Just Pretend (Just… #1)

35. James

CHAPTER 35

JAMES

I stare at my father’s hand, thinking about the chess piece concealed in his fist. What is he doing with it? Does he plan on putting it back? Is he going to take it? Is this some kind of power move? His words, insane and confusing as they are, are just starting to sink into my brain as I consider what kind of man just takes the king from someone else’s chess board. The kind of man who is used to taking whatever he wants without anyone ever calling him on his bullshit. The strange thoughts in my head and the words my father just said to me are finally starting to converge and I look up at him, my eyebrows furrowed, my back stiff.

I’m not sure if this is all some kind of insane joke, something my brother put into play, or maybe they’re both in on it. Maybe this is my punishment for missing the birthday party over the weekend. Maybe they’re gaslighting me. How else could my father have concluded that I plan on coming back to work for him, or that I’m using my relationship with Hallie as some kind of plot against Mark Evans? It doesn’t make any sense.

“Dad, stop,” I say, holding up my hand. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not seeing Hallie to get information about her father. I would never, ever, use someone like that, especially not Hallie.”

“You sound like you actually have feelings for this girl,” my father laughs derisively.

“That’s because I do have feelings for her,” I tell him. “I’m in love with her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dad snorts. “Leave it to you to fall in love with someone while trying to get information from them at the same time. Only you, James. You’ve always been a bit of a romantic.”

“You’re not listening to me,” I say firmly. “I’m not trying to get information out of Hallie. I didn’t even know she was Mark Evans’s daughter until just recently. You have this situation all wrong.”

“What are you telling me?” Rupert asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m telling you that I’m in love with Mark Evans’s daughter and I don’t want to use her; I want to help her. I want to help the entire Evans family.”

“Help them? ” my father huffs. “Why would they need your help? If Evans can’t see that he’s sitting on a gold mine, then that’s his problem. You can lead a horse to water, James, but you can’t make him drink. Some people are beyond helping.”

He opens his fist and tosses the king up in the air, catching it and then tossing it again as he looks at me, shaking his head.

“I should have known,” he sighs. “This is extremely disappointing. I thought you had finally come to your senses.”

“If anything,” I reply coolly, realizing that asking my family for help was a bad idea, “this has made me more certain I made the right decision leaving the company. How on earth could you be proud of me, thinking I was doing something so underhanded? Why is that something you would even want for me?”

“I was proud when I thought you grew a spine,” Rupert snarls, his jaw clenched. “I was proud to think you were finally being serious for once. It’s a cliché, I know, but this isn’t personal, James. It’s business. We do what we have to do.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Dad,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “That’s how you do business. That’s how you define success. Making the most amount of money by any means, no matter who gets hurt in the process. Not everyone is like that.”

“You know what? You’re right about that,” Rupert laughs wryly. “But those people who take others’ feelings into account, who won’t do the hard things that need to be done, they aren’t successful. In fact, they end up without a penny to show for their efforts. Mark Evans and his little camp are a perfect example of that.”

“That little camp,” I reply, trying to hold back the contempt that has been building inside of me, “means everything to Hallie’s family. It helped her sister, Sadie, and it’s helped countless other kids with autism. To those kids, that camp is invaluable. It’s worth far more than whatever the worth is of the land it’s on. Closing the camp would be a huge loss—not just to the Evans family, but to kids who need a place to go where they can thrive.”

I take a breath, feeling the anger coming to a boil inside me, knowing that it’s not going to take much for me to explode. I don’t know why I’m bothering to try to reason with my father, but the more I talk, the more impassioned I become, wanting to convince him that he’s wrong, even though I know from a lifetime of experience that it’s impossible to get my father to change his mind about anything once he’s made up his mind.

“I know that camp is just another piece of land to you,” I continue, “but it means everything to the Evanses and to so many others. Can’t you just let this one go? Would it really be so bad for you to move on and find another piece of land? You have enough money to find somewhere else to build condos or golf clubs or hotels. Why do you need this one so badly?”

“It’s lakefront property,” my father insists. When I don’t respond, he rolls his eyes, as if that should have been all the explanation he needed to give. “Do you have any idea how successful a resort would be in that location? First and foremost, it would actually make money, unlike this camp, which barely breaks even.”

“There are more important things than money,” I tell him.

“Like what?” Rupert scoffs. “Wasting your life and fancy education making furniture?”

I ball my hands into fists, wincing at the blow. I have gotten more satisfaction out of making furniture than I ever did working for my father, but I know he will never understand what that feels like. He will never understand me. We’re too different. It’s strange to consider how quickly I came to resent and abhor everything he stands for, given the fact that he raised me. But even though I know we will never see eye to eye, I still have to give it one last try to see if I can help Hallie. This is more important than my relationship with my father.

“I’m just asking you to please do me this one favor,” I say calmly. “I have never asked much from you. You don’t even have to sign over the land, just extend the lease so they can keep the camp running. Please, Dad.”

Rupert silently stares at me, the wheels inside his brain turning over my request, determining the cost and benefits of doing his son a favor. He rolls the king over in his hand and then sets it down on the chess board, lying on its side.

“Alright,” he says after a pause.

“Really?” I ask, letting out a long breath. “Oh my god, thank you, Dad. Thank y?—”

“I’ll sign over the land to Mark so he can let it go to waste,” my father interrupts, “but I need something from you.”

My stomach immediately tightens, and I’m hit by a wave of nausea. I should have known there would be strings. My father does nothing out of the goodness of his heart, not even for his family.

“What is it?” I ask, steeling myself for whatever he has up his sleeve now.

“I’ll do you your favor, but in return, you need to give up this ridiculous hobby of yours and come back to work for me.”