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“Hey, I’m a catch,” Trey defends himself.
“I’m sure they’ll catch something,” I retort.
“That’s a Seth comment. You’ve been hanging out with him too much.” Trey points in my direction.
“You do realize prostitution is illegal, right?” I reply.
“I’m not going to have sex with them. Unless they want to pay extra.” Trey winks.
I drop my head to my hands. I can’t believe what I’m about to do and I pray I don’t regret it. Lifting my head, I stare at Trey. “You know what. Fine. We’ll auction you off.”
“Yes!” Trey fist pumps the air. “But it has to be one of those live auctions.”
The next day I walk into The Blue Stone Group like a woman on a mission. Because this is the biggest thing I’ve ever done, and I hope I’m not ignored. I stride past the reception desk, offering a quick wave to Olivia as she gives me a fierce smile. My heart hammers in my chest because what if they say no? Then I will have to go to plan B. Only I have no plan B.
Once I’m at the elevator I press the up arrow and it lights up. A few seconds later, the doors open. I walk inside and as soon as I turn around the doors close. I let out a deep breath and press the button for the third floor. For the entire ride up to my floor I count the heartbeats thumping in my throat. When the doors open, I quickly drop off my belongings at my desk and hurry to Mr. Evans’ office. My heart is racing as sweat collects on my palms, but I need to do this. This is no longer about me, but for the community and a family who wants to serve them. Through the slits in the vertical blinds, I see he’s sitting behind his desk. The door is open a crack when I arrive. I take a deep breath, hoping to calm my erratic nerves, but it doesn’t help. It’s now or never. I raise my hand and softly knock before peeking my head through the opening. “Mr. Evans, do you have a moment so I can speak with you?”
He looks up from the paperwork sitting on his desk. “Parisa. Yes, come in. Take a seat.”
Pushing the door open, I slide inside and close the door behind me with a click. With confident strides, I make my way to the leather armchair sitting in front of Mr. Evans’ desk.
“What can I help you with today?” Mr. Evans intertwines his fingers and rests them on top of his paperwork.
I place the folder on my lap and mimic his actions. “It’s been mentioned that The Blue Stone Group has been in some hot water with the community over the removal of a community park caused by one of our developments. And I believe I have a solution to get the community back on our side.”
“And what’s that?”
“Recently, a vitally important asset to our community has been lost because of a fire. The Lilith House.”
“I heard about that. But where does The Blue Stone Group come in?”
Opening the folder on my lap, I place a few papers in front of Mr. Evans. “I know The Blue Stone Group has recently purchased a lot, downtown, that has a few buildings onsite. At this moment, there are no plans in motion for the use of that lot. I believe it would make a prime location for The Lilith House to rebuild.”
“And we sell that lot to The Lilith House?”
“I believe if The Blue Stone Group donated the lot to The Lilith House, the people would see how the company wants to help the community instead of destroying it.”
“I see what you’re saying. That is a big donation to be making and a lot of lost revenue for the company.”
“I understand, but we should think long term. And having The Blue Stone Group involved in such a pivotal asset to the community will help bring the residents back to our side.” I flip through a few more pages of my papers and pull out two more and hand them to Mr. Evans. “These are the numbers of how many people The Lilith House has helped.” Pointing to another graph on the paper, I add, “And these are the numbers of how many people The Lilith House has transitioned back into the community by providing food, shelter, and even finding employment. And even more, believing in them.”
Mr. Evans leans back in his chair. “I see you’ve done your research. You do offer a compelling case. I will have to discuss this with the CEO and get back to you with a final decision.”
“That’s all I can ask for. Thank you, Mr. Evans.”
I rise to my feet and straighten my blouse. I turn on my heel not feeling defeated but not entirely confident either. All I can do is cross my fingers.
Twenty-Seven
Peach cobbler, your favorite
Seth
The drive through the snow is brutal today. My hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter. I had no intention of leaving my house, but my mom called and told me I’m needed at their house. They discharged her from the hospital after a week’s stay. They couldn’t find anything that was a definite cause of the heart attack, but was told her to take it easy for a while just in case. Every possible scenario of what it could be runs through my mind. Has her health worsened? Did they find out the cause of the fire? As I come up on my parents’ driveway, I push down on the brake pedal, but my tires lock up and slide. The ABS kicks in, but my car just slides and slides. Once I come to a stop about ten feet past the driveway, I shift into reverse before taking the right turn following the path of previous tire tracks. I park in front of the garage and stroll up to the front door, letting myself in.
Once in the foyer I untie my shoes and place them next to the bench with the other shoes and hang up my jacket on the coat rack. Suddenly, I’m assaulted with a sweet, sugary aroma. Fucking hell. Strolling into the kitchen, Mom has an apron tied around her waist while my dad and sister sit at the kitchen island enjoying whatever Mom has just baked.
“Smells good in here.” I greet my mom with a side hug. I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t know what else to say since this scent does things to me and I’m hoping those things stay at bay.
