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“No, but he has mentioned how you’re keeping him on his toes.” If Richard is at all concerned about the public uproar over tearing down the building and his company’s name being dragged, he doesn’t reveal it. But I guess you don’t become as successful as he has by getting ruffled over controversy.
“I can’t take all the credit for that.”
Garrett snorts.
I ignore it. I have a specific purpose for this confrontation. “What’s going on here?” Now that I’m in front of the building, I see the workers draping sheets and setting up ladders in Yvonne’s. Another is papering the window, shutting it from street view.
“Just a little refresh,” Garrett answers vaguely.
“Why? You’re planning on tearing down the building in … May?”
Richard opens his mouth to answer, but then, thinking better of it, turns to Garrett, waiting for him to address the question. He is spearheading the project, after all. I guess he wants to give his nephew practice in dealing with unruly townsfolk.
“We’ll be using it as a temporary sales center beginning next week until our new HG office is open across town. Our schedule is already tight, and I can’t waste valuable time,” Garrett answers smoothly. “Also, I think the sooner people see how we’re improving Main Street rather than listen to rumors circulating, the better for everyone involved.”
Better for Garrett and HG, surely. “Next week, huh? Wow. You’re just trucking along.”
Garrett steps back. “I’m sure you were on your way to something important. Don’t let us keep you.” He gestures toward the butcher shop, clearly trying to get rid of me.
“Todd’s angry. He cut me off his soup.” I steal a peek through the window—the egg yolk has been scrubbed clean—but Dillon, his employee, is behind the counter. I wonder if he’s been instructed not to sell me anything too.
“Angry with you. Can’t imagine why,” Garrett mutters.
“I know, right? It’s unfathomable.”
“If you two’ll excuse me, I was just popping in between meetings, but I’m on my way back to the office.” Richard taps Garrett with a paper roll. “Give me an update later. Justine, don’t catch a chill.” Richard marches toward an idling black Lincoln, the hem of his dress pants tapered perfectly to his ankles. He slides into the back seat.
“He has a driver,” I say out loud as the car pulls away. Of course, he has a driver. The man drips money. And he knows my name. I don’t know if I should be flattered or concerned. My mother’s warning about getting on powerful men’s bad sides rings in my ear.
“Richard’s a busy man. Why waste the hour commute back to Philly? Speaking of wasting time …”
“Ouch! You know, I kind of miss flirty Garrett. He was a slimeball, but at least he wasn’t a complete asshole.”
He sighs. “I’m just under a lot of pressure—in part, thanks to you—and I don’t have the energy to deal with whatever shit you want to fling at me because you’re in your man-hating phase.”
“I don’t hate all men. Just liars and cowards and cheats.”
“Then there’s no reason for your issue with me.”
I bellow with fake, obnoxious laughter. “Oh yeah? No reason? How’s that fridge I sold to you working out? Remember that day?”
“So you’re admitting your anger has nothing to do with HG buying this building and everything to do with you thinking I led you on?”
“Hustled me. And Ned. Because you’re a hustler.”
“You really like that word.”
“If it walks like a duck …”
“Whatever game you’re trying to play, you aren’t going to win. So find something else to put your energy into. Something positive.” His eyes flicker downward. “And put on a coat.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re cold.” He shifts his attention to a worker edging past us, nodding in greeting at him.
“Oh, you mean because of these?” I raise my voice, gesturing at my nipples, pebbled and no doubt prominent through my thin cotton shirt. “I’m not cold, I’m just happy to see you.”
The worker steals a glance over his shoulder and barks out a laugh.
The corners of Garrett’s mouth twitch. “Still classy, I see.”
“Not everyone can be as sophisticated as you, Garrett John Harrington the Third,” I taunt.
His eyebrow arches. “Looked me up, did you?”
“Know thy enemies and all that.” I jerk my chin toward the building. “Get your guys to park in back. You have a giant lot and that way you’re not taking spots from customers.”
Garrett makes a point of looking around. “Which customers would those be?”
“The ones you’re blocking.” My carefree veneer is fading, my annoyance peeking through. “Show some respect to the business owners you haven’t driven out of town yet.”
His amusement sours. “Always a pleasure, Justine.”
“Eat a dick.” I storm back to Murphy’s.
“Forty-two,” Nancy drones in her monotone voice, tossing the used ball into a basket. Tonight she’s wearing a blue sweater vest with a giant groundhog knitted into the front, in honor of last week’s Groundhog Day. The brown in it matches her bowl-cut hair perfectly.
