23. Beckett
BECKETT
To Do: Sawyer’s Cravings:
- Eggs with tobasco
The drive to Knoxville wasn’t long, but it sure as shit felt torturous dragging my ass out of bed at five-thirty in the morning in order to make this meeting.
Ever since Sawyer and I had the conversation about her car, I’d taken it upon myself to make sure she got to and from work safely.
Last night, I didn’t get to bed until well after two.
It was taking everything I had not to doze off beneath the fluorescent lights in this fucking admin building.
Sawyer and I had argued for at least an hour about my taking care of her when I was at her house on Saturday.
When I brought up the idea of driving her so Duke or Olivia didn’t need to, she fought hard.
I listened patiently as she gave me a list of reasons why it was unnecessary.
Then, in turn, I told her that I didn’t care how much she protested… I was going to do it anyway.
It was still a touchy subject between us, but she was going to have to move past that.
The fact that she was so opposed to any help was maddening.
I’d never met anyone who was so stubborn.
I thought she was going to have a coronary when she found out I called the mechanic and settled the tab for her car.
It wasn’t that I thought she couldn’t handle it herself.
She just shouldn’t have had to.
Although that little phone call had me seeing red for a solid hour afterward.
Especially when he told me the list of things that were wrong with that questionable hunk of junk she called a car.
What was with this woman and shoddy machinery?
In addition to the transmission issues, Sawyer had been driving around without air conditioning or heat for damn near a year.
It’d been well below freezing when I showed up in Tennessee a little less than a month ago. How the fuck had that not gotten fixed?
The moment I’d gotten home, I started researching the safest SUVs on the market. There was no way in hell I was going to let her drive that thing for a second longer now that I was in the picture.
We had settled into a comfortable familiarity.
Sawyer began opening up to me far more than I ever expected, and for the first time since August, I felt like I was getting to know the real her, not the front she put on for everyone else.
There were no pretenses or hiding. We agreed to take each day as it came, and not borrow trouble until it stared us in the face.
The only thing I’d change was how we hadn’t kissed since I’d knelt on her childhood bedroom floor last Saturday.
I’d repeat that moment every day for the rest of my life if I could, but the ball was entirely in Sawyer’s court, and I was prepared to follow her lead.
Whatever she wanted, I would give her. Even if what she needed was space.
Thankfully, that hadn’t been the case yet.
I hoped it never would be. I had no intention to pressure her about anything she wasn’t ready for, but in the quiet moments when I was alone, I couldn’t help but wish for more.
More lingering touches.
More kisses that had me losing all concept of time and sense.
More opportunities to show her that I meant what I said when I told her I wasn’t leaving.
Last weekend obliterated any fleeting thought that the chemistry we shared six months ago was gone.
It was still there, as bright and blinding as it was before.
The moment her lips touched mine, I was a goner.
Completely lost to my own need for her. The flush of her cheeks told me she’d felt similarly.
But while it’d be lust that had us recklessly falling into bed with one another, it was something else entirely that bonded us now.
I realized with startling clarity that even if Sawyer wasn’t pregnant, I’d find a way to stay in her life as a permanent fixture rather than a passerby.
I didn’t want to be another nameless face in a line of strangers.
I wanted to be imprinted on her memory, completely unshakable and steady.
Someone she turned to in need of comfort who always had their arm outstretched.
And that sounded a whole lot like a singular word neither of us were ready to utter out loud yet.
Key word being yet.
“Mr. Montgomery! Good to see you. Please, come in.”
I looked up from my phone and stared at the slender man in front of me.
Richard Cochran looked precisely as I imagined.
It was evident from his social media posts that he valued his appearance more than most. To the casual observer, he likely came across as a man who was not only successful, but also from money.
But as a man who grew up in the world of the one percent, I could see through his facade easily.
His thin dark hair was slicked back with too much gel.
It looked like he’d used some kind of scalp spray to make it appear fuller.
The Rolex on his wrist was an older model, scratched and slightly tarnished.
I’d wager it was a hand-me-down or a pawn shop find.
And while his suit was from a relatively good label, it was ill-fitting.
Grabbing my leather messenger bag, I stood from the shitty chair outside his office. “Mr. Cochran,” I said, holding my hand out for him to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My father has spoken highly of you.”
The moment his balmy palm touched mine, I fought back the instinct to wipe mine clean. He glanced around the hallway before stepping back and ushering me into his office. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this tiny shoebox with yellowing walls and hunter green carpet.
Richard had tried to brighten up the space.
Pictures of his family lined the cabinet to the right of his desk—some of which I recognized from my digging on his social media accounts.
The framed awards on his walls made the man seem more dignified than he truly was.
It wasn’t until you looked closer that you realized his accolades were likely printed off a cheap website rather than for merit.
“When your father told me you’d be stopping by, I cleared my morning schedule to give you my full attention,” he said, taking a seat in a tall leatherback chair.
He began rifling through a disorderly stack of papers on his desk with little regard for the personal information he left on display for me to see.
I unbuttoned my suit jacket and took the seat across from him. “I appreciate your assistance in the matter, Mr. Cochran. My father says you’re the kind of man capable of getting things done around here.”
Richard positively preened at the false praise.
His slimy smile was nothing short of nausea-inducing.
I wasn’t the type to make snap judgments about a person based on appearance alone, but there was something about this man that made me uncomfortable.
“Well, your father is right. It’s always good to hear when your work is appreciated.
” He made a triumphant little noise, pulling out a large manila folder and placing it in front of me.
“Ahh, here we go. Everything for the Bennett project is right in here.” He tapped a finger against the top, where a brown coffee ring stain seeped into the paper.
I dipped my head in thanks, then grabbed the folder and skimmed through the contents. Most of this was what my father had shown me the month prior, but it was Richard’s notes in the margins that gave me pause.
- Seek bill of sale for land. Legal purchase? Belonged to Frank Davenport til death. Passed to former employee, then sold.
- Liquor license expiring in 3 months. Will need to reapply. Talk with TABC to block renewal. Premises change submitted?
- Construction halt: Check the area for protected species to prevent building. Environmental hazard?
Richard’s gaze was nothing short of intense as he watched me carefully read through each paper.
His choppy scrawl was damn near incoherent.
The scribblings of a desperate man in an unsavory position.
For as much as my father liked to keep his heel on my neck, I couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be in Richard’s position. I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“Their first proposal will be denied this afternoon,” Richard said smugly.
“They’ll receive the notification shortly after that, which should land them in my office by the end of the week.
” He leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling proud of slapping a red X across their application and handing it back.
I set the folder back on the desk, crossing my ankle over my knee. “On what basis did you deny them?”
“We’re leaning into the environmental aspect at the moment.
Because the bar currently sits on a three-acre plot of land surrounded by dense forestation, we require a full environmental survey before we will consider a review.
Of course, we already know the site will pass inspection, but this will push back a second look by at least three weeks.
Maybe more if we are lucky.” The man was pleased with himself—sitting back in his chair, looking like the cat who got the cream.
“I’ve spread the word to a few surveyors in the county.
They’ll pad their books to appear busier, but that isn’t to say there aren’t others who don’t operate by our standards, if you know what I mean. ”
His use of the word our was noted and hated, but for this to work, it was essential that he believed we were on the same team. The only comfort I took was knowing I was nothing like the man before me.
“Of course,” I agreed. “That’s a good angle. And what about the liquor license?” Richard’s brows furrowed, his smile slipping ever so slightly. “I saw your note regarding the expiration on the first page.”