Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
Brooks
“You can wipe that smirk right off your face,” I tell my brother the next day. But of course his smile doesn’t waver, because this is Linc and he lives to mock me.
“I’m not smirking. I’m just smiling,” Linc says. He’s the third youngest of the seven of us, with me being the second youngest, and our baby sister as the last. Even after a few years I’m still getting used to seeing him as a family man. He met the love of his life at work. Tessa was a single mom of a teenager and Linc fell in love with her and now they’re married with two more kids.
Both of whom are here with him for lunch. Because if there’s one thing he loves as much as being a dad, it’s gossip.
Combine the two and he’s in heaven.
“But why are you smiling?” I ask him.
“Because that’s so typically you. You were supposed to go in and sweet talk the tenant. Instead you told her you’d fight to the death. Do you even have a single empathetic bone in your body?”
“I’m empathetic.” I frown. “But this is business.” I haven’t told him I knew Emma before yesterday. Mostly because I don’t want him knowing she’s the girl I kissed at that wedding.
Or that I can’t stop thinking about the way her mouth tasted that night. Christ, this is a mess.
“Business is about people,” he reminds me. “And trying not to piss them off.”
We’re sitting in a diner just outside my office. It’s one of those kid friendly ones with an enormous table in the center with crayons and print off coloring pages. His older child, Rowan is kneeling on a stool, a red crayon in his curled up palm, hitting the paper with the tip like he’s trying to stab something.
Baby Abigail is asleep in her car seat.
“I need some adult interaction,” he’d said on the phone that morning. “And as Rowan and Abigail’s uncle it’s your duty to give it to me.”
“Okay, let’s take this back to basics,” Linc says. “Rowan, don’t stab that little girl with the crayon.” He segues from talking to me to child-related crisis management without taking a breath. “Sorry.” He flashes a smile at the mom of said girl, who smiles back at him.
Ah, the old Salinger charm. It works for him every time.
“What basics?” I ask him, because he’s actually a really intuitive guy. And he’s an astute businessman when he wants to be.
“Tell me again. Why did you buy this building and what are your plans for it?”
“Well, Dad bought it on his way out. It was part of a lot with a hotel he wanted to purchase and we didn’t know what a fuck up the leases were.”
“And the hotel is good?” Linc prompts.
“Yep. It’s great.” We’re currently renovating it into a mixture of hotel rooms and long-term luxury apartments. “That part of the transaction was a straightforward decision.”
“But this other building? It’s not good?”
I take a sip of my coffee. “The bones are good. It’s an old building. Constructed in the 1920s. Brownstone. Pretty. In an up-and-coming area of Long Island.” Too far to commute daily to the city, but nowadays most people aren’t doing that, anyway. Part of me taking over at Salinger Estates was to change direction for us. Away from purely commercial real estate on the island of Manhattan toward a portfolio that has mixed use. We’re building up our hotel and residential buildings.
“What are your plans for it?” Linc asks me.
“Once it’s vacated, we’re renovating it from top to bottom.” The plans are already drawn up. “And then it will be mixed use residential and hotel.”
“No retail units?”
I wince. “Possibly. But high end ones.” Not the kind that are there right now. We’re looking at boutiques and expensive restaurants. I may not understand certain people but I know our target customers. They won’t want a dusty old bookshop and a dress shop that looks like it’s from the nineteen sixties.
“And the lease isn’t breakable?”
“Not unless they don’t pay rent for six months straight.” Our lawyers have been scouring the contract. The ones that are still with us, because at least one of them completely messed up when doing the due diligence on this purchase. They should have spotted the lease way before we passed any money over.
“Is that a possibility?” Linc asks, catching my eye. “Them not paying.”
“They’ve paid on time every month since they took on the lease. Since the granddaughter took over, she’s paid early.” For some reason, that makes me feel a strange sense of pride for her. I take out a dossier from my case and pass it over to him. I’ve read every single page. Twice . “We ran a background check on them,” I tell him. “There’s very little money there, but somehow there’s always enough to pay the rent.”
He pulls out the first page. On it, there’s a photograph of Emma. Black and white so you can’t see the flaming color of her hair, but I remember every damn strand of it. I assume it’s a bad photocopy of her passport, though I haven’t asked.
“This is her?” Linc asks, lifting a brow.
“Yep.” I try to keep my face expressionless.
“The one who told you to shove your offer up your ass?” There’s a smile on his lips.
“That’s the one.”
“She’s very pretty.” He holds the photo up to the light. “Emma Robbins. Twenty-nine years old. Born in Geneva.” He lifts a brow. “Is she Swiss?”
“Read on,” I tell him. So he does.
“She went to Sandford,” he says after a minute. His brows pull together as he looks at me. “How come she has no money? It’s thirty thousand dollars a term. Her parents must be loaded.”
“Her parents are dead. They died when she was thirteen. After that she lived with her grandparents in Oak Hollow.”
“Poor kid.” Linc frowns. “And now you’re trying to take her shop away from her?”
“A shop that makes no money.” I point him to the screenshots of the profit-and-loss statement for The Vintage Verse that my investigator somehow got a hold of. “And I’m not trying to take her shop away from her. Actually, I’ve found a location for her that would work perfectly.” That’s the other thing I’ve been doing. Scouting a retail space that normally wouldn’t pass my radar.
We’ve found the perfect space that could accommodate all three businesses, in a strip mall on the other side of town. The rent is higher than they’re being charged right now, but dammit I’d pay the difference if we could get them out of the building.
“What does she think about it?” Linc asks.
“She hasn’t replied to my emails. The woman is… frustrating.” That’s a damn understatement.
“Pretty and frustrating.” Linc lifts a brow. “Sounds just like your type.”
I roll my eyes. Thank God he doesn’t know who she really is. He’d love it way too much. Because at heart, my brother is a romantic.
I, however, am not.
“Have you tried calling her?”
“I have.” I’ve left five messages. And after the last one I don’t even go to voicemail. “I think she’s blocked me.”
This time Linc actually spits out a mouthful of his coffee. It’s disgusting. “Oh, I like her,” he says. “She has balls.”
I open my mouth to state that she doesn’t. I would have noticed when I was unfastening her dress.
Or kissing her.
Or running my palms over her perfect body.
Damn, I need to get this sorted. She’s putting me off my game, in more ways than one.
“By the way, have you decided when you’re going to Misty Lakes yet?” Linc asks. “Tessa was asking me.”
“No, not yet. I got another wedding to go to first,” I tell him.
“Another?” He grins. “Don’t these people realize you’re like the anti-wedding guy? Where’s this one?”
“Montana. On a ranch.”
“No way.” His eyes light up. “Cows and barbecues. That sounds better than a country club. Who’s getting married this time?”
“Derek. You remember him from college?”
“Vaguely.”
Abigail cries. Linc extricates her from her carseat to calm her down, all while keeping his eyes trained on me. Abigail snuggles against his chest and my own feels tight.
“Want to hold her?” Linc asks.
“Yeah. Okay.” He passes her over to me, placing her in my arms. She looks up at me, her wide blue eyes taking everything in. She’s got the plumpest, cutest cheeks, and when she smiles there’s a dimple there.
She snuggles against me, the way she did with Linc. I can smell the sweet powdery aroma of her baby shampoo.
Across the cafe, an old woman catches my eye and smiles.
I kiss the top of Abigail’s head, feeling the soft fuzz of her hair against my lips. They should rent babies out for people with acute anxiety. She’s like an antidepressant in human form. One minute of baby snuggling and I’m already feeling better.
She looks up at me and coos and I smile back at her.
And then that fucking voice in my head has to go and spoil it all. See, this is what you can never have.
I blink it away. I’m not going to think about that. Not when I have more important things to think over. Like how the hell I’m going to get this damn mess sorted.
“You see,” Linc says. “You can be a good guy when you want to be. And apparently your facial muscles still know how to smile.” He reaches over and tickles Abigail under the chin. “Now if you can charm this Emma the same way you charm my kid, you can stop worrying about this brownstone and everything can go back to normal.”
“How can I do that?” I ask him. “She won’t reply to my emails and she won’t take my calls.”
“The same way you did last time. Drive over and see her,” he tells me. “But this time, actually try to charm her instead of repulsing her.”
EMMA
“I thought maybe we could meet. Talk things through. I don’t want to see you again and have all this anger between us still.”
I frown at my phone. Is Will being serious right now? Thank God I didn’t pick up his call and instead let it go to voicemail. Truth be told, I had him blocked. But he’s obviously gotten a new phone number while failing to forget mine.
I hit delete and grimace because there’s no way I’m meeting up with him. I’m also not going to the wedding. Not if he’s going to be there.
And sure, in his eyes that probably means he’s won. But I’m a grown up, I can deal with it.
“Is everything okay, honey?” Granddad asks as I pretty much throw my phone on the desk.
“Everything’s fine,” I tell him, even though my blood pressure is soaring.
“Who was the message from?” He has a pile of books that he’s going through.
“Just a client.”
“Have you heard from the landlords again?” he asks, looking up. His glasses are perched on his nose. His eyes are rheumy, mostly because he refuses to have his cataracts looked at.
“Not a peep.” It’s a lie, but kind of not, too. Since I found the function to block on my phone my life has gotten a lot easier. First Will, then Salinger Estates.
Okay, Brooks.
I haven’t been able to work out how to block emails yet, but there’s something satisfying about categorizing all his emails as spam.
I paid the rent for this month. And yes, it came out of my personal account because Grandad’s latest auction purchase cleared out our business money, but either way Salinger Estates has been paid.
“That’s strange,” he says, “I really thought they’d try harder. That’s the problem with your generation, you give up too easily.”
“You dropped out of life for three years,” I tell him. “And you can’t remember any of it.”
He grins. “But I know I had a good time.” His eyes soften. “And I met your grandma. I remember that much.”
My throat tightens. “Any luck with those?” I ask, nodding at the pile of books he’s still inventorying. A glance at them tells me we won’t find much worth selling in there. If we make anywhere near our money back it’ll be a miracle. But I can’t help but admire his dedication. The way he and Grandma loved each other has spoiled me for anything else.
“Not in this one. But there’s a big yard sale up in Cooperstown this weekend. Apparently the whole town is joining in. I might head up there and do a little browsing.”
Yard sales I can cope with. Mostly because people price things cheap, just wanting to get rid of whatever is cluttering up their garages. But also because I can give Grandpa a cash limit. Most yard sales don’t take cards, thank goodness.
“Oh, we have a customer,” he says, brightening up. He closes the tattered leather cover of the book he’s looking at and stands, brushing himself down. For a man who wore only tie dye with his hair down to his shoulder blades in his youth, he’s become dapper in his old age. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a tweed jacket, along with a white shirt and a red bowtie.
The door opens and my stomach immediately drops.
Brooks Salinger strides in, looking completely business like in a designer suit. A French navy this time, but still exquisitely cut. He’s not wearing a tie, though. Just a single-breasted two-button jacket over a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck.
I immediately jump up. Mostly because I just lied Granddad to that our lease problem is solved. And I really don’t want him getting involved in this. “Grandad, why don’t you make us a drink, I can handle the customer?”
“Emma.” Brooks gives me an unsmiling nod.
“Oh, you know each other?” Granddad ignores my pleas for drinks and smiles broadly at Brooks. “Are you a regular customer? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
Brooks’ eyes meet mine and I feel that little jolt inside me. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over how attractive this man is. I don’t like it one bit. Being attracted to the man who’s trying to steal the shop you love away from you isn’t exactly the thing of epic romances.
“I’m not a customer.” Brooks brings his attention back to Granddad, and my throat feels tight. Granddad doesn’t need this hassle. If he finds out that Salinger Estates hasn’t given up it’ll shoot his blood pressure to unpalatable levels.
“Brooks is a friend,” I say quickly, ignoring the way Brooks’ eyebrow lifts. “Remember that wedding I went to last year? We met there.”
Brooks says nothing, but I can feel the heat of his stare on my face.
“The one where you split up with Will?” Granddad looks confused.
I didn’t give Granddad the dirty details of that either. I just told him Will and I had talked and decided we wanted different things.
“Um, yes. Brooks helped me out.” I turn to look at him. Brooks has this interested look on his face. Like he’s watching a movie with a twist and trying to work out where it’s going. “How are you?” I say, keeping my voice artificially light.
“I’m fine, Emma. How are you?” he asks, deadpan.
“Good, superb. I expect you’ve come about the wedding,” I say, trying to get control of the conversation because I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff.
“The wedding…” He runs the pad of his thumb along his jaw. Dear lord, he has a nice jawline.
“Cassie and Derek’s. Do you know them?” I widen my eyes, willing him to just play along.
“Of course I do. I used to go to school with Derek.”
I don’t know if he’s lying or telling the truth. This is what happens when you weave a web of falsehoods. You get stuck in them.
“Are you going to the wedding?” he asks, as though he’s suddenly very interested.
“No.” I shake my head. “Too busy.”
“Of course you’re not too busy,” Granddad interjects. Damn, I’d forgotten he was there for a minute.
“You should go to your friend’s wedding,” Grandad adds. “Both of you should.”
Horror washes through me. “No, it’s fine, I…”
“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Brooks says, lifting a brow. “To ask if you’d come as my date.”
What. The. Hell?
I give him a death stare, and for the first time he smiles at me.
Every cell in my body responds to that stupid grin
“By the way, I’m Walt Robbins,” Granddad says. He holds his hand out to Brooks, who shakes it vigorously.
“Brooks Salinger.”
Grandad blinks. “That name rings a bell.”
“It’s a very common name,” I say quickly, not wanting him to work out where he’s heard it before. “There were at least ten of them at the wedding. And then, of course, there’s the author. Maybe you’re thinking of him?”
Brooks tips his head to the side and looks at me. “I’m probably related to all of them. We’re a big family.” He looks back at Grandad. “I love your bookshop.”
It’s like somebody’s praised his baby. Grandad preens. “Thank you. Are you a collector?”
“Of books?” Brooks asks.
“No, of cadavers.” I roll my eyes.
Brooks’ gaze catches mine again. He looks like he’s actually enjoying himself.
“I’m not a book collector,” he says to Grandad, as though he’s confessing to a murder. “But I’d love to know more about them. My father has an extensive library at his house in Virginia.”
“He does?” Granddad’s eyes light up.
“Yes, sir.”
There’s silence, like none of us knows what to say. Then Granddad clears his throat. “Emma, why don’t you and your friend go for a coffee? It’s quiet here. I can hold down the fort.”
“It’s fine. I’m sure Brooks has better things to do,” I blurt.
“I don’t,” Brooks says.
“You can talk about the wedding,” Granddad adds. “Because you’re going. They’re your friends, Emma. I won’t hear any excuses.”
I’m not going, but that’s a battle for another day. “Just for half an hour,” I say, trying not to sigh because this feels like a defeat. But maybe it’s a victory, too. Whatever Brooks Salinger has to say about our lease he can say to me at the coffee shop. Then he can get in his perfectly expensive car and drive off, back to his rich life in Manhattan.
And I’ll never have to see him again.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing my purse and leaning over to kiss Granddad’s cheek. “Let’s go.”