Chapter 32
Ethan
On our way to the gelato shop, I swing past the now-empty lot where the old Crystal Heights building used to be. The demolition was finished yesterday, and my team should have cleared the site by now, getting it ready for the new construction to start.
I slow as we approach it, satisfaction humming through my veins as I scan the large, flat piece of ground. It’s a blank canvas, ready for me to build something beautiful.
Jamie sits up straight, peering through the windshield. "Stop the car." She sounds alarmed.
"What's wrong?"
"That's Bartholomew. Pull over." She points to a battered old Chevy parked near the chain-link fence surrounding the vacant lot. A large man sits on a crate next to the car, and with his crooked nose and scarred face, he looks as beat-up as his car.
"Who's Bartholomew?" I swing my car into the curb behind his.
"One of your former tenants. I interviewed him when we were investigating the death threats." I’ve barely come to a stop, but she's already opening her door and sliding out. “Oh my God. Looks like he’s living in his car.”
The man stands up. He’s solidly built, probably mid-forties, with a rough beard. Sure enough, when I get out of my car, I can see blankets and belongings piled up in the back seat of his Chevy.
"Bartholomew.” Jamie walks toward him. “Remember me? We spoke a few weeks ago, and I asked about the death threats.”
The man nods, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "The bodyguard." His gaze slides past her to me, and his face darkens. “And you’re with the billionaire fucktard himself. Come to see the misery you’ve caused, Mr. Billionaire Fucktard?”
Jamie glances back at me, her expression hardening.
“The building was too far gone to keep,” I say, not even sure why I feel the need to defend a decision that had been a no-brainer. "It had to come down.”
Bartholomew's laugh is bitter. He gestures to his car. “And why would I want to sleep inside when I’ve got five-star accommodations right here? Great view of the stars through the sunroof."
His housing situation isn't my responsibility. But if I say that, I’ll look even more like the bad guy. Normally, I don’t care what anyone thinks of me… but I care a lot about what Jamie thinks. And I can tell by her face she’s not siding with me on this one.
“You haven’t found a new place yet?” she asks Bartholomew.
He leans against his car, arms folded. "Every affordable complex has a waiting list. But hey—" his gaze cuts to me again "—at least I’m not living in a building that was too far gone to keep, right?"
He’s being unfair. The old building had a laundry list of issues, including cracks in its foundations that had weakened the entire structure. If it had collapsed in an earthquake, it could have killed everyone inside.
But he doesn’t want to hear that.
And I know for a fact he won’t want to hear about the beautiful new building my architect has designed for this site, with its luxury apartments and swimming pool complex.
“I’m sorry you haven’t found somewhere else to live yet,” I say curtly. “Good luck with your search.” If I had any money on me, I’d offer it to him, but who carries cash these days? Besides, he’d probably throw it back in my face.
Jamie says goodbye and wishes him luck in a tone that’s a lot kinder than mine, and when we get back in the car, she’s stony-faced. The rest of the drive to the gelato shop is tense. Jamie stares out the window, and I can feel disappointment radiating off her in waves.
I let out a sigh. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She turns to me, and the accusation in her eyes makes my heart sink. “He’s not the only person you evicted who didn’t have anywhere to move to. And some of those tenants were elderly.”
"What was I supposed to do?"
"Help them!" Her voice cracks. “You could have made sure they had somewhere to go before you demolished their homes.”
“It's not that simple."
“Why not?”
“Do you have any idea how much it would cost to rehouse every single tenant?”
“No. How much?”
I shake my head. “Too much.”
We pull up to the gelato shop, and she gets out without a word.
Air conditioning blasts me with an icy chill as we step inside.
They have soft music playing, and everything in the store looks pristine.
The gelato flavors are laid out in gleaming glass cases.
The floor is polished marble, the lights are chandeliers, and two servers are wearing smart black uniforms. The patrons sit at small tables, and there aren’t many kids here. The atmosphere is hushed.
Jamie hesitates just inside the door, gazing at the artfully written board above the counter.
Her expression is set, but I know what she’s thinking.
The prices here are ridiculously high, the place is stuffy rather than fun, and especially after the Bartholomew thing, I should have taken her somewhere else.
But it’s too late now to backtrack.
“Which of the chocolate flavors did you say you wanted?” I ask.
Her lips tighten. “Actually, I’ve lost my appetite.”
I swipe a hand down my face, silently cursing my decision to swing past the empty lot. “Have some gelato,” I urge. “We can still have a nice evening.”
“But Bartholomew can’t.”
“Jamie—”
A familiar voice cuts me off. "Well, if it isn't the happy couple." Miles Marzoni walks over to us. I hadn’t noticed him at sitting at one of the tables, but he clearly saw us walk in. "Trouble in paradise?"
His smile is smug, and he runs a hand over his tie, making sure it’s perfect. Who the hell wears a tie to a gelato shop?
"No,” I growl.
"No? Are you sure?” He exaggerates his look of concern. "I was going to check how your training's going, Ethan. But…” He glances at Jamie. “Maybe you have bigger problems than our upcoming match."
Jamie draws her back up, her eyes narrowed. “The only problem he has is deciding how badly to kick your ass.”
She’s so fierce and strong, I want to kiss her.
Miles chuckles. “She’s feisty,” he says to me. “Too bad she’s already getting sick of you.”
"You don't know what you're talking about,” Jamie snaps.
"No?" He cocks his head, eyeing her. “It looked like you were questioning your choices, darlin’, and you’ll remember I told you that you could do a lot better than Ethan.”
“Stay out of our business—” Jamie starts, but I cut her off.
"Let's make our fight more interesting, Miles.” My voice is deadly calm.
“A wager on the outcome. When I win our match, you stop interfering in my business. No more bidding against me. No more over-zealous OSHA inspectors. No filing complaints and objections, stalling my projects. You stay the hell out of my way. Permanently.”
His eyes glint with interest. “And when you lose?"
“Not going to happen.”
“After you lose,” he drawls, “you’re finished in this country. You won’t do any new projects here. Not a single one. You can go somewhere else. Canada, or Australia, or New fucking Zealand. I don’t care where you go, but you walk away from it all."
"Deal." I extend my hand.
Miles grips my fingers hard, trying to hurt me by squeezing them. He’s a huge guy and his grip is punishing. It feels like he’s cracking my bones.
Not letting the pain show in my face, I lean in close and drop my voice. “I’m going to beat you, brother.”
His face contorts with sudden rage, his checks flushing red.
He drops my hand. “I’m not your fucking brother," he spits. "You're nothing but the help's bastard. You’re filth! And I’m going to tear you to pieces in that ring. I’m going to fucking kill you!”
He spins on his heel and stalks away, out of the shop, slamming the door behind him.
Jamie stares after him with wide eyes, then turns her shocked gaze back to me. “You have to win,” she says in a low voice.
I nod grimly, wincing as I massage my battered hand. “Yeah. I know.”