30 - Lauren
Lauren
We managed to get most of the mess cleaned up, with Rafe and Callum carefully trapping the excess paint on the sheeting in the center and sponging it up until we could discard the plastic without further mess.
It took around half an hour to get ourselves cleaned up though, but Clara waited patiently until I was decent enough to actually sit on a couch with her.
“So, you have good news?” I asked, offering her a cup of coffee.
She took it with a grateful nod. “The best, actually. I called in a favor. Actually no, that’s not quite it—I called in a debt.”
She said it with enough flourish to capture the guys’ attention.
Brock stood close by, still rubbing at a smudge of Swiss Coffee on his jaw.
Rafe was leaning against the doorframe, but his body perked up in interest. Callum’s hands paused where they’d been scrubbing at splotches of paint that we’d carelessly splashed onto the arm of a chair that stood a bit too close to the warzone.
The entire room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.
Clara continued, setting her coffee down to pull a manila folder from her bag.
“You know the zoning chair, Miller? A few years back I gave his daughter an early heads-up on a pocket listing. It’s been her dream home ever since and Daddy Dearest promised he’d be waiting for the day I cashed in on his promise to repay me for my generosity. ”
I smirked, remembering Miller as a proud bastard who had been one of the biggest thorns in Brock’s, and de facto my, side.
“I marched into his office this morning and reminded him that this firehouse isn’t just some residential project. It’s a literal landmark,” she said.
She inched the folder closer to me, encouraging me to look at it. I picked it up and flipped it open.
“There’s a loophole here that took me way too long to figure out,” she said, leaning forward and barely able to contain her excitement.
“It’s called the Legacy Overlay. Since you’re a photographer, we can re-classify the ground floor as a live/work/creative gallery.
Which means that as long as you agree to maintain the heritage aspect of the property by making part of it a public site, the residency holds. ”
My eyes snapped to hers, the implication sinking in.
She gave me a victorious grin. “You wouldn’t be a squatter in this place anymore, Lauren. You’d become the curator of a historical landmark.”
I thought about what she was telling me, torn as I read through the printed documents detailing the legal ins and outs of the set-up. My brain was still foggy with residual adrenaline from the post paint-war haze.
“Thank you for going through all this trouble to find a loophole, Clara. I really appreciate it but I just…I don’t know how comfortable I’d be with tourists rocking up in my living room at three in the morning,” I said, frowning.
“Wait,” Brock said, walking over to the wall near the front entrance and tapping the heavy brickwork.
He looked at me, then at Clara and then at the rest of his crew.
“We’re not using the watch office for much more than storage space right now.
It’s tucked away from the main living area and has its own street access. ”
I could practically see his brain drafting the changes to the blueprints.
“I say we break out this wall, increase the square footage and turn the office into a dedicated gallery space. A commemoration to the old Station 14. You get to have a public-facing area in the front and you keep your private life at the back.”
“You could do that?” I asked, hope starting to stir in my heart.
Brock nodded. “It’s a structural bitch but it’s doable.”
Clara clapped her hands, her eyes immediately snapping to me. “Well?”
“It sounds good, but I’m still not fully sold,” I mused. My thoughts drifted back to the protesters and thought about how vulnerable I’d be making myself. But then Rafe pushed off the door and stuck his hands in his pockets.
“I think it’s a great idea. Kinda like a museum for the old guard, huh? I like it, and it’s better than losing the place entirely. Plus, we can rig up a proper security system to make sure no one crosses into the main house unless they’re let in.”
“Yeah,” Cal agreed, standing to his feet. “We can put biometric smart-locks in the internal connecting doors, make sure no one except Lauren can enter.”
“Not just Lauren, I’m sure,” Clara said under her breath in a sing-song voice.
The guys' eyes all shot to her and she picked up her cup of coffee and took a long, unnecessary sip, pretending not to notice. I was too distracted to answer.
This was it. This was the breakthrough.
I laughed in disbelief, putting the folder down and throwing my arms around Clara, forcing her to move her coffee out of the way to evade spillage. “You’re absolutely brilliant!”
“I try,” Clara said, hugging me back.
“This might actually work.” I pulled back and took in the half-painted room, already imagining what the new amended firehouse would look like with the addition of the little museum.
Brock opened his mouth to add something when his phone buzzed, his brow furrowing as he read the screen. It was like watching a switch flip, the way the carefree man who’d partaken in the paint fight suddenly morphed into the serious foreman.
“What is it?” asked Rafe, his voice sharpening.
“I’ve got to go,” Brock said, already reaching for his keys and heading for the door. “The Big Boss just sent out an urgent text. There’s a meeting at HQ. Now.”
Rafe, Cal and I all shared a look.
“But about what?” Rafe pressed, following him through the entrance portal. The rest of us trailed behind, listening. “I thought the permits were done.”
“I thought so too,” Brock answered, shrugging his jacket on. “Look, I don’t know, okay?” His gaze flickered to me for a brief, shadowy second. Then he turned and stalked out. “I’ll call you when I do.”
He shut the door behind him on that cryptic note, leaving the rest of us in a mix of worry, confusion and the hollow expectation that something was about to go wrong.