“It’s a great thing, Stacy. Seriously. This is cool. You look like you’re about to—”
“Don’t buy it, Hampton. Please.”
“What? Why wouldn’t you want me to buy it?”
“It’s historical. It’s an important building.”
“And I can give it new life. It’s just been sitting there. Falling apart. I can fix it up.”
“And then what?”
“What do you mean, ‘then what’?”
“What will go in there? How will you fill all that space? It’s enormous. Way too big for a store.”
I’m confused. “It wouldn’t be a store. Obviously.”
“What then?”
“An assembly plant. What’s bothering you?”
“A plant. Like a factory.”
“In a way, but it’s not like we’d be smelting iron or burning coal. I’d mostly be—”
She’s shaking her head, looking away. The waiter brings our desserts, but he must sense something sour because he practically drops them before scuttling off.
“When you said you were thinking of bringing Expendable Chic to Williamsville, I assumed you meant a store.”
“I did! In a way. The plant will also have a retail location at the southeast corner, and—”
“There’s no storefront on that building. It’s a smithery.”
“A what?”
“You can’t put a store in there, Hampton. If you want a store, there’s some nice space downtown. Great foot traffic.” She’s floundering, almost begging. I don’t understand this. I assumed she’d be happy. “If you want a store, buy something smaller. Let the Billings Building go.”
“I was going to build a storefront from the original facade, open up the outer wall …”
“Build a storefront! Knock out the old brick!”
“I don’t understand why this is bothering you.”
“You’re building a factory in my town!”
It’s like a record just scratched in a loud room. The tables on either side of us turn to look at Stacy’s outburst. She looks down, touches the corner of her mouth with the cloth napkin. She takes time to compose the flatware, lining the dessert fork up with her knife.
“Don’t buy it, Hampton.”
“It’s not a polluting factory. And if you don’t want the storefront, okay, I’ll rethink the storefront. But you’re not seeing the whole picture. I want this plant to be the home of the brand new Pi—”
Pillar Collection dies on my lips when Stacy speaks again.
“I don’t want you to buy that building, Hampton.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t.”
“That’s not a reason.”
She shakes her head. “Just don’t, Hampton.”
I sit back. I set my napkin on the table.
“I don’t know what to tell you. I thought you’d be happy.”
“Why would I be happy?”
“Because it’s what we talked about. The Pillar Collection, Stacy! I’ve come all the way around. Ready to make a part of Expendable Chic that’s not expendable. I listened to everything you said. I thought we were on the same page. My first US plant, and it’ll make the best clothing we can make. Nothing shoddy. It refurbishes a building that was otherwise a blight. However you want me to do it, I’ll do it. Keep the structure the same, who fucking cares?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“We talked about this! You knew I wanted to build out this line, and you knew it’d take a plant to do it!”
“I didn’t know you’d drop your stupid factory right in my hometown.”
“I want you to run it! How the hell can you run a shop outside of Williamsville if you won’t leave the town?”
“I didn’t know you’d put your goddamn fucking factory right in the middle of my best childhood memories!”
People are looking at us again.
“What are you talking about?”
She forces herself to calm. “Just … please. Please, if I matter to you at all.”
I lean back and cross my arms. “Well. It’s too late. It’s done.”
“Done? What do you mean, done?”
“I mean that the contracts are signed. It’s going through, and Newport has asked that we expedite closing. I’ll own it in ten days.”
She looks panicked. “Call it off.”
“I can’t. The money is in escrow. And besides, they’d sue me.”
“What do you care? You’re a billionaire.”
“That’s not how these things work.”
And it’s not. This isn’t just about money. It’s about Expendable Chic taking a big public black eye before unveiling its brand-new All-American, feel-good line, thus negating the point. I couldn’t cancel things if I wanted to.
Stacy’s being stubborn. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s not thinking this through. The plant won’t belch smoke, and I’m not going to hire a bunch of ruffians from out of town to change Williamsville’s dynamic. A broken-down building will be new again. More people will have work. Stacy will be at the front of a clothing line like I know she wants to be — a better one than even the dreams she told me, of owning a tiny custom shop — and a lot of unemployed people in the town will suddenly have jobs. And, of course, there’s the overage on the renovation funds: $200,000, going straight to the city.
She’ll like that. That’ll help bring her around.
“The bank loaned me $200,000 more than we need to renovate, based on the post-renovation value of the building. I told the escrow agent to—”
Stacy is standing, brushing at her lap, grabbing her purse from under the seat.
“Stacy, sit down.”
“No.”
“Sit down, and let’s talk about this.”
She glares at me. “Okay. Tell me. Do you own the Billings & Pile building? Did you buy it, and are you going to put a plant, or whatever, in it?”
“Yes, but—”
Her jaw firms and she gives her head a tiny, helpless shake as her eyes turn up and start to water. Then she fixes me with the same hateful stare she used to use, back when she’d decided I was an asshole and nothing else.
“Then there’s nothing to talk about,” she says, before storming out.