CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ruben
The city’s website has been open on my laptop for the past couple of days, and the intricacies of landmark laws are staring back at me. I’ve gone through pages of documentation, but the real problem isn’t the legal process. It’s the money.
Restoration costs would be astronomical for a building like the theater. Even if the community rallied behind a landmark designation, it wouldn’t save the place without serious financial backing.
I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find David’s name. My brother knows more about construction and restoration than anyone I can think of, and if anyone can give me practical advice, it’s him.
“ Hermanito ,” David answers on the second ring, his voice laced with amusement. Little brother. I fucking hate it. And he knows it.
“Don’t call me that,” I say automatically, a grin tugging at my lips. “I’m taller than you.”
“Only because you wear those fancy Italian shoes,” he shoots back. “What’s up?”
“I need your help with something,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“Must be serious if you’re calling me for advice. You’re the insurance law expert,” David replies, his tone is clearly amused. “What’s it about? Construction? Permits? Zoning laws?”
“Restoration,” I say. “Hypothetically, how much would it cost to restore an old building? Something from the early 1900s. Ornate architecture, plaster molding, that kind of thing.” David knows way more than I do about the subject. I can’t tell if a column is Roman or Greek. Fashion, styles, and all that nonsense hold no weight for me.
There’s a pause, and I hear David shifting in his chair. “Depends on the size and the damage,” he concedes. “Could be a few hundred thousand. Maybe millions if the place is falling apart.”
The only way forward here is to be brutally honest. “Let’s say it’s crumbling.”
“Not cheap,” David states. “And if it’s a historic property, you’d need specialists for the restoration work. You can’t just slap on a coat of paint and call it a day.”
As I expected, this is going to be a real challenge.
“What about tax deductions?” I ask, making the pill easier to swallow. “If someone were to donate the work or materials?”
David chuckles. Obviously, my brother hasn’t fallen for it. “Now we’re getting to the real question. Yeah, there are tax benefits for donating services or materials to a nonprofit, especially for something like a historic restoration. And it’s great PR. People love a good redemption story—saving a piece of history and giving back to the community. That kind of thing.”
“Would your company be interested in something like that?” I ask, keeping my tone light.
“Depends on the project and the client,” David says. “Why are you asking, Ruben? What’s this about? You can speak freely to me. Am I talking with my brother or with the hot shot lawyer?”
I hesitate, pondering what to do. I tap a pen against the edge of my desk. “Just exploring options,” I say finally. “There’s this property I’ve been looking into. It’s important to the community, but the owners are struggling to keep it afloat.”
David hums thoughtfully. “Does this relate to our conversation from the other day?”
“A little bit,” I admit. “Let’s just say it’s becoming personal.”
There’s a long pause, and when David speaks again, his voice is softer. “You’re not usually the type to fight for the underdog, Ruben. What has changed?”
“Maybe I’m just tired of doing things the same way,” I reply, leaning forward in my chair.
“Or maybe this has something to do with a certain someone,” David teases me. My brother knows me too well; we, the Posadas, are a tight bunch.
“Don’t start,” I warn, but he laughs.
“Look, I can send someone to take a look, run some numbers, and see what we can do,” David says. “But you need to be honest about why you’re doing this. Is it just about the building, or is there more to it?”
“It’s complicated,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.
“It always is,” David replies. He has his own story, and complicated things would be just the tip of the iceberg. “But if you’re serious about this, let me know. We are family. You know we could make it happen—and it might even make you look like a decent human being for once.”
“Thanks , hermano ,” I say, my voice dry.
“Anytime, hermanito ,” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice.
When the call ends, I sit back in my chair, staring at the notes I’ve scribbled. David’s words echo in my mind.
You need to be honest with yourself about why you’re doing this.
I shake my head, pushing the thought aside. This is about the theater. It’s about doing something right for once.
But even as I tell myself that, I can’t help but think of Lennon.
? ? ?
Wearing one of my best suits, I lean on my car. I was busier today at the office than expected; the Bacci case is taking up much of my time. Research can be a bitch at times, and this matter is complicated. A good trial, as Aiden said. When they make me a senior partner at the law firm, it will be a well-earned promotion. I’ve worked at the firm since before graduating, starting at the bottom of the ladder. Yes, carrying coffees, replying to mail, running errands… you know, the stuff that makes the weak run to the hills without looking back. But I survived. More than that, I shined. Less than a year later, I was sitting at a desk, taking care of my own load. I was taking small cases, but again, the big bosses were impressed by my performance. Today, I’m lined up to be a senior partner at thirty-five. Impressive, right?
I give myself an imaginary pat on the back.
Now I’m here, ready to fight another kind of battle, and somehow this feels more important. Pivotal.
The place is in a quaint neighborhood lined with trees that sway in the breeze. It’s the kind of street where porch lights cast golden halos, and people know their neighbors by name. Somehow, it suits her—unassuming but with a charm that’s impossible to ignore.
I hear a car door closing a few feet away. The time is here. She doesn’t notice me at first, too busy digging through her bag for her keys. The sun setting casts a warm glow on her, catching the auburn highlights in her hair and the faint flush on her cheeks. Even tired, Lennon Callahan is a vision.
She finally looks up, and when her eyes meet mine, she freezes. “What are you doing here? If you came here to try to convince me to sweeten the deal with the Olsons, you’re wasting your time.”
Fierce as ever, the firecracker is here. Ready to fight. Her armor today is her dark red scrubs and a thick sweater. My fingers itch to be tangled in that red hair while my lips consume hers. That would be a proper greeting. For now, this has to do.
“Waiting for you,” I say simply, pushing off the car and walking toward her. “Thought I’d take you to dinner.”
She arches an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You just assume I’d say yes?”
“No assumption necessary,” I reply, my lips curving into a grin. “I came prepared to convince you.”
She sighs, shaking her head as she finally pulls her keys out of her bag. “I’m not having dinner with the devil. Not even for fifty thousand dollars. I’m not for sale!”
“The advocate of the devil,” I correct ignoring her remark about the donation. I take a step ahead, closing the distance between us. “And you’ve had a long day. You need to eat.”
“I’m tired,” she says, turning toward her door.
“Tired and hungry,” I counter, stopping her with a hand on one of her porch posts. “Let me guess, you’re surviving on coffee and willpower? Come on, Lennon. Let me make your night easier. No cooking, no dishes… just good food and better company.”
She pauses, glancing up at me with irritation and amusement. “You’re awfully fixated on my diet.”
“Only because I care,” I say, letting my grin widen when she rolls those gorgeous eyes.
“And what if I don’t have anything to wear?” she challenges, looking at me from head to toe. She’s clearly reaching for a way to escape.
“You look perfect as you are,” I respond without hesitation. “No one’s going to care.”
“No one will care?” she repeats, arching a brow. “Are you taking me to a place where people eat in their pajamas?”
“Not quite,” I reply. “Hop in the car, Lennon. We’re both tired and hungry. What’s the problem? Let’s share a table this time.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. Finally, she sighs. “Fine. But only because you’re insufferable and I’d like to get this over with.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I say, stepping aside for her to walk toward her porch.
Her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to smile, but she’s losing the battle. Finally, she sighs, unlocking her door. “Fine. Give me five minutes.”
“I’ll be right here,” I say, stepping back with a victorious smile.
The wait is over.
The restaurant I’ve chosen is upscale but quiet. It’s perched right on the waterfront and has a private balcony overlooking the Bay Bridge and Yerba Buena Island, where I live. The city lights glitter against the water, and the soft hum of conversation inside fades as we step out onto the balcony. The tables around us are empty, a conversation with the manager earlier made sure of that. I want her to lower her walls, and for that, I need her relaxed.
Lennon’s eyes widen slightly as she takes in the view. “This is… nice.”
“It is,” I concede, pulling out a chair for her. “I wanted you to have a night where you didn’t have to think about anything but the food and the view.”
She sits, glancing at me with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “Do you always go this far to impress people?”
“Only the ones worth impressing,” I reply, signaling for the wine to be poured.
Her lips curve into a reluctant smile. “Suave.”
“I try,” I say, raising my glass. “To good food, good wine, and even better company.”
“So arrogant,” she fake-scolds me, but her glass clinks against mine, and for the first time tonight, I see her relax. God, she’s stunning. She got to me when I let my guard down. I never expected to develop a crush, especially at my age, but here I am, feeling like a damn teenager. Not to mention who she is and what she stands for.
We talk about movies and music, making the conversation flow easily as the first course is served. Lennon devours the stuffed mushrooms, and in my head a question is taking over. I want to discover if she is so ravenous all the time. Something tells me the answer is yes.
By the time steaks are cooked to perfection and crisp salads along with creamy mashed potatoes are in front of us, she’s busy teasing me about my knack for getting what I want, and I fire back about her stubborn streak.
“You’re a man who’s used to winning, aren’t you?” she says, spearing a piece of steak with her fork. She’s enjoying herself, and my chest swells with pride—I’m the one getting it done.
“I like to think I’m just very determined,” I answer with my eyes glued to hers. “But winning isn’t bad, either. Helps when you’re trying to make a living.”
“And what is it you’re trying to win tonight?” she asks, her tone light but her eyes sharp. Oh, fuck, we are starting to wander on dangerous territory. Tonight is not about work. I hold her gaze, letting the question hang in the air for a moment.
“Just a chance to get to know you better.”
She’s silent for a beat, then shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re impossible, Posada.”
“But entertaining,” I point out, my lips pulling up.
“I’ll give you that,” she says, sipping her wine.
“And what exactly do you want, Ruben?” she finally asks.
“Right now?” I pause, letting the moment stretch. “I want to know you better. To understand why you’re so determined to fight so fiercely.”
She takes another sip of her wine, considering her response. “It’s important to me. That’s all.”
“That’s not all,” I counter gently, ready to peek under another layer. “There’s a story there. And I’d like to hear it.”
“You’re persistent,” she says, but her words have no heat. If anything, she seems… amused.
“I’ve been called worse,” I reply, cutting into my ribeye. “And, as you know, persistence always pays off.”
“You’re something else.” She shakes her head, but I catch the glimmer of a smile on her lips.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say just when the waiter comes to fill our glasses again.
As the city lights spark around us, we get entangled in a discussion about classic movies. To my surprise, she likes the old Universal monsters, Frankenstein’s Monster being her favorite. Ah, the good times we have ahead of us. Every hushed word and every glance feels like a step closer to something I can’t name but crave.
As the meal winds down, I catch her looking at me, her expression softening. “Thank you, Ruben.” Her voice is just a whisper.
“For what?”
“For this.” She gestures to the view, the balcony, the empty plates between us. “For making me forget, even just for a little while.”
“My pleasure.” It truly is. Yet, inside my head, that little voice is telling me I should be thanking her for tonight.
By the time we finish dessert, she’s laughing freely and her earlier defenses have melted away. As I watch her, it hits me again. Having dinner with Lennon Callahan is only the beginning. And the promise of more? That’s what excites me the most.