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“So why did you come to my neck of the woods?” I ask, although I already know the answer.
She releases a heavy sigh. “Do we really have to play this game? If you know I’ve been looking for you, then you clearly know why. We both know that there is very little that happens in this city that you don’t know.”
At least she gives me the credit due. And how right she is.
I motion for the bartender to bring over the drink that I ordered for her when Z let me know she was on her way over. It is a brand of wine that, to me, tastes like grape juice, but I remember how she loves it above all else.
When the drink arrives, she glances down at it with wide eyes and a twitch of her lip. “It’s not even noon yet,” she says, although she picks it up and sips from it regardless. She smiles as she does, maybe appreciating that I ordered correctly, but then her expression returns to the serious businesswoman I know she so badly wants to present to me. “You and I have always been direct with each other. So, no need to change that.”
I nod. “By all means… be direct.”
I watch as her spine stiffens. “I need a loan. A fairly large one.” Her heavy-lashed eyes glance down to her wine and then back up to mine. “But you already know that.”
“Why would you come to me? Last time I checked, I wasn’t a bank.”
“The banks are… Tristan really screwed things up.”
I nod again. “He did. And not just with the banks. The fact that you actually feel you could come to me, out of all people, and ask for help is… laughable. You have a lot of rich friends. Why not go to them?”
“I’m trying to keep the financial situation of The Whitney private. Knowing you and what you do… well… I knew there’d be no keeping this secret from you. I’ve also come to you because of your past with The Whitney. You may hate me, but you do care about that hotel. And I know you don’t want to see it fall into the hands of some corporation that will just add it to their chain, stripping the history and charm out of the place.”
“True,” I admit. “I’d hate to see it fall into the wrong hands. And I most certainly would hate to see it stripped of anything from its rich history.” She opens her mouth to speak, and I raise my hand to stop her. “But you did that on your own. The minute you kicked me and Z out of The Whitney, you stole its very lifeblood from it.”
“That’s not true. I was protecting it,” she snaps.
I chuckle as I shake my head. “I barely recognized it when I entered the other day. If that is what you call protection—”
“Dex…” She takes a deep breath and sips from her wine, no doubt trying to figure out what to say next.
She hasn’t begged yet.
But I’ll gladly enjoy it when she does.
“The Whitney’s in danger,” she confesses, her eyes once again locked with mine.
I nod. “It is.”
“I’m ashamed of what my idiot dead husband did.” Her cheeks pinken as she glances around the pub as if expecting all eyes to be watching us. “I’m just trying to handle things… secretly. I’m concerned that more people know the situation than I’d like.”
“I don’t believe many know. You didn’t even know.” Part of me doesn’t want to soothe any of her worries, but I’ve never lied to her in the past either. “But I do. Rumor has it, you’re one payment away from losing it completely, which is why I’ll help you.”
Her eyes widen and renewed light hits them. For a split second, it reminds me of our childhood.
“You will?” Her voice perks up and for the first time since she entered the pub, she appears happy.
I sip from my whiskey before saying, “Sell me The Whitney.”
It’s as if I punched her in the face because she flinches and flings her body back against the leather of the booth. “Absolutely not!” she hisses between clenched teeth. “You know I’d rather die than let that happen.”
I shrug. “I offered to help.”
“I’m not selling The Whitney!” she shouts, quickly glances around, and then lowers her voice. “I’m here to ask for a loan. Nothing more.”
“No.”
“Dex…”
I lean forward. “You did this, Katja. You pushed me away and made an enemy out of me. Not a friend. Don’t confuse my helping you after your husband died as friendship. It wasn’t. It was pity and a sick sense of loyalty to your dead father’s memory. Nothing more.”
