Chapter Eleven
Juliet
Ugh, he’s infuriating. How did he get me to stay? The library. He’s bribing me with saving the library.
I return home and Gran is humming to herself softly as she knits, and I hang my coat by the door.
“Hey, Gran, I’m home.”
“Oh hey, how was your day, honey?” She looks up from her knitting with a big smile on her face. “I’m making this for you. You need a nice big shawl. It’s gonna be cold for a while. There’s another storm coming in.”
“Oooh, I love it, Gran, and you know purple is my favorite color. I can’t wait to wear it. My day was okay," I say, forcing a smile. “The bigwigs are ... gross.” I leave it at that. I can’t bring myself to mention the library.
It hits too close to home.
“Well, I should be done with this tonight. I had dinner at the diner, but I brought you some of Marv’s homemade lobster pot pie. There’s a nice big slice for you in the fridge. I picked out all of the lobster.” Bless Gran, she never quite gets what vegan means, but I love her anyway.
“Sounds great, Gran. Thank you.” I take the pie out of the fridge, heat it up. Later, I’ll dump it in the neighbor’s trash. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. I bought a nice acai bowl on the way home and sneak it up to my room.
Later, after Gran went to bed I retreat to my attic room I curl up under the quilt Gran made for me when I was eight.
With my laptop on my knees, I search for every scrap of information I can find on the historic library: funding, petitions, past preservation efforts.
I outline arguments in my head until my eyes blur.
Somewhere between zoning bylaws and community statistics, I fall asleep.
While deep in slumber, I dream of freaking Marcel.
My unconscious mind is embarrassingly vivid.
I remember his fingers strumming my nipples and his mouth lapping my pussy.
I really can’t stop thinking of that apparently because dream Marcel makes me cum three times, just with his mouth alone.
By the time we get to the big finale, I am wrung out.
I still feel his hands, his mouth, and hear the way he whispers my name when he comes inside of me …
And then I jolt awake.
He came inside of me.
I’m flushed and mortified. He came inside of me, that was real.
I immediately open my phone and look at the calendar. When is my period due? I see that I still have a week and take a deep breath. I’m good. I’m going to be okay. I have no idea if this is true, but this is what I tell myself.
I am not having the Grinch’s baby.
I decide, since he had the audacity to show up in my dreams all night, I will be wearing a corporate Christmas outfit to the office today.
I keep it tasteful and meet the stark office guidelines—with own my kind of flare.
I’m Christmas incarnate, cute, cheery, and just sexy enough to irritate him.
I choose a fitted red sweater that hugs my curves, a plaid skirt, tights, and black boots.
My holly wreath pin blinks cheerfully at my collar.
My lips shine candy-apple red and I smell like vanilla bean and cranberry.
He’s gonna wanna eat me alright, but that ship has already sailed, Grinch.
I met with the Grinch briefly when I entered the office, but he was on the phone and just nodded to the empty office next to his.
When I walk in, I see all the paperwork is laid out for me, so I close the door and hunker down.
I keep my head down and work fast, collating plans and organizing files like a machine.
Since I’ve already done the research on the library, I start with that and have a five page report ready by noon.
After lunch I’ll work on extracting all the peeholes and other flubs from the document.
I don’t even know it’s one o’clock until there is a brief two-knock wrap on my door and the Grinch strides in, smooth as ever.
“Lunch time, Juliet. Burrito cart. My treat,” he says. “I’ll show you the project. And you can bring Christmas cheer to all,” he says sarcastically.
“At least someone is,” I am not at all flustered.
“If you’re springing for lunch then I’m getting you a hot chocolate. My treat.” I stand tall because two can play that game. He may be a billionaire, but he’s only offering a burrito. I can counter with hot chocolate. “I know just the place.”
“You’re on,” Marcel accepts my challenge.
The burrito is warm in my hands as we step into the crisp air and honestly, it is so delicious. It literally melts in my mouth.
“So is this why you chose the burrito cart for lunch? Vegan Chorizo Burrito with cashew queso?”
“Exactly why,” Marcel confesses. “And I need you to see the whole project for your work, so this is a bribe.” At least he’s up front about it.
“Show me what you’ve got.”
He takes me through the project, which is just a dream in his head at this point.
He has a copy of the plans, and the company’s proposal.
Over demolished middle class houses that might just need a little TLC, he’s envisioning high rises, and pools, a lake, a spa .
.. my mind goes numb after a while. It’s not because I’m disinterested in these kinds of things, but it’s building after building that will be displacing entire neighborhoods that have histories with families living for generations in their homes.
“Sorry to interrupt you GD, but what are you doing with the homes, the families, and the neighborhoods when you’re bulldozing Whoville?” I glare at him, because fuck him for tearing everyone’s lives down for six-thousand-dollar a month, two bedroom generic boxes.
“GD?” That’s all he cares about? A code name that is uncomplimentary. “I’m afraid of what that means.”
“Grinch Dubois. So? You haven’t answered my question.”
“We are offering everyone a healthy stipend to relocate.”
“And by healthy you mean …?”
“At least ten-thousand-dollars for each family on top of the fair market rate for their homes.”
“And where is this fair market rate coming from?”
“The entire block will be assessed for livability in its current state and resale value if a volume of houses were for sale—” I stop him right there.
“So you are devaluing their homes because you’re snatching them all up at once, since the baseline on your project can’t exceed your profit margins.
And the school down the street? The Church?
The library? All those will be quick-saled at bottom dollar so you can come through and raze the whole place, build up the Oasis Village, and fill it with billionaires from Dubai who will come every three years and stay a week on vacation.
It will be teeming with singletons focused on work and earning that dollar.
Tech geeks and bit coin mavericks will be piling in line for a triple-blended oat milk Dubai Matcha macchiato.
Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Jones who’ve lived here for fifty years are headed to a nursing home to pound back frozen peas and plan for their weekend trip to the store for a can of soda. ” Fuck him.
“This is how the world works, Juliet,” Marcel is calm, almost condescending and a little mean.
We make it to the library just as a group of kids in matching scarves assemble for a Christmas concert. Their tiny bundled bodies amble up the stairs while Marcel and I wait for them all to make it up like little ducks following their mother.
“This place has the best hot chocolate in all of Rhode Island,” I say to Marcel and he gives me a pained grin.
“I know what you’re doing, Juliet,” he tells me like he’s a spy for the CIA.
“I’m sure you do, but like I said, I promised hot chocolate and in here you’ll find the best.” I start my ascent up the stairs and he follows me.
The library smells like old books, cinnamon, and chocolate.
Gran is working at the concessions booth and she was up at five in the morning making batch after batch of her famous cinnamon butterscotch hot chocolate.
It might sound weird, but it tastes like heaven.
The secret ingredient is oat milk instead of real milk; no one knows it’s vegan.
“Alright, everyone take your seats, please.” A woman with gray hair wearing the loudest Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen stands up on a tiny raised stage if front of where little kiddos are seated fidgeting and shuffling in pretty holiday dresses and suits.
“We are happy to welcome Cypress Valley Elementary School’s first grade class to the Eaton Library.
Today they will be singing a selection of Christmas classics. ”
“Come on,” I whisper as I drag Marcel to the concession stand where there are still a few people picking up items.
There, wearing her prettiest green dress and a matching light up holly pin, is Gran, doling out her hot chocolate. She rushes out from behind the table and scoops me into a hug.
“What a wonderful surprise, Jules. I’m so excited you’re here,” she says with her signature Grandma joy. “Who do we have here?” She looks over at Marcel who offers her a sweet smile.
“I’m Marcel Dubois. I work with Juliet.” He’s polite and kind, but this is Gran, I can be real with her.
“Gran, Mr. Dubois,” I say brightly, “Is the man planning on tearing down the library.”
Suddenly Gran’s face goes white as she ladles two big cups of chocolate.
Her eyes sharpen. “I see. So he’s the enemy.”
“Keep your eyes open, Gran. Don’t turn your back on him.” She gives me a wink and a smile.
“Never let the enemy win.” She fist pumps and sees Marcel flinch, just one pained little tik that says we got to him.
He takes a cup from Gran as do I and thanks her graciously before pulling me aside.
“I am not the enemy,” he snaps. “This project benefits the greater community at large.”
He is about to launch into a whole thing, but I tug on his jacket and direct him to one of the chairs.
As the teacher replaces the MC who has just gone over the week's announcements, I lay into Marcel. “The greater community? What about the people who actually live here? You’re pricing them out. Do you know their names? What their lives are like?”
His jaw tightens.
Just as I’m about to launch into the research I’ve collected, the kids start singing.
Their first song is “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and I start to cry.
Marcel, the freak, strokes my back as if comforting me changes the fact that he’s planning on torching the little town of Bethlehem.
Or more precisely, Eaton. The little town of Eaton, Rhode Island.
The kids are sweet and their voices are angelic and pure. Marcel sits quietly throughout the concert and when it’s done he looks at me. For one second he looks like a mature man, perhaps even a dad, ready to scold a toddler.
I stare him down and wave at Gran as we leave and make our way back to the office.
“Some of the families might want a change. Not everyone likes to stay in a run-down house.” He has a fair point, but they aren’t giving the kind of money one would need to live in a historical house with value in its history and architecture.
I rattle off the numbers, the average income for this neighborhood, what rent hikes look like in surrounding areas, and eviction stats. I list the families who’ll be forced out. By the time we return to the office, my voice is shaking.
“Merry Christmas, Marcel. Everyone here will be homeless. I hope you’re proud.” I turn to leave and return to my office to proofread a very messy document.
“You can’t just walk off,” he says, with his voice very low.
“Fire me,” I shoot back. “I’ll go work for the city and fight you. Either way, I’m saving the library and this community.”
“It’s war, then?”
He’s being playful.
I’m not.
“Oh yes, it’s war,” I affirm.
His eyes pierce into me. “Dinner with me tonight. Give me one solution. If it’s good, I’ll consider it.”
“That’s a bribe.” I flatten my lips and hate that dinner with him sounds amazing.
“That’s business,” he counters. “Say yes.”
“Yes.”
The restaurant is absurdly expensive, crystal glasses, white linen, and soft piano music.
I sip sparkling water and ignore the stares of other diners, perhaps wondering if Marcel is out with his daughter.
That doesn’t bother me, his age turns me on.
I love that he’s a mature man who has his shit together and is clueless at the same time.
“Affordable housing,” I say as soon as we sit down. “Same amenities. Cut the billionaire profits. And if you won’t, another developer will. They’ll do the work for less and actually help the community.”
His lips curl in a small, cruel smile. “No. You’re delusional.”
“The Grinch couldn’t ruin Whoville and you won’t destroy Eaton.” I stand up, ready to leave.
“Come home with me,” he says softly. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
I whip around and bend down to his ear so only he can hear me. “I’m not sleeping with you again. You’ve already popped my cherry. Move on.”
His eyes flash and there is real hurt in them “Prove to me that women want more than money, prestige, and a big ...”
I press my finger against his lips.
“I get it. And I’m sure there are women who want that, but Grinches and Scrooges get gold diggers and sluts ... it’s a perfect pairing.” I’m about to leave and we haven’t even ordered, but I can do this.
“Sit back down, please. Tomorrow night take me to your favorite place. Show me Christmas in Whoville and try to convince me that this isn’t just another lower economic area that is drowning in violence, crime, and depression.
No sex. I’ll keep my hands off of you. As you’ve said, I’ve already tainted the goods.
Do that and I’ll change one part of my plan. ”
Fuck him ... seriously.
Or don’t, because he’s established the no-sex rule.
I act affronted. “This is straight up exploitation, not bribery.”
“You want to fight for this town, then fight me for it.”
“Okay. You have a deal.” I shake his hand and take my seat.
When I do, I realize that every single thing on the menu is vegan. “What are you going to eat?” I ask him. “There’s nothing that bleeds on the menu.”
“Well, my first choice honestly would be you. But we’re off sex, though I must say, it’s one of my fondest memories.
Outside of that, the Seitan with beetroot confit sounds interesting and there’s twenty-four hour room service at my hotel, if this night goes horribly wrong.
What I wanted was for you to be able to pick anything you wanted off of the menu. ”
Well, fuck him for sure; maybe he does have a teeny tiny heart in there.