Chapter 6 #2
I smirk. “Last time I checked, your last name was Fisher.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t really help who your father is, can you?”
A little flicker of empathy stirs inside me as Fisher’s expression flattens again, and I recall the angry man outside the gala last week.
The obvious contempt he had for his own son was almost frightening.
Fisher’s family might have more wealth than a small nation, but at what cost?
Just because Fisher grew up rich doesn’t necessarily mean he grew up loved.
“No,” I agree softly. “You can’t.”
Moonlight catches on Fisher’s face as our gazes catch and hold for just a moment too long to be comfortable. He seems to glean something from my expression, because he reaches for the bottle on the step beside him and taps it against my cup in a toast. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Don’t.” I put my hand on his arm, my fingers grazing the soft cotton of his sweatshirt as I stop him from raising the bottle to his lips. He looks at me again, and I hold out my cup to him. “If you’re going to drink, you might as well drink something that tastes half-decent.”
A funny look moves over Fisher’s Herculean features. Almost like he’s touched by my gesture. But the look is gone as quickly as it appeared, his smirk back in place as he accepts the cup from me, and I shake off the idiotic thought. Clearly, the whiskey’s already going to my head.
“Well in that case, I propose a change of toast,” Fisher drawls as he accepts the cup from me. “To pissing off my granddad by mixing his finest booze with pink milk.”
He lifts it to his lips and the strong golden column of his throat works as he drinks. Despite all my efforts to not give a damn what this guy thinks, I’m gratified when he smiles. “Okay, that’s actually pretty damn good.”
I toss my hair. “What can I say, I have great taste.”
“I bet you do, Lila,” he says, his gaze lingering on me in a way that feels purposeful. Too purposeful. Much to my horror, my skin prickles with heat under his intent gaze.
“Because you’re an artist, right?” Fisher asks.
“Oh! Right!” I snatch the cup back from him and drink quickly to hide my blush.
Of course that’s what he meant. He wasn’t flirting—and if he had been, it would have just been a power move to sweeten me up.
The more compliant us artists are, and the more peacefully we roll over and give in, the easier his job is.
Plus, I’m sure he only actually shows interest in women with trust funds and miniature dogs that fit in their Birkin bags.
Fisher grins cheekily. “Are you any good?”
“I think art might be the only thing I’m truly good at,” I admit as I pass him the cup again.
He nods like he understands. “That’s how I feel about hockey.”
“What? You don’t expect you’ll be good at running the family empire one day?” I tease, but Fisher remains unsmiling.
“My father doesn’t think so.” He takes another drink, then stares down into the cup as he says, “The Fisher family has their own plans for me, but they’re mostly about keeping up appearances. Allowing me to work for Fisher Group isn’t on their agenda—I’m a liability, not an asset.”
I tut. “They can’t think you’re that much of a liability if you play in the NHL.”
“How do you know that?”
“I looked you up. Looked up your whole family, actually. The more you know about your opponent, the better your odds are for beating them.” I raise a brow. “Right, Hercules?”
“I wish. What the Fisher family wants, they get. No exceptions. And what they want is for me to sit still, look pretty, and not cause them any more grief.” He looks sheepish as he raises his eyes again.
“I know it’s laughable—me with my first world, poor little rich boy problems when so many people out there are going through so many struggles. ”
I shake my head. “That doesn’t make what you’re dealing with any less real.”
“I’ll get over it.” Fisher lifts a big shoulder. “I’ll stay focused on being a great hockey player. The ice feels more like home to me than any of my families’ properties, anyway.”
“That’s how I feel about this place. It’s my home.
” I reach back and place my hand on the door of the firehouse behind me.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do when it’s gone.
And once the firehouse is destroyed, I’m sure the surrounding buildings and businesses will be next.
” There’s no vitriol in my tone, just the truth, but Fisher frowns at my words all the same.
“I know it doesn’t mean anything coming from me, but for the record, I really am sorry this is happening, Lila.”
He sounds genuine. So genuine that everything inside me wants to believe him—although I probably shouldn’t.
“Thanks,” I say cautiously.
He offers me a half smile. “It seems like a really cool place. This whole neighborhood does.”
“It is,” I reply.
Despite all my reasons not to trust what he’s saying, Archibald Fisher genuinely does seem like a half-decent guy.
A guy who understands what it feels like to lose something you love.
Maybe if I show him that this is way bigger than just the firehouse—that the livelihoods of many people who live and work in this neighborhood will be affected by Fisher Group’s plans—there’s a possibility he might come up with another idea about how to get his family’s company to reconsider, or make them think twice about what they’re doing.
I finish my drink, then get to my feet. “Well, before it all gets bulldozed and replaced with luxury apartments, bougie wine bars, and pet spas…why don’t I show you around the place?”