CHAPTER TWO - HAYDEN
A fter seeing Addie yesterday, I just can’t seem to get her out of my mind.
“Earth to Hayden,” Noah, my older brother, says after his big head pops up on the main video screen during our weekly Zoom call.
My head jerks as I try to become more alert. “Right, sorry.”
Suddenly, it’s Gabriel, my rebel and daredevil friend, who dominates my monitor. “Yeah, he’s right. Something is off with you.”
We’re getting in a quick chat before we all start working, so I’m in one of my best suits. I tug at the lapel before looking up. “I just have a lot of things to do today.” That isn’t a lie, after all.
“Hmmm,” Victor, Noah’s best friend, and my honorary brother, vocalizes with squinted eyes. “I don’t buy it.”
Then, Denton, my more sensitive friend, gasps. “Guys! We’re so stupid!”
“What do you mean, Den?” Gabe asks.
Ugh. I close my eyes for a minute and press on the bridge of my nose. All the jumping back and forth between their faces is making me nauseous. Why we can’t just do our normal phone calls?
Denton sits back and looks smug as before dropping his conclusion,“One word: Addie.”
Fuck. They’re onto me.
On the smaller screens, I can see my brother’s faces fall.
“After all these years, he’s still got the hots for Adriana Flores?!” Victor jokes.
The utterance of her full name causes a shiver to roll down my spine. In response, I sit up straighter and cough to clear my throat.
“Of course, I saw her. It was her grandfather’s funeral.”
“Look at his face,” Noah jokes. “He’s turning red.”
“I am—” I shout before pulling at the tight neck of my button-up. Then, I repeat quietly, “I am not.” If we should be pointing out anything, it’s the graying at your temples, brother.
Gabe raises his arms above his head and then rests them on his neck. “No one blames you, Bro. Addie is hot as hell. She always has been. If you hadn’t gotten to her first, I would’ve loved to wine and dine her myself.”
I roll my eyes at the comment. “Alright, alright. Settle down.”
Noah laughs. “Yeah. It’s not like she’d ever go for you anyway.” he grins widely and twitches his dark eyebrows up. “Instead, she’d probably rather go for a successful, mature man . . .”
With that, Denton chimes in again. “People, people, people. It doesn’t matter what you would’ve done with her or who she could’ve gone for.” Ever the sensitive and caring guy, I appreciate him sticking up for me. “It’s clear she picked Hayden.”
I feel my cheeks blushing again, but I push away from my desk a little in the hope to hide that.
Gabe, apparently not listening or caring about a word Denton said, leans closer. “So, is she still as hot as I remember?”
My mouth opens, but before I can say anything, my work phone rings.
Thank God!
I clap my hands together and say, “Sorry, boys. I’ve gotta go. Duty calls.”
As I’m lowering my screen, my brothers continue to razz me and make kissing noises, while Denton scolds them.
“Good riddance,” I say out loud after shutting it and muting all of their voices.
My attention automatically shifts to business mode. I don’t have the number saved on my phone, so I don’t recognize it. But nevertheless, I answer it.
“Hello?”
“Good morning. Is this Hayden Cohen?” a man on the other line says.
“Yes, sir. And you are?” I run my finger along my upper lip and then use that same hand to flick the side of my jacket back.
“Teddy Erickson.”
Teddy Erickson, I repeat in my head. But it still doesn’t ring a bell.
Then, he reminds me, “I’m the project manager who used to work with Salvador Flores?”
Oh, that’s right. I feel foolish for forgetting.
I reposition myself in my seat. “What can I do for you, Ted?”
He sniffles before answering, “Unfortunately, I have to relay some bad news.”
My eyelids narrow. “Okay?”
“The land you were set on acquiring for the first Ivory Shores Hotel is about to go to another bidder.”
Shit! “But Teddy, we had to pull away from those negotiations because Sal got sick?—”
“I know that, and I tried to explain everything to the owner, but it seems as though his sympathies have run dry.”
“No, but?—”
“I’m sorry, Hayden. I really am.”
My heart rate climbs, and my pupils dart from side to side.
“So, that’s just it then?”
I want to throw the phone against the wall, but I resist.
Teddy audibly sighs. “I’m afraid so. As I am sure you’re aware, they really only agreed to the contract because of Mr. Flores. They had done business before, and they trusted his integrity.”
“What about my integrity?” The Cohen Vineyards have been a staple in Napa Valley for years, and our name is practically synonymous with “business acumen” around these parts and among the entire country.
“Listen, I know you’re frustrated.”
“Frustrated?” I push back and emphasize to no one but myself by standing on my feet.
I’m beyond fucking frustrated. Having the land go to the other bidder means failure.
A nd I hate failing. When I was a child, my father would ridicule every mistake and stumble I made.
There’s no way I’m going to let this fail.
“Hayden?” he says after I’m quiet for a moment.
“Right, sorry. Um, what’s the buyer’s name again?” I know I should remember, but it’s escaping me at the moment.
“Errol Rawlings.”
“Can you spell that for me?”
He does, and I take careful note of each letter.
“Great. Thank you.”
Without another word, I hang up, open my computer back up, and google his name.
Then, after finding the address, I write it down and call my driver.
“I thought you were working from home today, sir?” Betsy, my sweet, elderly housekeeper, calls after me.
I don’t even turn to face her when I answer, “Something came up.”
“Can I make you something? It’ll just take a second to whip up a sandwich.”
I grab my coat and drape it over my forearm. “No, I’m fine.”
Finally, she catches up with me, but she’s a little out of breath when she asks, “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Bets.” I turn my head and bend down to kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you, though.”
She beams and clutches her pudgy hands together across her abdomen. “You’re welcome. But shall I expect you for dinner?”
“Yeah, I don’t see why not.”
“Good. I’m making your favorite.”
“Swedish meatballs?”
She nods.
Lucky guess. “I can’t wait,” I murmur with a wink before spinning on my heel and heading out the door.
“Where to, sir?” Lionel, my trusty half-Congolese and half-Jewish driver, asks, after I pile into the back of the black SUV I bought for him to cart my ass around every now and then.
“Rawlings Real Estate.”
He pushes a few buttons on his phone, but after I hear the robotic voice telling him to take a left at the upcoming traffic light, I know that we’re on track.
So, I put my headphones in and start drumming along with my hands on my thighs.
However, I pause when I see a glimpse of something sparkly out of the corner of my eye. Then, after looking closer, I see that it’s a “Thank You” card.
“Hey, Lionel?”
He pulls down his sunglasses, which reveal the large mole he has near the bottom of his left eye, and he looks at me in the reflection of his rearview mirror. “Yes, sir?”
“What is this?” I hold it up for him to see, but I answer my own question when I open it and see her signature:
Love always,
Addie 3
Nevertheless, he explains, “Miss Addie Flores sent me that the other day.”
“For what?”
“Well, I drove for her grandfather for almost forty years before you hired me.”
That’s right. Once Sal had his first stroke, he mostly stayed and worked from home. So, I snatched Lionel up for myself when I heard he might need another gig.
“May I?” I ask before opening it further.
“Sure.” He nods and covers his dark brown eyes again.
Dear Lionel,
Well, now that my abuelo has passed, I finally feel like I can finally thank you for saving my butt so many times when I was younger. I know I had a bit of a wild streak back in high school, but I could always count on you to pick me up and bring me home safely.
Huh. I had no idea about any of that.
P.S. Thank you for not letting Nick Cordain ride home with us that one time. You were right. He was bad news.
My mouth flies open. Addie and Nick Cordain? He was such a perv back in the day, and I can’t picture the two of them together. And, if I’m being honest, the idea of it makes me jealous—even after all of these years.
P.P.S Sorry for all of the puke. Please feel free to invoice me for all of your car washes.
Lionel suddenly laughs. “She was always such a sweet girl.”
I don’t respond as I close the card and put it on the seat next to me.
“You know,” he then opines as he shifts lanes, “I always thought the two of you would end up together.”
I gulp. “Who? Me and Addie?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
Sure, there was that one night around eight or so years ago after my graduation party. But I think we both barely remember that. It’s not like I occasionally reminisce about what her naked body looked like in the reflection of the moonlight . . .
We soon pull up to a somewhat dilapidated building, and I scoot out.
“It should only be an hour or so,” I announce.
In response, Lionel tips his cap off his head. “See you then.”
“Indeed.” After hearing his reply, I close the door of the car.
I stand on the curb and watch him pull away, but then I head on inside to the dreary and moldy-smelling office.
“I’d like to speak with Errol Rawlings,” I demand of the young girl who is smacking bubble gum behind the front desk.
“Do you have an appointment with Mr. Rawlings?” she asks unenthusiastically.
“Wha—no. No, I don’t. But it’s very important for me to speak with him. Right now.”
She rolls her eyes, but picks up the phone and starts clicking buttons.
“Mr. Rawlings?” Her hand covers the speaker part before she asks me, “What’s your name again.”
As I often do when I’m nervous, I’m scratching the back of my neck. But I answer her.
“Hayden Cohen.”
“A Mr. Hayden Cohen is here to see you.”
On the other side of the line, I can only hear mumbling.
“Fine,” she finally says. “You can go back there.”
“Thank you.”
B efore entering, I straighten out my suit coat. Then, I finally knock on the door. “Mr. Rawlings? Hayden, Hayden Cohen here.”
“Yeah, yeah. Come in,” his nasal voice responds.
When I open the door, I find a man with his legs up on his desk.
“Hayden Cohen,” I repeat while reaching for a handshake, which transfers some kind of cookie or chip dust onto mine.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
I discreetly rub whatever is on my hand off onto my pants. “Same to you.”
He’s wearing red and white striped suspenders, and he pulls on them a little as he says, “Salvador told me a lot about you.”
“Did he?” I gesture to a chair across from him, and he nods. So, I take a seat.
“And I can’t say that I’m surprised to see you.”
I feel the wood creak under me as I cross my legs. “All good things, I hope.”
“For the most part,” he murmurs with a cheeky grin.
Okay? I move on from that and explain why we still need the land for our hotel.
“I understand all of that. But—” Errol swings his legs down. “You see, dear boy, my business is failing. I need to sell the land, and I need to sell it soon.”
I could’ve guessed that. Most successful companies don’t have such pitiful office spaces.
“Please,” I beg. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Just please give me one week to come up with the money. For Salvador.”
He sighs but eventually agrees.
So, I feel like I’m walking on water as I waltz out of his office.
When I’m back in the car, I place a call to Salvador’s assistant, but another woman answers instead.
I can’t identify her voice, but she sounds cold and irritated as she says, “Hello? Can I help you? I don’t have all day.”
“Right. Sorry about that. I was hoping to speak with Mr. Flores’ assistant.”
After a brief pause, she replies, “Mr. Flores’ assistant? Who–oh.” She seems to answer her own question. “She has been let go.”
I’m surprised. When Salvador was still alive, he treated her like she was his “ride or die”. So I assumed he’d have a safety net in place given his death.
“And you are?” I ask after processing everything.
“Rosa Flores. The new CEO of Flores Holdings.”
“. . . Say what now?” The thought of working with that vindictive woman makes me shudder.