Chapter 12Victor
Chapter Twelve
Victor
The call ends with a click, and I’m staring at the phone like it’s betrayed me. Investors, always twitchy as rabbits, but this batch? They’re making my gut twist more than usual. Hands behind my head, elbows wide, I arch my back until it pops. The stretch doesn’t do much to ease the tension knotted in my muscles.
Normally, these sorts of calls would just be par for the course. I give my assurances that everyone is going to see the promised return on their investment and that the development is on track. Obviously, that’s how this most recent call went as well. Except this time, I’m personally not as confident. I’ve never had to deal with such pushback on a project .
I stand up and walk over to the window, looking down at the city. I’m in the furnished corporate apartment Jenna found for me. It’s cramped, bland—a far cry from the luxury I’m used to in the city. But it’s solid walls and a roof that doesn’t leak. As a kid shuffling through foster homes, I’d have thought I’d hit the jackpot landing a place like this.
"Safe and warm," I mutter to myself, tracing the cool glass with a fingertip. You never forget what that means when you’ve gone without.
I glance over at the makeshift office—the second bedroom stuffed with a small desk and a laptop perched on it. There’s a stack of papers next to it, each page screaming deadlines and demands. My reflection in the darkened screen looks back at me, blue eyes hard, mouth set in a line. There’s no escaping your own gaze, is there?
My phone rings, and I glance at the caller ID. It’s Tim, my lawyer. I swipe to answer.
"Victor Stone," I say, voice all business.
"Hey, Victor. Got some news about the Board," Tim replies, his tone holding that edge of caution I’ve grown to expect.
"Hit me," I respond, sitting back in the chair. It creaks under my weight, a subtle reminder that this isn’t my space—just another temporary station on the road to something bigger.
"Two votes secured. Anderson and Li are with us," he says, and I can almost hear him ticking off names on his fingers.
"Great," I mumble, but I know there’s more—there always is.
"Miller’s a definite no. Says the project doesn’t align with community values," he continues. That stings. Community values. Like I don’t have any.
"Okay, two down, one against. What about the others?"
"Sanders and Chu? They’re on the fence. Could swing either way."
I rub my temples. "I don’t know what else I can do. I’m sponsoring the local pee-wee team, for crying out loud. I’m shaking hands, kissing babies?—"
"Victor," Tim interrupts, a note of sympathy creeping into his voice, "that’s not really my area. I’m just keeping you up to speed on the Board."
"Right." My voice is flat. I appreciate Tim, really. But sometimes... "Thanks for the update."
"Anytime. Keep your chin up. I’m sure you’ll find a way to get those votes."
"Sure," I say, though a part of me wonders how much more of this small-town charm I can stomach. I end the call and toss the phone onto the desk.
"Community values," I echo to myself, scoffing softly. A sharp exhale, and I stand up, restless energy coursing through me.
I need to recapture my focus and get back to work, but my legs feel leaden. My thoughts keep drifting back to Chestnut—or Avery, rather. Each morning after the first time I ran into her at the coffee shop, I thought maybe it would happen again. But it seemed like it was a one-time visit for her.
She’s been swirling in my mind since that day. She’s got me off-balance, and I don’t like it. I’ve never been so focused on a woman before, even ones I’ve dated. I shake my head. It’s obviously because she’s the leader of the town’s grand resistance against the development. That’s clearly the explanation for my fascination with her.
I sit back at my desk and pull up a blank email. Jenna needs to dig up what she can on Avery. The sooner I understand my opponent, the better.
"Jenna," I start typing, "I need info on Avery Bennett. She’s spearheading the opposition. Her daughter, Olivia, is on the pee-wee team. Find everything you can."
Sent. That’s done.
My eyes flicker to the corner of my screen where the calendar icon is begging for attention.
Clicking it, I see the reminder that makes my stomach drop—first game of the season, 5 pm. A glance at my watch—3:30 pm—and I’m calculating if I can afford to show my face there, or what it might cost me if I don’t. It’s then that my phone decides to ring again.
"Victor Stone. "
"Victor, hey, it’s Marty. Coach for the pee-wee league," he says, as if I don’t already know who he is.
"What can I do for you?" I ask, hoping to move the conversation along.
"I know the timing of this isn’t ideal, but my wife just went into labor. I can’t make this evening’s game."
The news is enough to send my day into a further tailspin.
"I didn’t know your wife was pregnant," I admit. I actually didn’t even know that the man was married. Not that it really should have mattered.
"Yep. For nine months now."
"Clearly," I mutter. "If you can’t make the game, we’ll have to forfeit," I say calmly.
"Yeah, sorry about that," Marty responds, not offering a solution. "But, nature, ya know?"
"No, I don’t know," I mutter under my breath. "Well, congratulations," I say. "I guess I have some calls to make."
Hanging up, I dial Jenna immediately, my voice tight as I explain the mess.
"So, we’re going to need a replacement coach. Marty’s apparently married, and this wife of his is going into labor."
Jenna hesitates. "I’m not sure I can get a replacement in an hour, Victor," she says.
I shake my head. "That’s really unacceptable. If we forfeit this game, our entire investment in the team will be a waste. Not to mention the bad publicity it will bring."
"I totally agree," Jenna says.
"So, then find a replacement."
"It’s not going to be that simple, Victor. I’m in Boston. I’m not connected with the town. I wouldn’t know who to call over there on such short notice, honestly. You’ve been around town a lot lately. Is there anyone you can think of asking?"
"No," I say immediately. "Just because I’ve been around town doesn’t mean I’m making friends."
"Oh, come on, Victor," she says. "That was the whole point. There has to be someone you can think of to fill in."
A moment of silence passes between us. I’m waiting for her to come up with a better solution, but what she says next is by far worse than forfeiting.
"Unless, you think you could step in," she says, her words hanging heavy in the air.
"Never going to happen," I say immediately.
"Victor!" she huffs. "It’s the only thing that makes sense. You won’t even have to do anything, really. It’s just a pee-wee game."
I roll my eyes. Clearly, she knows nothing about hockey or coaching it. "That’s the most untrue statement I’ve ever heard," I reply. "There’s actually a lot that goes into the position. "
"Okay! Sounds like you know it, then! That’s great! Should be easy for you!"
"Jenna, you’re not listening to me," I say again. "I’m not coaching."
She lets out a deep sigh. "Well, then I don’t know what else to tell you, Victor. I don’t have another solution. I guess at this point, it’s really up to you what you want the outcome to be."