CHAPTER THREE
Ruben
The image of the red-haired woman is seared into my mind as I stride toward the entrance of the theater. I can hear the sharp, unyielding tone of her voice.
People like you think they can take whatever they want.
Accusations like this aren’t new to this job. I’m used to them. Usually, they roll off my back like water off a stone. But today, they don’t. Today, they twist in my chest like a blade.
I don’t even know her name, but the image of her standing there, fire in her eyes and steel in her voice, has thrown me off balance. She stood like she was daring me to step closer as if she could take me on and win. And damn it, for the first time in years, I didn’t have the perfect comeback.
I storm through the entrance, my fuming grasp closing around the old handle of the theatre. The place feels like a relic, its faded glory worn proudly but barely holding on. The stale scent of popcorn and dust greeted me: A stark contrast from the efficiency-smelling brand-new Porsche. It is as though another world has appeared for which my clean-cut plan is not meant.
I spot Mike and Jennifer Olson immediately. Mike is bent over an ancient cash register, fiddling with something that looks like it’s about to give up, while Jennifer sorts through a pile of dog-eared movie posters. Their movements are sharp and deliberate, like they’re holding the place together through sheer force of will.
They look up as I approach. There’s no surprise on their faces, just a grim determination. They are bracing for this. A look is exchanged between them, dense and unsaid, a silent passing of some signal, a call to arms.
“Mr. Posada, I guess,” Mike says, snapping to attention. His voice is wary, cautious, as though he were sizing up a predator and knew it.
“Mr. Olson. Mrs. Olson,” I answer, always professional, giving no hint of the frustration still simmering below the surface. “I appreciate you taking a moment to speak with me.”
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed, her arms crossing over her chest. “We weren’t expecting you,” she says coolly.
“No appointment necessary,” I say, slipping my hands into my pockets. “Consider this a courtesy visit. I wanted to follow up on the offer my client made.”
Mike lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Courtesy? That’s rich. You’re here to twist the knife, aren’t you?”
“Mike,” Mrs. Olson warns softly, but her glare is fixed firmly on me.
I take a slow step forward, letting the weight of my presence fill the space between us. “I understand. This is a difficult decision to make,” I say, my voice firm but not unkind. “But this is business, nothing personal.”
They flinch, but I ignore it, continuing with my sales speech. “The offer on the table is generous. It gives you the chance to walk away with something instead of nothing.”
“Nothing?” Mike shoots back, his voice rising. “This place means way too much for us. It’s our life. Our history. You think a check can replace that?”
I tilt my head slightly, unfazed by his anger. “Sentimentality doesn’t pay the bills, Mr. Olson. And it doesn’t keep the lights on. This building is a liability. You’re drowning in debt, and the repairs alone—”
“Don’t,” Mrs. Olson snaps, her voice cutting through mine. She takes a step forward, her hands trembling as her hands grip the edge of the counter. “Don’t stand here and pretend you care. We’ve given everything to this theater. Every late night, every penny we had. You don’t know what it’s like to pour your heart into something, only to have someone like you come and tear it away.”
Her voice cracks, and Mike places a hand on her shoulder, his jaw tightening. They’re holding onto each other as much as they’re holding onto this place.
For a moment, the weight of their desperation fills the room. It’s the part of the job I hate—the emotional appeals, the raw vulnerability. But I can’t let it sway me.
“Mrs. Olson,” I say, lowering my voice. “I respect what you’ve built here. Truly, I do. But clinging to the past won’t change the reality or the future. If this goes to public auction, you’ll lose everything. My client’s offer ensures you walk away with dignity—and with something in your pocket.”
Jennifer’s lip trembles, but she doesn’t back down. “Your client,” she says, her voice dripping with contempt. “All they care about is turning this into another apartment complex. They don’t care about the memories or the people who love this theater. My family built a community around here.”
“That may be true,” I admit, shrugging. “You can’t cash in on sentiment, that won’t pay the bills. And right now, the numbers don’t lie.”
Mike exhales sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of my words. He looks at Jennifer, his face etched with defeat. “We’ve known it was coming,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. “This place… it’s falling apart.”
“It’s not falling apart,” Jennifer says fiercely, turning to him. “We’ve kept it alive this long. We can keep going.”
“Jen,” Mr. Olson says softly, his voice heavy with resignation. “We can’t.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I watch as they exchange a look—a silent conversation filled with years of shared struggles.
Finally, Jennifer turns back to me, her expression hard but her voice trembling. “We’ll think about it,” she says.
I nod, pulling a sleek business card from my pocket and placing it on the counter. “I’m available if you have questions,” I say, my tone neutral.
They don’t touch the card, don’t even look at it. I don’t wait for a response as I turn on my heel and head for the door. The sun hits my face as I step outside, but it does little to lift the weight pressing on my chest.
People like me don’t take whatever they want.
We take what we need.
The Valkyrie is nowhere to be seen, but her face flashes in my mind again—those determined brown eyes, the fiery curls framing her face. She has nothing to do with this deal, and yet she’s all I can think about.
By the time I turn on my car engine, the phone buzzes. The name on the screen makes my stomach tighten.
“Aiden,” I answer, keeping my voice steady.
“Ruben,” he says sharply. “How’s the theater deal going?”
“It’s coming along,” I answer noncommittally.
“Well, it needs to come along faster,” Aiden snaps. “This property is valuable, and I’m not letting it slip through my fingers. I don’t care what excuses those losers give you. Get it done.”
I clench the steering wheel, my knuckles whitening. “I’m working on it,” I say between my teeth.
“Work harder,” he demands. “This deal isn’t just about the theater. It’s about proving you belong in this firm. Senior partner isn’t handed out, Ruben. You need to show me you’re willing to do whatever it takes.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. My boss is used to having the last word. Shit.
I start the heater and lean back against the seat, staring out the windshield. My chest feels tight, a mix of frustration, guilt, and something uncomfortably close to doubt.
This isn’t just about the deal. It’s about my future, my reputation, my need to prove I’m the best.
And yet, I cannot get her image out of my head, the firecracker that refused to back down, the one who made me hesitate for the first time in years. I tell myself she doesn’t matter.
But deep down, I know she does.