Chapter Ten
Bryan
Truittism No.5: No one touches what’s mine.
Including what I want to be mine.
She actually growled at me.
And it was the hottest damn thing that I’ve ever seen—or heard, for that matter. I’m having a hard time wiping the stupid-happy grin off my face as we enter the lobby of the First National Bank of Mayhem—which smells more like a Starbucks than a financial institution. I like that. A lot.
In the small waiting area, just past the lobby where the teller’s windows are, there is an entire cart dedicated to coffee service. I fix myself a cup, welcoming the warmth that seeps into my frozen hands. I’d never say anything in front of Miss Fluffy McWarmPants over there, but I’m seriously considering buying a pair of gloves. At least. Maybe a hat, too.
When I glance over my shoulder, she’s signing her name on the clipboard to meet with a banker, already having hung up her parka.
“Can I make you a cup, Miss O’Halloran?” I offer, just now noticing that she’s managed to wrestle all of her hair into a bun on top of her head.
Gone are the jeans and plaid shirt, traded in for a black turtleneck and a short black-and-white plaid skirt. She’s wearing some sort of thick tights, or maybe those legging things women like? I can’t tell, but I assume it’s so she won’t freeze to death.
“No, thank you,” she replies coolly, taking a seat.
I bypass the clipboard to join her with my coffee.
“Aren’t you going to sign in?” she asks me with some irritation. “Or don’t big shots like you need to follow such pedestrian practices?”
I smile, remembering the growl.
“No, that is certainly not the case, Miss O’Halloran,” I inform her and take a sip of the strong, sweet, creamy brew in my hand. “In fact, ‘big shots like me’ don’t like to wait. So in order to ensure our time will not be wasted, we make use of that quaint old tradition known as ‘the appointment.’”
Before she can comment, a short, balding man comes out of his glass-encased office to greet us. He seems surprised—but very happy—to see Hennessy O’Halloran.
“Henny!” he exclaims happily.
“Wally!” she yelps, throwing herself into his arms with a big hug.
Oh. I don’t like this one bit.
I clear my throat, but they ignore me, chattering excitedly.
“How are you?” he’s asking her, his hands on her forearms. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral.”
“I’m good. I mean, you know… This is all difficult. And we really had no idea about the loan…”
“I know.” He nods sympathetically. “What a mess, right?”
I clear my throat, and they both turn to me, looking a little startled—as if they’d forgotten I was here at all. The guy lets her go and extends a hand in my direction.
“Hello, there. You must be Bryan Truitt,” he says with a pleasant enough smile. “I’m Randall Waldera, but everyone calls me Wally.”
“Yes, I am. Nice to meet you, Wally. Everyone calls me Bryan.”
He seems slightly bewildered, by my lame little joke, but doesn’t bother to comment. “Yeah…well, okay. How about you and I head into my office. Hennessy, were you wanting to see me today, too?”
“Well,” she begins, suddenly the picture of feminine dismay, “I was hoping I could just slip in and steal a moment of your time. I really do need some good advice about how to proceed with the pub…” She caps off her performance by batting her substantial eyelashes and offering up a hopeful smile in combination with a furrowed brow.
Damn, this woman is good.
They both look at me again, clearly expecting me to do the chivalrous thing and offer her my slot.
No. Way. Two can play this game.
“Ah, well, sorry I can’t help you,” I say with genuine-sounding regret, “but I hope to be on a plane this evening.” I stop suddenly, holding up one finger as I pretend to have an idea. “But you know…we could share the appointment,” I suggest.
“Share?” she echoes. “How does that work, exactly?”
“We’re both here regarding the same matter. I have no problem with you hearing my discussion with Wally here.” I give the guy a good, manly thump on the back. “Unless, of course, you’d like to speak to him in private…”
I leave the suggestion hanging out there like a dare. And, good as she is, Hennessy O’Halloran rises to the bait.
“No. I have nothing to hide,” she pronounces.
And, just like that, we’re side by side in Wally’s glass cubical like a pair of newlyweds applying for their first mortgage. Except only one of us needs it, and it’s not me.
“So, Mr. Truitt,” Wally begins, “I understand you have registered an intent to purchase the pub property.”
“Yes, that’s right,” I confirm. “I’ve made numerous offers to Miss O’Halloran, and she’s turned them down. So now I’d like to proceed with plans to purchase it once the loan defaults.”
“Hey!” she objects from next to me. “You seem awfully certain that we won’t be able to pay off that loan.”
I turn toward her with a genial shrug.
“I just call ’em like I see ’em. And what I see is someone short on funds and short on time. Someone who can’t put aside her nostalgia in order to do the right thing for her family—” I stop short, remembering what Miss Lucy had just said to me.
I can feel the heat of her fury as it comes off her in waves. I’m secretly hoping she’ll growl again. That was so hot.
“My family is none of your concern,” she hisses. “And, for your information, I’m here to speak with Wally about alternative options and financing so we can pay off this debt and I can get you out of my life once. And. For. All.”
“Ouch!” I yelp dramatically.
My feigned hurt only aggravates her more.
“Wally? What can I do? Mortgage the house on Orange Avenue? Cash in my retirement fund? Can we just take out a second mortgage to pay off the first one? I know that can be done sometimes…”
Wally is shaking his head because he knows what I already know.
“Afraid not, Hennessy. I’ve been going over the numbers you emailed me and looking through Jack’s estate papers. The house is in trust until Bailey finishes college, so there’s no tapping that equity. And even if we could, the comps on housing prices in your neighborhood aren’t great. The house simply isn’t worth enough. You’d have to pull out every cent of equity, up to eighty percent. But it still wouldn’t get you close enough, and, truth be told, I’m not certain you’d qualify.”
Well, that’s not necessarily true…
“Why not?” she demands indignantly. “I have a good job…”
“You do,” he agrees, “by outstate standards. But then, our cost of living is considerably lower than that of the Twin Cities. So, what you’re earning there is pretty much sucked up into your living expenses. Now, if you were working for some swanky law firm instead of as a public defender, it might be a different situation. Those folks tend to pull down healthy six-figure incomes. Attorneys in your position…not so much.”
I find myself indignant on her behalf—a totally foreign sensation. She traded in a big salary to help people, and this is the thanks she gets? Before I can say as much, Wally continues.
“And then there’s the matter of your student loans. Your father covered your undergrad degree, but, as you know, only the first thirty-thousand of your law school tuition. I believe you still carry that debt?”
Doesn’t this guy know student loan debt doesn’t carry as much weight as commercial debt?
“I can move back up here, to Mayhem,” she offers quietly.
“And then you won’t have that income anymore, will you?” Wally points out.
I suddenly realize what a bad idea this was. I’ve made this exponentially harder by forcing this woman to confront her situation in my presence. Because of me, she’s got embarrassment to add to her plate full of emotions.
Oh hell…what’s wrong with me? I don’t do empathy. Right?
So why do I suddenly want to tell this woman that everything is going to be okay? Why am I suddenly regretting the fact that I’ve forced her to experience this humiliation in my presence? I’m talking before I can help myself.
“That’s not strictly true, Wally…I mean, there are higher interest loans available for higher risk applicants.”
They both turn to stare at me, wide-eyed. After all, why would I help the enemy? Maybe because I don’t want to think of her as an enemy?
Enough, Truitt! You’re not here to pick up another blonde. You’re here to pick up a very lucrative property.
“Of course, those types of loans can take a few months to process…and you don’t have that kind of time,” I offer, putting my villain hat back on. They both seem to relax visibly with me returning to my expected role.
“Yes, that’s exactly why I didn’t mention it,” Wally says. But he and I both know he’s full of it. He’s not doing this woman any favors with his “advice.” But wait, there’s more…
“Mr. Truitt,” Wally says, “if I may be so bold as to inquire…is there any circumstance under which you’d consider buying out the loan for a partnership interest?”
Oh hell. He finally considers a decent solution, and it’s one that I’m going to have to refuse, making me look worse than I already do.
Wait, wait, wait…why do I even care? I don’t. That’s the answer. I don’t care.
“Nope. Sorry,” I say with genuine regret.
But Wally will not be put off.
“I’d be happy to furnish you with tax records for the business, showing you the steady stream of income—”
I cut him off before we can get too far down this particular rabbit hole. “You see, it’s not my intention to keep the pub operating. In fact, I intend to raze the property upon purchase.”
They both gasp at the same time. I can understand how she wouldn’t see that coming, but Banker Boy over here should’ve sniffed that out a mile away.
“So…you plan to develop that parcel?” Wally ventures.
“Uh, well, I am, after all, a real estate developer,” I remind him. “And I have a client very interesting in putting a movie theater complex on that corner.”
“Complex?” he repeats as if he’s misheard me.
“Yes, a twelve-screen, stadium seating Cineplex with IMAX and an underground parking structure.”
They both stare at me in stunned silence. I don’t usually like to disclose my plans this early on, but it’s time they know how serious I am about this—and how far I’ll go to make it happen.
Hennessy gets to her feet so that she’s staring down at me. Her face is bright scarlet, and she’s got her fists balled up on either side of her short skirt. Stormy blue eyes bore into me, and I’m sure she wishes she had the power to eviscerate me with them at this very moment.
“No,” she says flatly, starting to shake with rage.
“No what?” I ask, intrigued by this passion-filled, furious side of her.
“No. You won’t be doing that, Mr. Truitt, because I will not allow it.”
I sigh deeply and look at her pityingly, which only serves to piss her off even more.
“Wally,” she throws over her shoulder to the bug-eyed banker, “I’d be grateful if you’d provide me with all the loan documents signed by my father. Also the exact pay-off figures and dates. My sisters and I will raise the money we need in the allotted time, Mr. Truitt. So, may I recommend to you, once again, that you go home.”
She stomps out of the office, grabs her coat from the waiting room, and storms out of the bank with so much fury that people actually stop what they’re doing to watch her leave.
I turn back to Wally with a bright smile.
“So, Wally, where exactly, did you get your finance degree? Because I think you should ask for your money back.”
…
I walk and walk and walk the blocks in and around the town, careful to avoid the pub. Hennessy O’Halloran was pretty angry when she left the bank. That was only a couple of hours ago, and there’s a good chance she’ll hurl a blunt object at my head if I come into her sights. The memory of the two perfect circles of red on her cheeks makes me smile. I’m surprised an attorney doesn’t have a better poker face.
Okay, okay, enough of that. Time to get my act together and figure this out. Do I leave town without a sales contract and hope I can pick up the property on the back end, in foreclosure? I could do that. It would be easy, and I’ve done it a hundred times before. It’s just that…
What? What, what, what?
I’m frustrated at my inability to reconcile what I know I should do with what I want to do. I should go home. I should focus on my other clients and deals. I mean, what reason do I have to stay here? She’s not going to sell unless she absolutely has to, that much I’m sure of. And she’s not going to be able to raise enough cash to pay off the loan. I’m also quite sure of that.
So what the hell’s the big dilemma here?
I stop and look down Main Street. I’m standing directly across from the pub, and if I squint, I can just make out the figure of Hennessy O’Halloran as she shuttles a lunch tray to a table and then turns back around to the bar.
She’s the big dilemma here. The girl next door. I can’t stop thinking about her, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I want something for someone else more than I want it for myself. This realization nearly knocks me off my feet. Well, that and the patch of black ice that’s suddenly under my smooth-soled shoes. I reach out and instinctively slam my hand on a plate glass window for stability. I’ve managed to catch myself, but my heart is pounding with the near miss.
What is this place anyway? I look up and read the bold black lettering above the picture of an eagle.
The Mayhem Gazette
And then lower, written in perfect block lettering on a small sign:
Office Space for Rent
I hear Helen’s voice in the receiver before I even realize I’ve dialed her.
“Truitt Group, this is Helen. May I help you?”
“Helen, it’s Bryan.”
“Oh, hello, Bryan. Sorry, your number came up as out of area on the office phone. How’re you doing? Ready to book that flight home?”
“Not exactly.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Looks as if I’m going to be hanging around Mayhem for the next month and change.”
“Seriously?” she gasps in surprise.
“Seriously.”
“Jeez, Bryan, you haven’t had to embed for a few years now. And nowhere near as rugged as Minnesota. What’s going on?”
“I’m not really sure,” I admit. “But whatever it is, I need to be here to figure it out.”
“Okay, then…are you sure you’re up for it?” she asks me, reservation clear in her tone.
“Oh for God’s sake, Helen,” I grumble. “I’m not going to live in the woods off the fat of the land. But I do need your help.”
Her reply is immediate and unquestioning.
“Of course. You want me to start local recon?”
“I do. Can you put together a dossier on the community for me?”
“Absolutely,” she murmurs distractedly, and I can tell she’s taking notes. “Okay, restaurants, businesses, houses of worships, politics and politicians, demographics, notable news. How’s that for a start?”
“Perfect,” I say.
“Okay, then. I’ll start my research now and send you email updates.”
“Thanks, Helen. I think I’ve got a lead on a temporary office. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got that squared away.”
“Hey, Bryan?”
“Yeah?”
“You had another message from Clara Broadmore. She wants you to call her as soon as possible—says it’s very important that she speaks to you. Do you want her number?”
“No.”
“No? This is the third time she’s called this week…”
“Helen, please don’t hassle me about this. I know how to reach her if I want to. If she calls again, please just tell her I’m out of state on business and unreachable.”
My assistant is silent for a long moment, but I can feel her disapproval from two time zones away.
“All right, then, suit yourself,” she says at last.
I always do.