Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

ANTHONY

Laughter gusts from me. “I didn’t know that was your plan. I sent them away because I was waiting for you.”

A bright smile lights her up. “You really sent them away for me?”

“Of course.”

“I guess I forgot to tell you the plan. I could pretend I was trying to keep you on your toes, but I think I’m just bad at making plans. If my mind weren’t in five million different places at once, I’d conquer the world.”

“You’ve already conquered this bar,” I say, glancing at Dom, who looks harried now, like he’s not quite sure what do with this many customers. “Dom told me he’s never had this many people in here at once.”

“I did it for both of you,” she says, looking pleased. “I’ve spent days hyping this place up on Facebook. Not Instagram, obviously, because photos don’t lie.”

I laugh. “Maybe we should have done something about the interior first.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “You are the landlord.”

“But not the owner.” The owner is a guy named Remus. I’ve never met him in person, only on a single introductory phone call, after which we’ve solely corresponded over email. He’s sent me a hand-knit scarf every Christmas since I bought this building. I’ll feel pretty damn guilty when I open my scarf this year.

I pause, considering. I probably shouldn’t tell Rosie this part, but it’s been on my mind, wrapped around my shoulders like a weighted blanket. “Rosie, this whole building is going to get bulldozed. The developer for the deal my colleague and I have been working on has plans for this land. It’s one of the reasons they’re willing to do business with me. This location is part of their preferred map, and it’s a no go for them unless they loop me in.”

A furrow forms in her brow. “That’s not a very nice Christmas gift for Dom. I’m not sure he’ll ever get over it. Gene either. You know, Dom’s getting him a plaque for his table.”

I sigh, not bothering to ask how she came across that information. I’m guessing she could convince a perfect stranger to hand over their birthday and social security number. “I’m not sure I’ll get over it either. There’s…” I pause, taking a moment to gather myself. “I had big plans for this place. It just never happened. And business has been bad at Smith Investments for the last few years. This is my chance to turn things around. I have to try to do that for my employees.”

“Yeah,” she says, “all you have to do is give up your dream and marry a stranger. Sounds like a great deal.”

I smile at her. “When you put it that way, I’m almost inclined to feel sorry for myself.”

“Don’t hold back on my account. I’m a champion at feeling sorry for myself. It’s pretty hard when Joy’s around, though. Whatever’s wrong with you, she’ll tell you she has a tea for it. But you should ask a lot of questions before drinking it, for obvious reasons.” She pauses, watching me, and I feel her perusal beating into every cell of my body. Changing me. I lean forward without meaning to.

“Was Jake’s fake wife really a bust?” she finally asks. “I’ve asked him about her…okay, interrogated him…and he seemed pretty positive she didn’t hit on you.”

“She didn’t,” I find myself admitting. “She’s a consummate professional. I think you have an inflated view of the power of my collared shirts.”

Her gaze moves over me, as if assessing my statement. I am wearing one today—white with blue pinstripes—and yes, I wore it for her. Liquid heat floods my body as she reaches out to adjust my collar, her fingertips glancing over my flesh. “No,” she finally says, her voice a little husky. “I don’t. So why haven’t you announced your engagement to the consummately professional accountant with poor taste? She sounds like the answer to your problems. You should marry her.”

Disappointment tastes bitter, like crab apples pulled too early from the tree. I hadn’t exactly thought she’d propose to me, but I’d hoped the interest that has been festering inside of me was shared.

“I find I’m having a hard time going through with it,” I admit. “I wanted to meet you tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to do anything.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then she leans forward again and touches my arm. I feel her fingers curling around my arm, and my hardened heart beats faster.

Maybe… maybe . Who’d have thought a mere possibility could be this sweet.

“I wanted to meet you here too. I feel…” She swears, shaking her head as if she’s laughing at herself, then says, “Joy would absolutely build an unsteady house of cards out of this, but I feel like we’re meant to be important to each other in some way. I’ve felt it since that day at your house.”

My mouth forms a smile without bothering to consult my mind. “You mean the day your friend dosed me with mushrooms and my fiancée left me?”

Her lips lift. “For a second, I was afraid you’d forgotten.” She’s watching me intently again, and neither of us speak right away. Then she reaches across the table and lightly bops me on the nose, her finger spreading a glow through me as if it were Tinkerbell’s wand. “Consider this your warning. I’m about to ask you a big, meaning-of-life question, Anthony Rosings Smith.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll answer,” I say, holding her gaze.

“Yes, you’re a man of mystery,” she says with a teasing smile. “It’s kind of sexy, and I wouldn’t want to ruin that for you, but what would you do, Anthony, if you could do anything ?”

No one’s ever asked me that before.

I haven’t even dared to ask myself that.

No one’s ever done anything but assume that I’ll be what I was born to be. My father’s successor. His shadow.

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling the inadequacy of my answer. Of myself. “Maybe the same thing but differently.” I wrestle with myself and lose, letting the words that usually stay trapped escape. “When I took over, I wanted to make some big changes. This place was supposed to be part of that. I wanted to develop it into low-cost apartment units, but the people who’d worked at Smith Investments under my father weren’t interested in that. They liked things the way he’d done them—and they resented the necessity of working with me.”

“Shouldn’t you be able to make the decisions if you’re the boss?” she scoffs. “If not, what’s the point of being the boss?”

I take a sip of the crappy beer, then say, “My father’s second-in-command, Simon, had been running things for me since my father’s death. Everyone wanted him to keep the role.”

“He’s the one you were talking about the other day.”

I nod. “Simon’s…likable. Relatable. Or at least most people think so. They want to please him. To follow him.” My mouth hitches up again. “Kind of like you.”

“Bite your tongue. Anyway…you don’t need to be a crowd pleaser. My brother isn’t. We aren’t all given the gift of the gab, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and I really do believe we’re all given something. A purpose. A talent.” She smiles at me, leaning forward slightly, and I feel myself doing the same, drawn in. “You, Anthony Rosings Smith, are more interesting than you appear to be. That’s much better than being less interesting than you appear to be.”

“You’re exactly as interesting as you appear to be,” I say, and her smile feels like a balm.

“So I guess this charming jerk liked the way your father was doing things too,” she says, pausing as she studies me. “But why do you give a shit what they think? Why not press the point? You’re in charge, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that simple. There’s a board to keep satisfied, and they favor him over me. Always. And I can’t make a good argument for my ideas making us more money. They probably wouldn’t.”

“But you said the business isn’t doing well. So I’m guessing his way isn’t super profitable either.”

I smile at her. “No, I guess not. He wants us to do business the way my father did, but he’s no good at it. Neither am I. My father would say we lack the killer instinct.”

“Good. So leave the shitty company to Simon Says and do your own thing. You’ll be able to if you get the money.”

I shrug, feeling a push-pull inside of me that’s as familiar as the sight of myself in the mirror. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s because of him, isn’t it?” she asks. “Your father, I mean. My uncle liked to order people around too. He was a criminal, but everyone loved him. He took advantage of all of us.”

“Oh?” Maybe that should alarm me more, but I know plenty of criminals. They call them the white collar kind, like a rich criminal deserves a different status, but they’re criminals all the same.

“Yeah, he’s dead.” Her eyes flash blue fire at me. “But before you say you’re sorry, it’s a good thing.”

I nod, accepting this. Because even though life should be precious and death is forever, there’s no denying that the world is better off without some people. I’ve tried not to be one of them. Maybe that’s my real answer to her question—I want to be the kind of man who gives more than I take.

I’m not there yet.

Watching me, she reaches over and takes my beer—and I watch her as she lifts it for a sip, her lips firming around the place where mine sat minutes before. There’s a challenge in her eyes, but I shrug. “The beer’s terrible, and I’m more than happy to share my burdens with you. What would you do if you could do anything?”

Eyes dancing, she says, “I’ve been thinking about that too, but theoretically I can do anything. So could you, you know.”

“Is that what you’d tell the cops after they arrest you?” I smile, because I can actually imagine her doing it. Hell, I could imagine them listening and letting her off with a warning.

She grins at me. “It is what I told them. After I got arrested for illegally entering a hedge maze.”

“Did you get lost in it?”

“Yes. To be fair, I was drunk. I usually have an excellent sense of direction.”

Something passes through her eyes, and then she snaps her fingers. “You should make a bucket list.”

“Am I dying?”

“Hopefully not, but I reluctantly admit that Jake might have succeeded in finding you a fake wife. And it sounds like you’ll be selling your soul to the overdevelopment gods shortly thereafter. Seems like the perfect time for a bucket list. It’ll help you figure out your purpose.”

I could say no, I’d rather not, and that would be that. After all, we both know what I’m dealing with right now. But whenever I’m with Rosie, it feels like the weight bearing down on my shoulders isn’t quite so heavy. Which must be why I find myself asking, “Am I putting this bucket list together, or are you? Because I’m not streaking through the streets of Marshall or changing all the contents of the salt shakers in the diner to sugar.”

“Stop giving me cute ideas.”

“No grown man likes being called cute,” I say, giving her a stern look.

“Too bad,” she says, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up in her sweater, and suddenly my mouth is dry. My palms sweaty. I feel like a teenage boy again, unable to stop staring at my homeroom teacher’s breasts. “If you want me to stop calling you cute, you need to stop being so damned cute. And no. It needs to be your bucket list, but I’m going to help you fulfill it.”

“The Rosie way?” I ask with amusement.

“The Rosie way,” she confirms, weaving the purple strand in her hair around her finger. “We’ve only got a week and a half, and Christmas is in the middle, so how many items do we choose?”

“Five,” I say. “Will you do a bucket list too? It seems only fair.”

Rosie lifts her eyebrows. “I’ve already done everything I want to. I’m not known for my self-restraint.”

I give her a dubious look. “You’re how old?”

“I just turned twenty-eight,” she says, grinning back at me. “And this is where you tell me I couldn’t have possibly already done everything I want to.”

“It is,” I insist. “And you said you’ve been thinking about your purpose. Maybe this will help you too. It’s the only way I’ll agree.”

She watches me for a long moment before nodding. “Okay. But we have to do our lists together. Because you’re way more likely to have access to a horse than I am.”

“You’ve always wanted to ride a horse?” I ask.

“A unicorn,” she says with a half grin. “Unfortunately, a horse is as close as reality will allow me.”

My mind is already summoning up ideas for how I can make this happen for her. Not literally, obviously. Money can do a lot, but it can’t make a horse a unicorn. Rosie is a woman of imagination, though—an imagination so bright and bold it can spark other peoples’ imaginations into compliance.

It doesn’t escape me that I should instead be thinking about the threat to my family or the necessity of getting married, but my mind has always preferred to devote itself to one task and pursue it until it’s thoroughly conquered. This is the path it has chosen.

My gaze glued to Rosie’s, I nod, feeling energized by this assignment we’ve given each other. “I can make that happen for you. Saturday?”

She grins. “Really?”

“Really. Should we come up with the rest of our lists now?”

There’s a loud crash, followed by one woman laughing loudly and another shouting, and Rosie shakes her head, her eyes focusing on the bar. “No. I think Dom needs us.”

I glance back and see that the Santa has fallen on the ground, his dress hiked up as if he’s giving everyone a show. Dom is rubbing the bridge of his nose while a dozen dissatisfied women wait for their drinks. Something tells me they’re not going to be satiated by the half-flat beer in my glass.

“Well, what do you know…” I tell Rosie with a grin. “Tending bar was going to be number one on my list.”