Three
Alex
Ding.
I’d been lazing in what I now knew was Noah’s amazing bed when my cell phone dinged.
This time, I smiled when I saw the number.
Running late, Alex. Can we meet at 11?
Smile still on my face, I typed in my response.
Sure! See you then!
George Francois sent back a thumbs-up, and I smiled again, then put my phone on the side table.
I was glad I had gotten it, because in all of the excitement last night, I’d almost forgotten about the meeting with George. But now I had a little bit more extra time, which I would probably need to get myself together.
After the meeting, I’d go check out my apartment and figure out a plan.
I got up, showered again, and then stood in front of the closet.
Of course, my mind drifted to Noah.
As I selected the outfit for the day—gray slacks, burgundy-red button-down shirt, matching gray jacket—I wondered what he would think.
Not like it mattered, but still, I wondered.
I shouldn’t have.
I’d met the man three times, attacked him with an umbrella, and stolen his bedroom.
But my reaction to him was something I couldn’t understand.
Or deny.
I knew from Birdie that Noah traveled all over the world, and one glance at him, and I knew he didn’t lack female attention.
Just as I knew I didn’t qualify for even a first glance from him, let alone a second.
I stared at my image in the mirror, seeing so much of my mother that I certainly couldn’t hate the reflection staring back at me, but acknowledging that I didn’t measure up.
“Oh well, fuck ’em,” I said to myself then tackled my hair.
When I was as ready as I could be, I went downstairs.
Or more accurately, was led downstairs, the scent coming from the kitchen—coffee, for sure, and other delicious-smelling breakfast things—guiding the way.
“Good morning, Noah,” I said breezily.
I wasn’t sure why I had said anything but chalked it up to surprise at the sight that greeted me.
Noah, with his giant self, was standing at the sink.
“Don’t you guys have people to wash dishes for you?” I asked.
“Good morning, Alex. I made coffee. And eggs. Have some,” Noah said.
I listened to the deep, soothing timbre of his voice, felt like I was being hypnotized by it, and then processed what it said.
“You made me breakfast?” I asked as I moved deeper into the kitchen.
“No, I made myself breakfast, and there just so happens to be enough for you. No reason for it to go to waste,” he said.
He finished the dishes, then leaned against the counter, looking at me.
I felt…something under his gaze, so I focused my attention on the bistro table, where a carafe of coffee was sitting.
“So, eggs?” he asked.
His voice was even, lacking inflection.
I was thrown off by the offer, but the grumble in my stomach made the decision for me. “Sure.”
After I sat down, I poured a cup of coffee and took a sip.
It was fucking phenomenal, and I was a girl who didn’t play about her coffee.
I looked around the kitchen and saw a fancy machine.
“You ground beans this morning?” I asked.
“Do I look like a savage or something? Of course, I did,” he said like it was the most obvious answer.
“The coffee’s pretty good,” I said, sounding far more grudging than I intended.
He lifted one corner of his mouth, revealing the cutest little dimple, but he didn’t say anything. Just loaded a few eggs on a plate and brought it over to me.
“Thank you,” I said.
He didn’t say anything but watched as I ate.
I didn’t say anything either.
Between the eggs in my mouth, and how tongue-tied I was by his scrutiny, I couldn’t, to make no mention of how great the eggs were.
And they were. Not overdone, not underdone. Fluffy, perfect.
“How are they?” he asked.
“Fine.” I followed up my bland response with a sip of coffee.
He didn’t say anything else, just sat there like being under his scrutiny wasn’t making me a nervous wreck.
“Is there something I can do for you, Noah?” I said finally.
I put down my fork, took another sip of coffee, but then put the cup down too.
He just stayed leaning against the counter, looking me up, down, then back up again, his gaze giving away nothing.
I shifted, hoping my movement didn’t give away the nerves that were starting to eat at me.
I just waited, determined to play whatever game this was to the fullest.
And this was most definitely a game.
I didn’t have much experience with men, least of all men like Noah, but I knew when I was being put to the test.
Alex Emilia McPherson didn’t fail tests.
Then, finally, when I thought he was going to get the best of me, he said, “I want my room back. May I have it?”
I could tell that his pleasant question was grudging at best. Even still, it was a request that, all things being equal, I ordinarily would have granted.
But there was something about Noah…
He’d barged into my apartment and had accused my best friend of being a liar.
And he’d said literally zero words to me at Birdie’s and Dominic’s wedding, not even an acknowledgement that he’d been wrong to accuse Birdie in the first place.
He’d broken into this house while I was sleeping!
Before I dismissed him outright, I couldn’t help but think of what my mother would say, how she would remind me that a little kindness went a long way.
Those words were something I tried to live by, but…
I looked at his stupid face, which I still couldn’t call handsome, but that I still couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off of.
Those stupid shoulders that looked like they could carry the weight of the world.
Stupid arms that looked like they could catch me if I fell…
“I’ll just be here for a little while,” I said, pretending my voice didn’t sound shaky, breathless.
His nostrils flared.
“I’ll be here much longer than that, so it stands to reason that you would let me have the room that I like best and the one I use so much I had my favorite mattress put in it,” he said.
He sounded so fucking reasonable that I felt honor bound to say, “There’s not just the time to consider. I’ve already unpacked and gotten comfortable. The other rooms are lovely. And since this isn’t your home, it shouldn’t be too much of a hardship to stay in one of them.”
“No. But it shouldn’t be too much of a hardship for you either. And that room is as much of a home as I have, so I’d appreciate you giving it to me,” he said.
There was the faintest hint of strain in his words, but contrary to common sense, I didn’t let that dissuade me.
In fact, it only made me dig in.
“Well, as I explained, this is a very trying time for me, and I’ve gotten comfortable there. I’d like to keep it,” I said.
His eyes narrowed slightly, though his face quickly returned to its placid expression. “Well, as I explained, I consider that room mine. So I want it.”
His stance didn’t give anything away. His posture hadn’t changed, and he didn’t look upset, but I could see he was digging in.
And I was too.
Besides, I appreciated a good fight.
It was why I was so good at my job.
I didn’t pick fights, but if they came, I was more than up for the task.
“Well, Noah, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to insist,” I said, using that blandly professional tone that I knew could drive people to therapy.
It didn’t seem to have an impact on him.
In fact, he didn’t say anything. He just kept leaning there, looking at me.
Looking at me for so long that I had no choice but to look away.
“And I’m afraid I have to go. I trust that you’ll be a gentleman and leave my belongings exactly where they are,” I said.
He didn’t miss the meaning of that sentence: don’t touch my shit.
I waited for him to say something, contradict me, but instead he pushed off the wall and grabbed the coffee. “Do you want to take coffee for the road?” he said.
My brow wrinkled, confusion setting in.
“What? No,” I said.
I was ready for pushback, but he offered me coffee?
Fucking weirdo.
He was throwing me off, but I refused to let it show.
I shook my head,then looked back at him. “You didn’t answer my question,” I said.
“What question is that?” he asked.
“The one about me being certain that my things would be exactly where I left them,” I said.
He refilled his coffee.
“Have a nice meeting, Alex,” he said before he took a sip.
I watched his throat work, trying to formulate a response.
I knew that I had been bested, and besides, I didn’t have time for this.
“Don’t touch my shit, Noah,” I called out in warning.
He looked at me, smiled, then took another sip.
Alex
“Thankyou for being so accommodating about the meeting time, Alex,” Mr. Francois said.
“Oh, it’s no problem at all, Mr. Francois,” I responded, shaking his hand as he led me into his office.
“Please, call me George,” he said.
I smiled. “Okay, George.”
After I left Noah, I called a car, though not the car service that had taken me to the townhouse. Birdie had given me the company’s information and told me to call anytime, but I was true to my word about not taking from Birdie.
The ride to the city center took less time than I’d thought it would, probably because I was leaving later in the day, though with Boston traffic, you never knew.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” George asked as he led me into his office.
“No thank you,” I said, as I shook my head and settled in the chair he offered.
George sat behind his desk, which was stacked high with papers, and smiled apologetically. “I can’t get a handle on this mess. Every paper I move comes back as three more.”
“I understand,” I said, and empathized because I was not unfamiliar with the fight against paper myself.
He laughed. “I guess paper is a part of your profession,” he said.
“It is. But I’m surprised you have so many,” I said.
“Me too. But every order comes with an invoice and order form, sometimes change orders, and so on,” he said, his voice lit with amusement that only livened his already bright accented English.
George was a Haitian immigrant, and over his forty years in the US, he’d grown his small delivery service into a regional powerhouse and had become a real estate investor, which was what had brought me to his door.
“So, the building?” he said, not wasting time with meaningless small talk, which oddly made me inclined to talk to him more.
“You know I’m interested,” I said to George.
He smiled, his dark brown gaunt cheeks almost cherubic with his amusement. “You’ve made that very clear.”
And I had.
I had found out that George owned the building, and even before he had put it up for sale, I had contacted him.
“I’m impressed by your tenacity. Now, what do you plan on doing with it?” he asked as he leaned back in his chair, managing to look like a ruthless businessman and loving grandfather at the same time. I had no doubt that dichotomy had served him well over the years.
“You know that’s not really a standard question for a real estate transaction,” I responded.
“It’s not, but I hope that you’ll indulge me,” he said.
The suspicious lawyer in me resisted the question, but instinct told me George was a good guy.
“Why not?” I said. “The building is currently zoned commercial, but—and I probably shouldn’t tell you this, so don’t use it against me, please—” I said.
“Of course not,” he responded, smiling innocently.
I huffed. “Am I supposed to trust that smile, George?”
“Of course. I’m a man of my word,” George said.
“It’s not final yet, but based on the chatter I’m hearing, the city is planning on loosening some of the zoning regulations, so I’ll be able to convert the building into a live-work space. My plan is to open my own law practice there and then rent out the other three units, preferably to young entrepreneurs, provided they can show me a reasonable business plan. And since there are units in the back, I can either rent those as living space or use them for additional businesses, all at a reasonable rate that will allow the businesses to grow and produce a stable flow of income,” I said.
“A stable flow for yourself as well?” George said.
I nodded. “Sure. Hopefully,” I said, thinking about the flood before I continued, “and, potentially, for you,” I said.
“So, you’re looking at seller financing?” George asked.
I shrugged, then leaned back in the chair, crossing my legs.
“I can secure the bank financing—eventually—but it’s going to take time,” I said, being honest with George. “Ideally, you’ll allow me to make a show of good faith, and then I can work on getting full financing.”
George templed his fingers in front of his face and tapped his chin as he considered. Then, finally, he said, “I like the idea.”
I nodded, somewhat relieved.
Very often, the bottom line was the bottom line, but I got the sense that wasn’t the case with George, something he confirmed.
“I came to this country with nothing and have built an amazing life for myself and my family. But I didn’t do that without help. It warms my heart to see young people like you trying to do the same for others, and I’d love to be a part of that,” he said.
My heart lifted, but I tried to keep myself grounded, knowing the deal wasn’t done.
Still, this felt like it might be break I’d been hoping for.
He considered a moment longer and then laid his hands on the table. “So, if you can come to the table with fifteen thousand in ninety days, I’ll sell the building to you,” he said.
“Ninety days, huh,” I said, doing some quick calculations.
I had just under nine saved up, so that gave me ninety days to pull together six more.
I could do that. I knew I could.
“I can make that happen, George,” I said.
“I don’t doubt it, chouchou,” he said with a kind smile, his use of the endearment feeling genuine.
I extended my hand and shook George’s.
“You draw up the paperwork, and I’ll bring the money to the table in ninety days,” I said.
“You have a deal,” George responded.
“Thanks for meeting me,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he said as he stood and walked me out.
As I left, I felt like I was floating on a cloud.
What had seemed so distant just hours ago was now that much closer to being real. I was on the verge of realizing my dream, was this close to opening my practice and giving a helping hand to others.
I pulled out my phone to call Birdie and saw another missed call.
One the spur of the moment, I called the number back.
“Hey, Dad,” I said when my father answered.
“Hey, Alex,” he said, his smile practically beaming through the phone. “I’m glad you called back. I was hoping you were up for grabbing a bite to eat with your father,” he said.
I smiled, surprised by the request. “Sure. When and where?”
My dad named one of his favorite lunch places, and I told him I would meet him there in an hour.
I wasn’t even annoyed, even though I knew I’d have to pay for the meal.