2. Hayden
TWO
“Hey, Hayden, Mr. Shea is asking to see you in his office,” Carly, the receptionist who handles everything on our floor, says over the intercom. “And, fair warning, he’s in a ripe mood,” she adds wryly, making me chuckle.
“Thanks, I’ll be right there.”
I finish the email I’m typing to the property appraiser’s office and then close out of the program, taking a deep breath to mentally prepare for whatever my father needs to speak to me about. I consider texting my sister to ask if she knows what’s going on, but ever since Dad announced he’s retiring at the end of the year and will decide then who will be stepping into his shoes as the new CEO, my sister’s competitive streak has taken over. Instead of working together, she thinks we’re competing against each other.
“Hayden, did Carly tell you that I needed to see you?” my dad asks, walking into my office not even thirty seconds later.
“Yeah, I was just about to come see you.”
Since he’s now dropped into the visitor seat on the other side of my desk, I make no move to get up.
“I need you to put whatever you’re working on to the side and handle the wellness center project,” he says, getting straight to the point.
“You know I’m in the middle of the?—”
“And now you’re handling this,” he says, cutting me off. “Whatever you’re working on, give it to someone else or put it on hold. This takes priority.”
I sigh in annoyance, then remember something… “I thought Gretchen was handling the wellness center.” At our Monday morning meeting, my older sister said she had it all under control. And since her main goal in life is to convince our dad that she should be given the CEO position, she would never agree to hand a project as important as this one over to me. She practically begged to be given the lead on this project.
Dad clears his throat. “She is…”
“So you want me to go behind her back?” I raise a single brow in question. “If Gretchen finds out, she’s going to be pissed.” My sister is the most competitive person I know, and my moving in on her project will be the equivalent of starting WWIII.
“If we don’t close on the deal soon, Atwater Investments will pull their backing,” Dad explains. “Your sister fucked up, and I’m going to deal with her later, but right now, we need to save this deal.”
I nod in understanding. “All right, so what’s the issue?”
Dad spends the next thirty minutes getting me caught up to speed. According to him, the building owner passed away recently, and his son inherited it. When he put it up for sale, not wanting to deal with it, we put in a bid so we could build a state-of-the-art wellness center and spa.
In order for the deal to go through, though, the tenants had to agree to be bought out of their leases, and all have done so, except for one. And since New York is all about the tenant’s rights, we can’t move forward without the agreement of this tenant.
“If it’s only one tenant, couldn’t we just finalize the sale and, once the tenant’s lease is up, not renew it?” I ask the obvious question. How long could the lease be for? The standard length is one year.
“The lease is for ninety-nine years,” Dad says, shocking the hell out of me.
“I’m sorry, what?” I choke out a laugh. “Are you serious?”
Dad glares, not seeing the humor in this like I do. “There are forty-nine years left. I need you to make the tenant see reason. I don’t care what it takes. If we lose the contract with Atwater, our reputation will take a huge hit. You know how big of a player he is in the game.”
Not to point out the obvious but… “Shouldn’t this have been handled before you guys put in thousands of man-hours and dollars toward this project?” Rule number one in real estate is to have all your ducks in a row before you bring a deal to the table. Something like this should’ve been considered beforehand.
“I thought it was,” Dad growls. “Gretchen said it was under control, but it clearly wasn’t. And then she hid it from me, thinking she could handle it even though she was in over her head. If it hadn’t been for the building owner following up and me being given the call by mistake, I wouldn’t even know about the issue.”
“Did you try to speak to the tenant?” In my entire life, I’ve never seen my dad not get his way, ever.
“Of course, I did.”
“And…?” I prompt.
“And it ended with the cops being called and me being cited for trespassing and harassment.”
I hold back a laugh, imagining all this going down. “And you think I’m going to magically convince this person to break their ninety-nine-year lease?”
Dad scrubs his palms over his face, then leans over the desk and locks eyes with me. “Yes, I do. Because if you do, come December, you will be the new CEO.”
And now, he’s got my attention.
“Just like that? If I get this tenant to let us buy out their lease, you’re really going to retire and appoint me the new CEO?” Dad has claimed he’s going to retire several times now, but it never ends up happening. He’s too much of a control freak to hand over the reins.
“Yes, you handle this, and the position is yours.” He extends his hand for a shake, and I meet him halfway.
“Consider it done.”
Sucks for Gretchen, but her fuckup is my gain. And it will be my gain because at the end of the day, there isn’t anything I won’t do to ensure that I’m the CEO of Shea Real Estate Investments. I’ve been dreaming of this and working my ass off for it my entire adult life, and nothing will stop me from achieving my dream. The thought of one day taking over and finally being out from under my dad’s thumb—being able to run things my way—is the only thing that keeps me going.
After Dad sends the files over, I spend the rest of the day combing through everything, so I’m prepared. You never go into a battle without knowing your enemy, and since this tenant is the only thing keeping me from becoming the new CEO, she’s now my number one enemy.
I walk up, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the pastel pink and yellow awning with matching tables and chairs outside. Across the top reads Heart’s Coffeehouse and Bakery: Coffee And Treats Made From The Heart. There’s a line curving around the corner, and as the door opens and closes, I catch a whiff of the addictive aroma of espresso mixed with something…sweet.
I had planned to go in and speak to the owner, but since it’s so busy, I get in the back of the line to check the place out. The line moves quickly, and once I’m inside, a few people away from the counter, I assess the situation. The walls, a pink and yellow floral pattern with some green mixed in, remind me of visiting my grandma at Martha’s Vineyard when I was a kid. It’s clear the shop hasn’t been updated in years, yet it’s clean and inviting—also like my grandmother’s home.
Damn, I miss that woman. She was probably the only sane person in my family.
The tables and booths are occupied by people drinking coffee, eating sweets, and conversing. When I step up to the counter, an assortment of pastries, muffins, and cupcakes line the inside of the display—all of them looking freshly baked and mouthwatering.
When I glance up, bright-blue eyes meet mine, accompanied by a soft smile. “Good morning, what can I get you?” When I hear her melodic and mesmerizing voice, I forget where I am and what I’m doing for a second.
“Umm,” I choke out, mentally shaking myself out of the trance this woman—from her voice and smile alone—has put me in.
You’re here for a reason, I remind myself. To speak to the owner and convince her to let us buy her out of her lease. “Are you the owner?”
Her smile widens, and two dimples make an appearance. If I thought she was beautiful before, I was wrong. The woman is downright gorgeous.
“That would be me,” she says. “I’m Aubree Heart. How can I help you?”
I open my mouth to tell her I have business to discuss with her, but the words won’t come out. I’m too enraptured by her looks, by her smile, and by those goddamn dimples. It’s like some weird spell has been cast over me.
After a few awkward moments, she laughs, the sound hitting me like an arrow straight to my fucking chest. Holy shit, what the hell is wrong with me? Is the coffee laced with something strong enough that the smell alone is causing me to have some strange out-of-body experience?
“Have you been here before?” she asks. “If not, I can make some recommendations…”
Someone behind me clears their throat, and I realize I’m holding up the line.
“Can I, uh, get…” I glance at the display but can’t really focus. My head is fuzzy. “Uh, a dozen cupcakes…and…a coffee?”
“Sure. Any particular flavors?”
“Any is fine.”
As she rings me up—and I stare at her like a dumbass—I notice that she doesn’t have a ring on her finger, and from my research, she isn’t married. My gaze moves to her heart-shaped face. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss her, what her plump and shiny lips would taste like. Is she a quiet kisser, or would she make sweet little sounds as I nibble on her lips? Her blue eyes meet mine as she hands me the box of cupcakes and my coffee, and I get lost in their warmth. With my order in hand, I’m forced to move to the side, so I head out, wondering what the hell just happened.
I spend the rest of the morning researching the business, the property… the owner. From the little I could find, her grandparents opened the coffeehouse fifty years ago, and after they both passed away, she inherited it. She also lives in the building, which means she’s not only the business owner but the damn tenant—a fact I missed when I initially researched her. Her apartment lease is up in six months, so that’s not the issue. It’s the forty-nine-year lease on the business that’s the problem. By the time I’m done and ready to head back to Heart’s, my head is back on straight, and I have my priorities in order. Nothing will stand in the way of my future—not even a gorgeous, blue-eyed, twin-dimpled woman.
The second I step into the coffeehouse, Aubree greets me with those damn blue eyes and dimples. I quickly glance around and see that the shop is empty, which is what I was hoping for by showing up ten minutes before they closed.
“Hey, you came in this morning, right? Coffee and cupcakes. Were they so good you’re back for seconds?” She winks playfully as she wipes down the counter, and my dick, like the traitor it is, stretches behind my slacks.
“Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you.” I step toward her and reach out my hand. “My name is Hayden—” I begin, but before I can finish what I’m trying to say, a woman flies around the corner, moaning like she’s being fucked. Only instead of a man between her legs, there’s a brownie between her fingers.
“Oh my God, Bree. These brownies are seriously the best thing I’ve ever had.” When she realizes Bree isn’t alone, she laughs. “Sorry, but seriously, these are so good. Want to try one?” She grabs one from the case and puts it on a napkin. “They’re Bree’s new recipe.” She hands it to me over the counter. “Prepare to be blown away.”
I take the brownie and tear a piece off, popping it into my mouth, and holy fuck, she isn’t wrong. The chocolatey goodness practically melts in my mouth.
“Right?” the woman says knowingly. “I’m going to bring some home for my husband. One bite of this, and I’m soooo getting laid.” She waggles her brows, and Aubree slaps her playfully.
“Sorry about her,” Aubree says, her cheeks tinting an adorable shade of pink. “We try to keep her hidden in the back, but sometimes, she escapes.”
I chuckle at their banter. “It’s all good.”
“So are you back for another coffee?” she asks after a beat. “We’re about to close, but I can whip you up something.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you’d go out with me,” I blurt out, shocking the hell out of myself.
Aubree’s eyes go wide, and her friend chokes on the brownie she’s inhaling. I consider backtracking since that’s not why I came here. Instead, I find myself waiting for her answer, telling myself by going out with her, I can get close to her and see where her head’s at.
“That’s very sweet,” Aubree says, yet I can already tell by her tone that there’s a but coming. “But,” she continues, smiling sadly, “no.” She shakes her head. “You seem very nice.” Since she doesn’t know me, she can’t possibly know whether I’m actually nice, so I know she’s only saying that to let me down gently. I consider pushing the issue, but when I notice her eyes are a bit glassy, filled with what looks like genuine sadness, I nod and bow out.
“No worries,” I tell her, and then to save face, I add, “Could I get a couple of coffees and brownies to go? They really are good.”
She nods and then goes about getting my order ready while her friend rings me up. Once I have the drinks and food, I give her one last smile, then head out, wondering, not for the first time since I met this woman, what the hell has gotten into me. Until now, I’ve never had an issue separating work from my personal life, but something about this woman fucks with my head.
It’s for the best. Had she agreed to go out with me, it would’ve blurred the lines. I need to keep my head on straight and figure out how to convince her to let us buy her out of this ridiculous lease, so my dad will appoint me the new CEO. That’s been my goal since I was old enough to go work with him. It kept me motivated through four years of college and getting my real estate license. It’s what’s driven me the past eight years since I’ve graduated, and I have been working my way up, proving I’m capable of running Shea Real Estate Investments. Every day when I deal with my dad’s shit, I remind myself there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I have a goal.
So then why the hell does her turning me down feel like it’s not for the best?
Fuck.