Chapter 16
chapter 16
ANTHONY
Thanks to Maya’s crack-of-dawn meeting with the inspector, we’re at my favorite deli in the Financial District a good hour ahead of the usual work rush, ensuring we’re at no risk of running into anyone from the office.
I’ll have to deal with the team at Baxter and Holloway later today—I need to send in my recommendations for my replacement and answer roughly two dozen emails from former colleagues, asking if I’m having a mental breakdown—but for now, we’re safe.
Safe…
I’ve never really considered “safety” all that much. Yes, I grew up in a rough neighborhood, but I had older cousins and friends who ruled our block and always had my back. As I grew up, I learned to be that tough older family member, protecting the younger kids with my fists, if necessary. I’m a naturally big man, and I put in the work at the gym to ensure most people thought twice about starting something with me or the Pissarro clan.
Physical safety is something I’ve been lucky enough to take for granted in my life, but I’m coming to realize I haven’t felt “safe” in other ways for a long time.
Not since my marriage ended, in fact.
When the person who promised to love you for better or worse turns out to be a pathological liar, with no real investment in her vows or in you, it takes a toll. It makes you doubt your capacity to know what love is, what truth is. Your capacity to feel safe making authentic, vulnerable connections with other people unravels from there, leaving you isolated and alone.
But with Maya…
I’ve never felt so safe, and I’ve never wanted to keep another person safe the way I do with her. I’m so glad her inspector turned out to be someone I don’t know from the neighborhood. If I were sitting back at the apartment while she went to Red Hook alone, I’d be climbing the walls with worry.
Instead, I’m at my favorite deli with my favorite girl, feeling no pain.
“I hope you’re considering extra bacon with whatever you order,” I say as Maya studies the sandwich menu above the counter. “I encourage extra bacon. Two pieces is good, but four is better.”
“Some might say twice as good.” She grins up at me. “And yes, I will be going for extra bacon with my avocado and cheddar cheese on a plain bagel. A girl needs extra protein for surviving her first big city property inspection.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Damn, that sounds good.” I step up to the counter, where one of the new hires, who doesn’t know me as well as Tim, is waiting, proving the universe is on my side this morning. “Two avocado and cheddar cheese with extra bacon on plain toasted bagels, please.”
I pass over my credit card, she rings me up, and Maya and I step away to clear the counter for the next customer. She stands close, pressed lightly to my side as we watch the early morning bustle on the sidewalk outside.
The morning feels golden, perfect. The sky is clear and sunny, the snow drifts are softening as the temperature creeps into the low 40s, and even the commuter rush seems less hectic than usual—probably thanks to the holiday lull that’s kept half of Manhattan home in their pajamas for the week. I’ve certainly enjoyed the time Maya and I have spent huddled indoors, but it’s good to be out, too.
I’m excited to be a part of her first major step as an entrepreneur and relieved I’m able to do the walk-through with her. She’s prepared—her binder full of paperwork and list of renovation-related questions are impressive—but I have more experience buying distressed businesses and properties. I want to help her approach this project with the same rigorous cost-benefit analysis that’s been the cornerstone of my career and ensure her first investment is a success.
Success breeds more success and that’s all I want for her.
As we collect our sandwiches and head outside again, subway bound, I ask, “Should we grab pastries from the French place on the corner, too?”
She arches a brow. “Just how much food do you think I can handle, my friend? I mean, I like to eat, but those bagels are the nearly the size of my head.”
“It takes fuel to build a real estate empire,” I say with a shrug. “That’s all I’m saying.”
She gives my arm a teasing bump with hers. “My one-building empire?”
“For now. But I have a feeling you’re just getting started. I see great things ahead for you, kid.”
She loops her arm through mine, affection in her voice as she says, “Right back at you, old man.”
“Hey,” I say with a faux scowl.
She giggles. “I’m kidding. Obviously. You’re not old. And I know you’re the world’s best pretend boyfriend, but you have so many talents, Anthony. If you ever decided to change careers, I’m sure you could be anything you wanted to be.”
“Yeah?” I ask, touched by her sweetness, the way I always am. It never gets old, how purely good she is. And no, I don’t need the faith of a good woman to help me turn my male gigolo life around, but I appreciate her support all the same.
“No doubt in mind,” she says without a beat of hesitation. “And it’s never too late for a fresh start.”
“Thanks, Swallows,” I murmur.
“You’re welcome, Clark,” she shoots back with a wink.
Clark. Not Pissarro.
The reminder of my lie makes my stomach cramp, but I ignore the wave of guilt. I’m going to tell her the truth in two days, a mere forty-eight-ish hours, the moment we arrive at Twyla’s New Year’s Eve party.
And yes, a part of me wants to spill my guts right now and hopefully start building a completely honest relationship with her as soon as possible, but she has the inspection today and the closing Friday morning. She needs to focus on making life-changing business moves, not wrestling with the fact that the man she’s falling for has been lying to her since day one.
She is falling for me. I feel it in the way she touches a gentle hand to my back as we descend the stairs into the subway station, in the way she smiles as I tap my credit card once for her to head through the turnstile before tapping it again for myself, in the way she once again loops her arm through mine as we start toward the Brooklyn bound train.
And I’m falling for her.
Hell, I’ve already fallen. I’m at her feet, where I’ll stay until she agrees to forgive me for lying to her for even an hour, let alone an entire week.
She’ll forgive me, I have to believe that. The thought of anything else is intolerable. I don’t understand how I ever believed I was happy before Maya came into my life, but now I’m keenly aware that she’s necessary to the survival of the last pure, hopeful slice of my soul.
She saved me in the nick of time, and I’m determined to return the favor.
Which reminds me…
“I talked to my friend at that private equity firm I told you about,” I say as we wander down the platform. It’s crowded but not packed, and we move with ease down to an open space near an ad for the latest Broadway revival. “He gave me some tips for making sure the apartment is going to cash flow at the level you need to stay in the black after repairs. Once we get the report from the inspector, I can help you come up with some estimates and crunch the numbers if you’d like.”
I did no such thing, obviously—I run cash flow analysis in my sleep—but she doesn’t have to know that.
Not yet.
“Perfect, thank you,” Maya says. “I have my own spreadsheet and a few preliminary quotes from the contractors I spoke to on the phone, but it’s always good to run things through a few different lenses.” She bounces lightly on her toes, blowing air out through pursed lips. “Gah, I’m so excited. And nervous. And excited. I don’t know whether to do a happy dance or throw up.”
“Then let’s get something in your stomach.” I raise my voice to be heard over the roar of the approaching train rushing into the station. “It’s acceptable to eat on the train as long as your sandwich doesn’t stink.”
“Good thing ours smell delicious,” she shouts, beaming up at me like the ray of sunshine she is.
She’s certainly brought a light into my life that wasn’t there before.
Feeling like the luckiest man in the tri-state area, I lead the way onto the train and down to two open seats near the end of the car. Maya settles in beside me and we set about demolishing our sandwiches.
“Oh man,” she says around her first bite. “This is so good! How is it so good? It’s just a bagel.”
“I told you I was taking you to the best deli in the city. Never doubt me, woman. At least not when it comes to food.”
She laughs, and I can’t help taking a moment to stare. She’s always beautiful, but when she laughs…
God, she just rips my heart right out of my chest.
“My husband used to look at me like that,” a thin voice wobbles from across the car.
I look up to see an elderly woman in a giant black coat with her gray hair pulled into a messy bun atop her head casting a warm smile our way.
She lifts a spotted hand from her cane’s handle, motioning first to me, then Maya. “How long have you two lovebirds been married?”
Maya sucks in a surprised breath and starts to cough.
“We’re not married,” I say, laying a hand on her back as I bend to get a better look at her face. “You okay?”
She coughs again, before pressing a hand to her chest with a nod. “Yes. Sorry, I’m fine. Just bit off more than I could chew.” She brushes a crumb from the side of her mouth before smiling at the woman. “And no, we’re not married.”
“Good,” the woman continues, summoning a startled huff from Maya and an arched brow from me. “Live in sin for as long as possible. It’s more fun that way. Keeps things steamy.”
“Oh yeah?” Maya asks, mischief in her tone as she adds, “We’ll keep that in mind, then. I like things steamy.”
“Don’t we all, dear,” the woman says, leaning forward to add in a conspiratorial tone that’s clearly meant for Maya’s ears only. “Especially with a foxy one like that. My Mick was a catch at twenty-four, no one would say anything different. But by thirty- five he had a belly and a collection of green sweater vests, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that they made him look like a chubby leprechaun.” Her sharp gaze slides my way. “But your man seems to be holding up just fine.”
Maya grins as she nods her agreement, clearly enjoying this. “I know, right?” She nudges me with her elbow. “That’s what I always tell him—that he’s remarkably well-preserved.”
“Remarkably well-preserved?” I echo dryly, playing along as the women laugh. “What am I, marmalade?”
“Nah, you’re a fine wine, baby,” Maya says, giving me a peck on the cheek that sends a fresh rush of happiness through my chest.
“That’s right,” the woman says, sitting back in her seat with a satisfied nod. “You’re both fine wines, and you’ll blend together beautifully as you age. Just keep choosing each other. That’s the secret to making love last. Love isn’t something you find and mark off your list. It’s a garden, one you need to cultivate with care and devotion every single day.”
“Thank you,” Maya says, her smile fading as her gaze softens. “That’s wonderful advice.”
“And unsolicited.” The woman winks as the train slows and she rises from her seat with the aid of her cane. “But when you’re old, you don’t wait to be invited to say your piece. You can’t. You don’t know if you’ll be alive to say it later.” Cackling at her own joke, she waves as she moves toward the door. “Take care, lovebirds. Your smiles made me happy.”
Maya and I wave, wishing her well. Then, as the doors close and the train lurches into motion again, my girl puts her hand in mine. I squeeze her fingers, and we ride the rest of the way to Red Hook in silence that doesn’t need filling.
Silences rarely do when you’re with the one who’s meant for you.
And we are meant for each other, even a stranger on the train could see that. It gives me faith that we’ll get through my confession on New Year’s Eve, the fallout after, and anything else that stands in our way.
Emerging from the station in Red Hook, I’m surprised by how much this part of the neighborhood has changed since the last time I was in the area, looking at a property I was considering buying a few years ago before electing to go in a different direction. New coffee shops and funky boutiques are now interspersed with the bodegas and an art gallery is going in where the local dive bar used to be. We pass the corner where I used to meet up with friends from school to buy candy at the Dollar Mart, now an organic juice bar.
But some things remain the same. The roughest streets in Brooklyn still form the outer boundaries of the neighborhood, and there’s an edge to these streets, even early on a Wednesday morning. Signs of drug use and violence still mark the community, confirming my suspicion that it isn’t the place for Maya. It’s fine for her to work here, but I don’t want her walking home in the dark on these streets.
I’ll find a way to get her settled in a safe neighborhood, even if it isn’t with me. I have enough connections to arrange for a perfect steal of an apartment I’ll secretly help pay for to fall into her lap, even if she’s so hurt after my reveal that she never wants to talk to me again.
“Anthony?” she asks, a lilt in her tone that makes me suspect it isn’t the first time she’s said my name.
I shake my head. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”
“About?”
“You walking home through this neighborhood at night. I don’t like it.”
“It’s not so bad, just a little rough around the…” She trails off as we pass two men passed out in an empty storefront with urine soaking the front of their pants and a needle on the ground not far from the cardboard they’ve slept on.
“And maybe I can afford to live somewhere else,” she adds as we move on. “I’ll have to see how the numbers shake out.”
“I’ll shake them until they work for a charming studio in Chelsea,” I say. “Where you’ll be surrounded by adorable restaurants, museums, and gay men.”
She arches a brow. “Oh yeah? And why would you want me surrounded by gay men?”
“You know why.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders.
“Yeah, I think I do,” she says, looping a matching arm around my waist. “You know, I thought you might be gay when I met you.”
I frown. “What? Why?”
She shrugs, grinning as she says, “You’re too good-looking and dress too well. Back home, only gay men wear clothes that actually fit or have fancy hair that falls just so.”
I laugh. “Fancy hair? I don’t have fancy hair.”
“You do,” she says. “Very fancy. If that isn’t at least a hundred-dollar haircut, I’m the queen of whatever country still has a queen.”
It’s a two-hundred-dollar haircut, actually—outrageous, but I can afford it, and Charmain really does work miracles with a pair of scissors—and Maya’s getting closer to the truth about how much capital I have at my disposal than I realized.
I’m so distracted by thoughts of my double life that we’re less than a block from the apartment building when I see the aging man standing by the curb. It’s Dave Mackey, in his usual uniform, right down to the battered boots, dark brown work pants, and Red Hook Raiders baseball cap. He’s scrolling through his phone outside Maya’s building, his inspector clipboard tucked under one arm.
Ice instantly floods into my veins.
He isn’t supposed to be here. I called yesterday and the woman at the office said Kyle Mitchell was assigned to Maya’s account. Kyle, a recent hire, who I have never met and would have no idea who I really am.
So, what happened? Is Kyle sick? Need to swap shifts?
Did Dave, being the pappa bear he’s always been, decide he should come watch over the small-town girl buying a property in a rough part of town personally? Something like that wouldn’t surprise me, but it doesn’t really matter how this switch came to be.
What matters is that I can’t get any closer to that building or my lies are going to blow up in my face and wreck Maya’s focus for the inspection in the process.
I have to get out of here.
Now.
Before I fuck this up for her.
“Just a second,” I say, stopping dead and turning my back to Dave, my heart hammering as I pull my phone from my coat pocket. I’m a shitty actor, but I give my “worried about what I’m reading” face everything I’ve got as I open my lock screen and pretend to scan a “new” message.
I curse, shaking my head as if I’ve received terrible news as I scramble for a believable lie.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Maya asks, the concern in her voice making my frustration rise higher.
But I’m not frustrated with her. I’m the problem here. I’m the idiot who kept doubling and tripling down on this lie when I knew better. I’ve never been a liar. I don’t know why I thought now would be a good time to start, but I silently vow to never pull anything like this again.
I wasn’t built for deception, a fact I prove by mumbling, “It’s my friend, Chris. He’s at the hospital. Something about a workplace accident.”
“Oh no,” Maya says, casting a confused glance at my cell. “Is he going to be okay?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, but I…” I swallow hard, feeling as if my fat, lying tongue might choke me as I add, “But I have to go. Now. I’m sorry.”
I start back toward the subway, Maya trailing after me. “What? Are you sure? I mean, should I try to postpone the inspection until this afternoon? I could come with you, maybe, and then?—”
“No,” I cut in. “I should go alone. And you have to meet your inspector. They’ll charge you extra if you ask for a change this close to the appointment, and they might not have anyone available this afternoon. Just go,” I say, motioning back toward the apartment building as I force what I’m sure is an unconvincing smile. “And I’ll see you later. Text me as soon as you’re done, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, her steps slowing.
I turn, walking faster, fleeing the scene of the crime.
I’m already a few yards away by the time Maya calls out, “I hope your friend is okay!”
I glance over my shoulder and lift a hand in recognition, my stomach bottoming out again at the hurt and suspicion on her face. Maya is a trusting soul who wants to believe the best about people, but she isn’t stupid.
And even after a few days, she knows me.
She obviously suspects I’m lying. Maybe more than suspects.
If you only knew, I think, hating myself as I turn the corner and charge back toward the subway.
I can’t change course now. I’d only embarrass and confuse her even more if I went with her to meet Dave and the truth of who I am came out in the middle of one of the biggest meetings of her life.
But I can tell her today. I won’t wait for New Year’s Eve.
I’ll spill it all as soon as she gets home this afternoon and then…
Well, then it will be up to her to decide if she thinks this thing we’ve found is worth fighting for.
I pull out my phone again, texting Twyla— I have to tell Maya tonight. It can’t wait until New Year’s Eve. Our lives are getting dangerously close to overlapping, and I don’t want her to learn the truth from someone else. She deserves it from me. And one hell of a groveling apology.
Bubbles instantly fill my screen— Okay. Then come by the club early tonight, around 5 or so, before the crowds descend. I’ll help you.
Anthony: Thanks, but I’ll handle it. It’s my mess.
Twyla: That’s not true. I’m the one who talked you into pretending to be someone you weren’t. Though, in my defense, I thought it would be a harmless way to blow off steam before you got back to winning at capitalism. I never imagined the two of you would hit it off like this. But I guess maybe I should have. There was something about the way your eyes met as she walked into the library…
Anthony: You saw that? You weren’t even in the room.
Twyla: That club is my baby, Anthony. I see everything. And there were fireworks popping off between you two from the start.
Anthony: It’s more than fireworks, Twyla. She makes me feel safe. That wasn’t even on my radar as something I thought I was looking for in a partner, but this morning, all I could think about was how safe I feel with her.
Twyla: Oh, man. That’s it, then. You’re done for. This is the real deal. The only thing worse than “safe” is home. Once they feel like home…
Anthony: She feels like that, too. I would ask her to move in with me tonight if I could.
Twyla: And why can’t you? You’re not a skeezy con man who was pulling one over on this girl, Anthony. You are a titan of industry, a genius legend in the investment banking world! You’re also a goddamned billionaire with an impeccable reputation and a philanthropic resume Mother Theresa would be proud of. You may have done a less than honest thing, but you’re a good, honest man who has a LOT to offer a woman.
Especially a young woman looking for an older man to show her the ropes in bed and out of it. Just bring her to the club around 5 with a good idea of what you want to say. Let me handle the rest.
Anthony: No. I’ll bring her to the club—I want her to be able to talk to you immediately if she has any questions after I explain how this happened—but I need to do this my way. I’ll shoot you a text later and let you know what I have in mind.
Twyla: Okay. I guess it’s only fair that I be held accountable, but I don’t like it. I’m not a fan of consequences. That’s why I spend most of my time hidden away in my office, pulling strings from afar.
Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have given that kid a meeting. Kids from Maine don’t belong in New York City sex clubs. It was a disaster waiting to happen from the start.
Anthony: I’m glad you gave her a meeting. And she’s not a kid. She’s an adult, a very clever, compassionate adult who deserves the truth. I just hope I can deliver it in a way that doesn’t make her hate me.
Twyla: She won’t hate you, Anthony. You’re one of the good ones. Surely, she knows that by now, and I’ll put in a good word for you. I mean, I find almost all men loathsome and repulsive these days, but not you.
Anthony: Is there anyone in particular I should hate on your behalf? I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish. I haven’t even asked about your love life.
Twyla: It’s okay. I don’t have one, and I’m quite happy with that state of affairs. If you don’t have a love life, you can’t have a ‘that asshole promised to love me and then had an affair with my dad” life.
Anthony: YOUR DAD?
Twyla: Yeah. Long, awful story, neither of us has time for. Suffice it to say, I don’t talk to either of them anymore. They’re dead to me and so is romance. But I have rabbits now. Two big, cuddly, floppy-eared rabbits who love me unconditionally, even when I accidentally ruin their meet-cute with the woman of their dreams.
I honestly feel terrible about this, Anthony. The more I think about it, the shittier I feel. Whatever you need to make tonight perfect, let me know, and it’s yours.
Anthony: Thanks, Twyla. I appreciate that. I’ll touch base soon.
I head down the stairs into the subway, thoughts racing.
Twyla is generously providing the “where” for an apology for the ages, but it’s up to me to pull out all the stops. With that in mind, I locate the contact information for my ex’s favorite stylist, the one who charges a grand just to show up at Bergdorf’s to help you spend your money, then another five hundred per hour for the actual shopping.
The last time Maya and I were at Twyla’s, she was the most beautiful woman in the room, even in the shabbiest dress. But this time, I want her to shine like the diamond she is.
If she decides to walk away from me, she’ll be doing it in style, damn it.
A part of me hopes that might make it easier somehow…
But I doubt it.