Chapter 3 #2
She releases her clutch on my arm to run over and hug a slim man with distinguished gray hair. He hugs her back with a smile. “You look as pretty as ever, Sweetie.”
I wrinkle my nose. A grown woman calling her father Daddy just seems a little odd.
“Come here!” she tells him, looping her arm through his and walking back in my direction. “Daddy, this is Archibald Fisher.”
He holds out his free hand and I shake it. “Nice to meet you. You’re a hell of a hockey player.” The man leans forward and lowers his voice, “You better be on your best behavior with my daughter, or I will hunt you down.”
I nod, releasing his hand and taking a step back. “Yes, sir.”
My eyes move to his daughter to find her gaze dripping slowly down my body, which makes me feel like a piece of meat. Her tongue dips out to wet her bottom lip as her eyes finally land on my face. Knowing I saw her checking me out, she bites her lip and winks.
I blink. It feels gross to have her flirting right in front of her dad…er, daddy, I suppose.
The mayor spots someone behind me and waves, then excuses himself. His daughter suctions herself against my side.
“You want to get a drink?” I ask her, desperate for something to take the edge off this event.
“Oh, yes! I’d love a Chateau Montelena Chardonnay.”
I nod, and stalk through the ballroom doors and toward the open bar to order her very specific wine choice. The guy manning the bar gives me a sympathetic look. “Need something strong?”
“Please,” I answer, then rattle off the name of the wine Kynsleigh wanted.
He pours a generous glass of wine, and two fingers of a top shelf scotch. “Thanks, man,” I say, leaving a twenty in his tip jar.
The bartender gives me a salute. I’ll probably be seeing him several more times throughout this evening.
When I turn back around with a drink in each hand, I find Kynsleigh a few yards away, waving at me from what I assume is our table because Granddad is already seated and sipping a glass of red wine—is he supposed to be drinking?
I move toward the table and hand Kynsleigh her wine, and she intentionally brushes my hand when she takes it from me. And then she winks again.
I force a smile, then tip my scotch up and drain it in one gulp.
When the gala finally gets started, my brother makes a short speech thanking everyone for coming and telling the guests to stop up front to check out the three-dimensional display of the building they plan to construct once the permits are secured and the firehouse is leveled.
He smiles at the mayor as he says this, like it’s already a done deal, and the mayor tips his wine glass to my brother in acknowledgment in a way that makes my stomach drop.
If I’m going to change my father’s mind about this, I’m going to have to move fast.
After my brother’s speech, the salad course is served.
I pick at my lettuce, waiting for the perfect moment to show Father the alternate properties I found.
My father is seated all the way across the circular table, so it’s not going to be as private of a conversation as I’d hoped.
And worse, the mayor is seated right beside him.
“Mmmm,” Kynsleigh moans after taking a bite of her salad. She chews and swallows, then picks a crouton off her plate and holds it up to my mouth. “Fisher, you must taste these homemade sourdough croutons.”
I open my mouth to tell her I have the same croutons on my own plate, but she takes advantage of my open mouth and shoves the crouton inside. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I chew the dried bread. “Mmmm.” I mimic the sound she made.
When I reach for my water glass, the mayor stands and excuses himself. Kynsleigh starts saying something to me, but I’m out of my seat and sitting beside my father before she can get it out.
“Father, I wanted to talk to you.”
He blinks like he’s surprised to see me in the seat next to him.
“Son, shouldn’t you be with your date?” He lowers his voice so the pretentious guests seated around the table can’t hear.
“I need you to be extra attentive. Charm your way into her good graces. I’m trusting you with this—you said you wanted to assist with the West Coast expansion, remember?
” The condescending lilt is back in his tone as he asks this.
“What I have to say is about the expansion, and it’s important,” I tell him, taking my phone from my pocket and pulling up the tabs I saved with the properties. “Listen, I stopped by the old firehouse last night. I wanted to check it out.”
He raises his eyebrows, impressed for once. “I’m glad to see you taking initiative."
“What I found there was a building filled with spaces rented out by artists. It’s a community, a home for culture and art.
It’s a really cool space.” I pause, watching as his face morphs from pride into resignation.
“It doesn’t feel right to destroy something that’s being used in such an important way.
Something that’s a part of San Francisco history.
” I shake my head, pulling up the first property listing.
“I found similar listings Fisher Group could bid on instead. These places are abandoned, not being used at all.”
“Archibald,” Father says on a sigh. “I don’t want a different property, I want the one we already made an offer on. It’s in an ideal location for our needs.”
“But those protesters…” I gesture toward the door. “They’re out there because this building means something to them.”
My brother leans in from the chair beside my father. “What’s going on?”
My father waves his hand in the air. “Nothing important.”
My brother’s eyebrows scrunch together, and he shrugs.
I slump back against the chair, wishing I could convince them but knowing they’ll never listen. They have no idea just how far out of touch with reality they are.
My eyes land on the mayor as he makes his way back to his seat, so I stand. “There are three properties I found with the same size lot for a similar price. You wouldn’t need the mayor’s approval to destroy a historic building, and you wouldn’t have to deal with protestors.”
My father purses his lips, I can’t read his expression. I can’t tell if it’s frustration, or he’s thinking about what I’m saying.
“Archibald,” my father says with a tight smile, his gaze drifting toward the mayor walking our way. “Can we please discuss this another time?”
I run my tongue across my front teeth to keep myself from saying something I’ll regret in front of the mayor of San Francisco.
The mayor smiles at me as he pulls out his chair and takes his seat again.
A group of servers move about the room with the second course of our meal, but I need some fresh air, need to step away and calm myself down.
My mind goes back to the artist outside fighting passionately for her building, and next thing I know, I’m turning on my heel, and striding out the front doors and toward the protestors like a moth to a bonfire.