CHAPTER NINE
CADE
I was on my second bourbon when David walked through the front door of Café Maison, a long-standing watering hole near the northernmost bridge connecting Palm Beach to the mainland.
He clapped my shoulder as he walked up to the empty seat next to me at the bar, then pointed at my empty first glass, which the bartender hadn’t yet taken away. “Two already?”
“That kind of day.”
With a curt nod, David slid onto the barstool. Like me, he still had on a dark business suit, and I guessed he’d come to the restaurant straight from the office. “Long fucking day for me too.”
“How so?” I signaled to the bartender, who stood in front of an ordering tablet at the other end. When she indicated she saw us, I took another drink of my liquor.
“This case is chapping my ass. Plaintiff doesn’t want to come to the table.”
David practiced civil law at a firm in downtown West Palm Beach.
In fact, that’s how we met. We first connected when his firm represented my interest in a workers’ comp case in Delray Beach.
Over the six months he worked on that case, we discovered we had more in common than our high golf handicaps and an affinity for expensive liquor.
Our bond grew even stronger when he started working for my company a few days a week on an at-large retainer.
Soon enough, I considered him one of my closest friends.
Not that I had many.
“We’ll have to strong-arm them,” David added. “Get aggressive.”
The bartender sauntered over, and David ordered a bourbon to match mine. When she returned with it, we shared a quick toast before I decided to get to the heart of why I wanted him to meet me for a drink.
“Speaking of which... how are your contacts down at city hall?” I asked.
David laughed. “Rusty, but decent.”
“Probably not as bad as mine.” I glanced around, thankful for the dull roar of happy hour conversation around us.
Sometimes, being in a bustling crowd was more anonymous than being in the corner of a quiet restaurant.
And while I recognized a few familiar faces in the room, they weren’t people who had any interest in what I was about to say.
“The entire commission came to see me the other day, while you were on that client trip to Dallas.”
David eyed me over the rim of his glass. “They did?”
“Every last one. And while it was a business meeting, they also wanted to fuck with me.” I laughed.
He slackened his jaw. “Did one of them find out about your congressional campaign?”
David’s almost more enthusiastic than I am. A couple backroom meetings and name identification based political polling did not make a congressional run. Still, it was nice to have someone believe so deeply in my plans.
“No,” I replied. “Those assholes want me to invite Bella Moretti to the ribbon cutting.”
“Bella Moretti? Now, that’s a name I haven’t thought of in a long time.”
Nodding, I gave my friend a quick rundown of what I knew, leaving out the part about her forays into online fame on FanZone. David was a sharp, focused guy who had a mind as secure as a bank safe. He never missed details.
“I feel a little sorry for her,” he admitted.
“Me too.” I winced. Yes, I’d been an asshole during our meeting, but I couldn’t help myself. It was just... I didn’t know what it was. I wasn’t supposed to feel bad for the Morettis, so why did I feel bad for her? I straightened my back. “But not that sorry.”
“You’ve never hidden how much you hated her dad.” David shrugged, and I was glad he seemed to be buying my obvious bluff. “But she’s also not him.”
“So what?”
“Letting her be part of the ribbon cutting isn’t the worst idea in the world.”
I scoffed.
“We’re talking about, what? A couple hours?”
I nodded and finished the rest of my bourbon, the peppery liquid stinging my tongue and racing down my throat. “I still don’t want to do it.”
“If it keeps the city commission happy, I think it’s worth it,” David said. “And some positive PR for you is always a good thing.”
“That’s true.”
I mulled that over for a moment. I’d never been one to do things for the sake of public relations, but some good press wouldn’t hurt, especially considering my plan to run for Congress during the next election cycle.
But if I were going to launch a campaign, I’d need goodwill.
Publicity. And eventually, endorsements.
I’ll need a bunch of those.
“She’d probably appreciate being part of the opening,” David said.
I laughed. Given how our meeting went, I doubted that. “The meeting with her this morning didn’t go so well.”
He gaped at me. “You already met with her?”
“Couldn’t resist.”
Now, it was my turn to shrug, once again playing up how much I didn’t care, and how uninvested I was. I’m Cade Weston, I have so many more important things to do with my time than ruminate on the welfare of the daughter of my family’s old enemy...
David’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his suit pocket, glancing at the brightly lit screen. “Shit.” He glanced at me. “Louisa had an accident at soccer practice, and Maureen’s on the way to the hospital with her.”
“Oh fuck,” I replied to David as he scrambled to his feet. No matter how hard David worked, or how many demands clients like me placed on him, he was a great father to Louisa and her brother, and a solid husband to Maureen. I admired him for juggling it all. “Do you think it’s serious?”
“Probably a broken arm. Sorry, but I gotta get going, man. I’m going to have to pick up Parker.”
I waved him away, telling him that I totally understood. We said our goodbyes, and I insisted on paying for his drink. In less than two minutes, I was alone again and brooding in my dark corner of the increasingly crowded bar.
After about fifteen minutes, my phone buzzed on the bar top, pulling me from my thoughts.
A text from Chris Rowan: Promenade snag—landscape contractor says irrigation system install is delayed.
Subcontractor claims they are missing permits, but I checked; they were filed weeks ago.
Could push greenery completion back two weeks. Looking into it.
I stared at the screen, jaw tightening. Another delay?
Goddamn it. The Promenade was my legacy, and these hiccups were piling up like storm clouds.
Why were permits suddenly vanishing? It didn’t add up.
I typed back, Find out what’s going on. No excuses.
Chris had connections to everyone who mattered in South Florida.
If anyone could sniff out the problem, it was him.
But the unease lingered, sharp and cold.
Was this just bad luck, or something more?
“May I get you anything else?” the bartender asked, bracing her hands on the bar and leaning forward just enough to show off a hint of cleavage underneath her white button-down shirt.
Which reminded me of...
“No, nothing.” I tugged my wallet from my back pocket, fished out a wad of cash, and thrust it on the bar. “This should cover it.”
She nodded and hustled off to process the payment.
I waited, arms crossed, the night air sharp against my skin as I stepped outside for the valet.
When the car pulled up, I slid in and gunned it out of the lot, frustration boiling under my collar.
I was disappointed at David’s hasty exit, but I understood it.
When he’d bolted to take care of Louisa, his voice had been tight with worry, but his purpose was clear.
He had a family to hold together, and people who needed him.
Me? I had fast cars, a fat wallet, the possibility of a career in politics.
.. and nothing else that mattered. Driving into the dark, I felt the emptiness claw at me.
David’s life was messy, sure, but it was full.
I was just a guy with a loose thread, drifting through nights like this, no one waiting for me.
Love, connection, and meaning were for people like David—not me.
My own parents had shown me that love meant staying in a miserable relationship with someone you hated and watching them die.
I didn’t want that. I gripped the wheel tighter, hating how much that truth burned.
When I got home, my housekeeper, Cynthia, had left a plate of smoked salmon, capers, Boursin cheese, and tomato wrapped up in the refrigerator, and I sent up a silent thank-you that she took such good care of me.
Truly, she was more like a mother than hired help, and I wasn’t sure what I’d do if she ever decided to retire. It simply couldn’t happen.
I ate the meal in front of a mindless football game: Atlanta vs.
Seattle, a rare matchup with a lot of hype but little payoff.
While on the couch, I drank a third glass of bourbon and mulled over David’s advice again.
He was right. Having Bella at the ribbon cutting would have been kind, respectful, and even empathetic. It wouldn’t hurt anything.
Still, after that morning’s meeting, I wasn’t sure I could convince her to come.
Even if Kyra put in a plug for me, I wasn’t sure it would be enough.
I’d have to work at it. Hard. Even then, it might not work, and I wasn’t the kind of guy who relished the prospect of failure.
But I also wasn’t a man who backed down from a challenge.
Not even this one. I took my phone off the end table and scrolled through my email until I found Lois’s cursory message outlining Bella’s contact details and other information for our meeting. Once I had it, I decided to call Bella.
Fuck it. Can’t hurt, can it?
She picked up on the second ring, and I was surprised she didn’t send it to voicemail. “Hello?”
I could tell by her tone she hadn’t recognize the number. “It’s Cade. Cade Weston.”
Bella pulled in an audible sigh. “Listen, I thought this might have been—”
“Give me a second to explain. Don’t hang up.”
“I think you said everything you needed to say.”
“Thanks for doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Listening to me.”
She laughed. “No cap.”
I scooted to the edge of the sofa and braced my elbows on my knees, even though she couldn’t see me.
This wasn’t a negotiation, but I wanted to make sure I framed my next words in just the right way.
I focused on one thing and one thing only.
“I really want you to be part of this ribbon cutting next month. I think it’s important for our community, and I want to.
.. I want to respect your family and your father’s legacy. ”
She scoffed.
“I’m sorry he didn’t have the chance to make the Promenade the destination he planned,” I added. “But I hope what we have there will be something he would have been proud of.”
Bella didn’t reply, but she didn’t hang up either.
“Our families have a lot of bad blood between them,” I said. “A rivalry that started long before we were alive.”
“Yeah, it’s been going on forever,” she croaked. Is she crying?
“The past doesn’t have to be the future,” I tried. “We can start over. We can move on.”
“I don’t know—”
“I’m sorry the last couple years have been so hard.” This was probably the kindest I’d been to anyone, and certainly more than I ever expected to say to her. “But I still think having you be part of the end stages of this project is a great idea for everyone. Not only for your dad, but for you.”
“It’s really kind of you to say that about him,” she replied, her voice small on the other end of the line.
My shoulders relaxed. I’m getting somewhere. I glanced at the game still playing on the large screen TV that hung above the oversized fireplace. Atlanta was up by seven, but Seattle was about to score.
“This will be good for you too. A lot of people will be there, and more than one of them has done business with your dad in the past. Might even help you find a buyer for your dad’s office.”
This was a compelling argument, and I knew it.
“I can be an asshole,” I admitted, my effort now knowing no bounds. I was used to getting my way in most negotiations, and this was peanuts compared to the business deals I regularly chewed on in my daily life. “Don’t hold it against me, okay?”
Bella took a long moment to reply, and I held my breath too, sensing we were on the edge of something, both considering the ramifications of this late-night conversation.
“Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll do it. I will be part of the damn ceremony.”
“Great.” I pushed off my elbows and relaxed against the overstuffed couch, a designer model that had never felt comfortable, even though I paid over four thousand dollars for it at the insistence of my interior designer.
On the screen across the room, Seattle’s quarterback passed the ball into the end zone, setting the team up to tie the game.
“I am really glad that you’re willing to do this and that you’re going to give me another chance. ”
“Might as well—” she broke off and laughed once. I wondered why but decided not to ask.
“I’d like to show you some of the final renderings for the project,” I said, growing more confident and emboldened by the second.
This project had been my obsession for so long.
My world had become a blur of late nights at the drafting table, endless revisions, and a quiet but steady belief that it could be something extraordinary.
Now, with the renderings finally complete, I felt electrified, like I was on the cusp of proving something not just to her, but to myself.
“Can you come by the office on Thursday around five? I know that’s late in the day, but that’s the earliest I can free up my schedule.”
“Sure,” she said. “Thursday sounds great.”
We spent a few more moments discussing logistics, a few specifics about the presentation, and her thoughts on the project’s direction.
Her voice carried a spark of curiosity that fueled my optimism.
I couldn’t be sure, but Bella sounded hopeful, maybe even excited.
The thought sent a quiet thrill through me.
Just like Bella, I was hopeful too. And ready.