Chapter 2
Delaney Bayetti
Two minutes . . .
Two minutes to plead my case.
Two minutes to save my family’s business.
Two minutes to convince this jerk that destroying the average Joe living in the shadow of his fancy New York City penthouse is not just a business transaction.
Warner Landers starts walking through the large lobby toward the exit. I double step to catch up. “I appreciate you listening, but I need more than your ears.”
He stops and eyes me, his blue eyes piercing me like a piece of tissue paper that never stood a chance against his sharp edges. “What do you need?”
“Your heart.”
Balking, he tilts his head back as a humorless grin splits his cheeks. “You’re not getting that.”
“Why?” I cross my arms over my chest, indignant to the insult of his laughter. “Because it doesn’t exist?”
“Funny.”
I shrug, cracking my own grin with a little pride bubbling inside. “I thought so.”
“One minute,” he says, the warning as incisive as the turn away from me when he starts walking toward the exit. “Good night, Jerry.” He gives the slightest acknowledgment to the guard standing behind a tall desk in the center of the lobby.
His quick stride resounds through the barren room minus the one seating area on the other side of it.
His broad shoulders are straight with the confidence of a nepo-baby, which I discovered he is through my research.
He’s cocky and rude; utter assholery all wrapped up in one annoyingly attractive shell of a man who is clearly vacuous otherwise.
The rubber heels of my favorite flats are quiet in comparison as I chase him down. “Listen, Warner—”
“Mr. Landers to you.”
Jerk.
I rush behind him just as he reaches the door and pushes through. The sounds of the city—car horns, chatter, even the wind whipping down the street—hits me just before the door does. Wow . . .
I shove it open and hightail after him down the sidewalk, and shout against the noise. “You promised me two minutes, Mr. Landers, and you’ve given me nothing but a hard time.”
He stops with his back to me, causing me to come to such a quick halt that I tip forward over the toes of my shoes.
I catch myself and lower to my heels again, raising my chin and crossing my arms over my chest. I’m enraged more than I was in the elevator when I found out who he was.
Glaring at me, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares into my soul as if he’s slowly picking the meat from the bones to leave me for dead, like all his other capitalist ventures.
“You don’t intimidate me,” I say, keeping my eyes set on his and trying to steady my voice. Though, I feel anything but that in this standoff. “Despite your best efforts.”
“I’m out of practice, I suppose.”
I can’t tell if that’s an effort at humor or a confession.
I start closer, the gap shrinking between us until there’s only enough room for groveling, which is what I’m thinking he’s hoping for.
I’m not above it if it benefits my cause.
When he checks the time on his watch, I roll my eyes.
“You’re behind the deal that will put my family’s restaurant out of business, or worse, work it for pennies on the dollar as you scrape everything good about it out and leave the scraps of what was once a thriving restaurant. ”
“Writer?”
The question throws me off-kilter. Why would he ask that? “No.”
“Hmm. What do you do, Ms. . . .?”
“Bayetti.”
“Italian?”
“Mr. Landers, you’ve given me limited minutes of your time. I really don’t want to waste them talking about things irrelevant to my purpose of being here.”
“And that purpose is to have me wave some magic wand and stop the sale of your family’s restaurant like a Hollywood romcom where the hero does the right thing and spares the heroine’s business?”
“Well,” I reply, shifting my weight to the other foot. The hard concrete of the sidewalk causes my feet to ache. “Basically . . . though it’s more complicated than that.”
“I don’t have a magic wand, and I don’t deal with family restaurants, but if it’s fallen under a larger deal that’s been made, there’s no going back now. It’s done.” He turns and starts walking away again.
“It’s not done. No paperwork has been signed,” I explain, sliding up next to him.
“And there’s an out clause. A fee that can be paid, but the price is too high.
We could never come up with that kind of money.
” My situation nor myself, apparently, doesn’t even warrant a glance from this man. “Please listen—”
His eyes strike mine like a thief in the night, stealing the bravery I had been so desperately trying to hold on to since I talked myself into this fool’s mission.
The cold in his eyes doesn’t match the warmth of the spring day.
It’s impressive he can produce such hatred in an instant. Guess I bring it out in him.
“Ms. Bayetti, don’t tell me to listen. I have been listening.
I’ve been listening to a girl tell me nothing more than ‘save my family’s restaurant.
’ I have no idea about your family’s circumstances or how they ended up under a roster of my company’s deals.
I can promise you that if they are, they lost the restaurant long before we came along. Rent is due, and I’m here to collect.”
I could be insulted that I’ve been relegated to a girl and not even a woman, but he’s not entirely wrong.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I felt compelled to act, even if it meant risking personal insult.
If that’s the worst that happens, it’s better than losing everything else.
Our eyes stay locked as I tilt my head. “At the cost of destroying a family?”
“If your family is destroyed, it wasn’t meant to survive.” He starts for the corner of the street, but stops to add, “Sorry, sweetheart. That’s the cost of business.”
“Why are you so hateful?” Glancing up at the skyscraper next to us, I say, “You have the whole world at your feet, and it’s not enough, is it?
What will be? When will you be satisfied?
Is it even possible anymore, or are you so far gone that there’s no concern for the ‘little people’ any longer?
” I’ve been accused of speaking before I think, but I wouldn’t take back one word of what I’ve said to him.
The shake of his shoulders and a chuckle that bridges the distance between us are all I’m given in response to where he left me standing on the sidewalk.
But then he stops. No laughter. His posture unrelenting in its severity.
My breath catches from fear I might have just made matters worse.
I brace myself, but I’m not given anything but a harsh glare.
I finally take a breath and move closer again. This time, I keep my voice lower, only for his ears to hear, and say, “You could have given me the courtesy of treating me like a human.”
“The treatment you received was from the incitement of the situation.” He moves, his head almost above mine, stopping just shy of the intrusion, probably so he can look down on me like he prefers.
I gulp under the intensity of his glare, but I don’t blink.
I stare into his lifeless eyes that hold nothing beyond the empty windows I can only hope used to expose someone with a heart.
I doubt it. People don’t change overnight.
“You need to be careful, little girl, or you might get hurt.”
“Is that a threat?” I lick my lips and take the slightest breath under the pressure cooker of this encounter before biting my tongue, so I don’t explode. That won’t serve either of us any good. Especially him.
“I don’t threaten people, Ms. Bayetti. I’m a CEO, not a mob boss. But you’re pushing luck that you don’t have.” His words coat my face followed by his breath fragranced with mint. My lids bat closed to soak—I mean gather my strength for the battle ahead.
I may be an elementary school teacher, but I’m not intimidated by him because he carries a bigger title. When I reopen them, my chest rises with anger and then releases with intent. “I’m here,” I start, keeping my voice calm, even after the earlier “little girl” insult. “Asking you to reconsider—”
“I don’t know what deal involves your family, and as you can clearly see from your stalking, I’m not at work. So there’s nothing that can be done tonight.”
Taking a step back to make sure he sees the depth of my conviction, I ask, “Tomorrow then?”
“No.”
“No?” I throw my arms out wide. “That’s it? Just no, like we don’t even matter?”
He sighs, irritation sending his gaze to stare in the distance over my head. He takes a beat before finally looking me in the eyes again. “This is not personal. It’s business. Any deal that’s left to be closed is being closed for a reason. It’s about making money.”
“To line your pockets,” I snap, too annoyed to even look at him. I shake my head, feeling defeated. “I knew it would be pointless to try to reason with you.” Returning my gaze to him, I take another breath. “Nothing matters to you but money.”
“Everything revolves around money. You’re a fool if you believe otherwise.” He checks his watch once more.
“I’d rather be a fool than someone like you.”
A smile slides onto half his face. Amusement finally reaches his eyes. “And who is someone like me?”
“Heartless.”
The smile falls, though it’s slow to fade. He looks me over once more before he shoves his hands in his pockets again. “Good day, Ms. Bayetti.”
The sun shines on him like he’s a Greek god, bathing him in golden rays of light. And then I’m met with the wide expanse of his back and shoulders as he walks away. It’s fitting since walking away from me seems to be a running theme with him.
Did I actually expect a different outcome?
Not really, but that doesn’t take away the sting of rejection.
Warner Landers is crueler than anticipated.
How did I ever think I could reason with someone as cold as ice?
There was no soft side to appeal to, no kind heart to reach.
No, there’s just a man who has everything yet walks around soulless.
I have forty-eight hours before that paperwork is signed, and my parents are served an eviction notice. The restaurant has been around longer than I have. It means the world to them. I can’t let them lose everything.
Watching him reach the corner, he looks back at me over his shoulder.
He probably loves that I’m still standing here while he’s celebrating his victory.
I can feel the waves of arrogance rolling off his back from here.
What a jerk! If Warner Landers won’t help me, I’ll find another way.
Whatever it takes, I’ll save the restaurant.
It doesn’t change the fact that I’m not only out of ideas but options.
When he turns around on the corner to give a little wave with a cocky-ass grin on his face, my temper flares into a full-on blaze. I’ve never met a more infuriating, narcissistic, self-righteous, frustrating man in my life. And I’ve encountered a few over the years.
I should go home to start working on the next plan, but he’s triggered me, and I realize I still have nothing to lose. Literally. I march my way back into his orbit. I don’t need to reach the corner, just close enough for him to hear me when I shout, “Hey!”
Passersby stare at me, but I don’t care. They’ll keep moving like they never saw anything, like a proper New Yorker would.
“You called?” I hate him. I hate that smug smirk on his jerkish face and the way every woman who passes smiles at him. They don’t know him, the real him.
I’ve already gotten to see too much of who he is and called his number from the moment I laid eyes on him. But it’s the grin he’s still sporting that makes me want to slap it off his face, that gets me the most. Fisting my hands at my sides, I say, “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
He’s nodding before I finish speaking, as if he already knew what I was going to say.
Then a good laugh takes hold of him like salt to my wounds.
The crowd around him has crossed without him, leaving his ego as his only ally.
He shrugs as he walks backward like he knows these streets by heart.
Which we know is impossible, since that’s the one organ he seems to be lacking.
“Don’t be mad, Ms. Bayetti. It’s only business. ”
“Screw—”
The impact is instant, the car coming out of nowhere and propelling his body unnaturally to the concrete.
A gasp consumes my throat, leaving my lungs vacant of air.
As I stagger through breathing, I cover my mouth with shaky hands.
Paralyzed to the spot, I stand in utter shock from seeing him hit so violently, as if I had somehow willed it.
He might be the worst human being I’ve ever met, but I didn’t want him dead.
Oh God, please don’t be dead.