Dream On(69)

“But according to the research you conducted this week, the city of Cleveland could proceed with an eminent domain action here with a strong chance of success, right?” presses Frank.

My mouth turns dry as hot, angry tears burn behind my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. Sipping my water to cover my whirlpool of emotions, I silently curse Devin for making me an unwitting accomplice in his father’s selfish plans. Because as much as I want to lie, I can’t. My printed memo burns like coals from the depths of my bag. The law is the law, and I can’t change it. “That’s correct,” I finally say.

Beside me, Devin closes his eyes briefly, but he still doesn’t say anything.

Roger’s triumphant smile needles me like pinpricks, and it takes every ounce of resolve not to walk out of the restaurant on the spot.

Councilman Truman nods thoughtfully, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I have to say I’m intrigued, Roger. This plan could be good for the city’s residents—depending on the cost, of course. We’ll have to take a close look at the numbers.” Lifting his chin, he narrows his eyes at Roger. “One question though… what’s in it for you?”

Roger leans back in his chair. “Me? Nothing. I’d simply like the chance to put in a bid to build the school should the project move forward—the same as any other developer. Besides that, students need a place to live, and my new apartments are going up only a few blocks away, so you could say it’s a win-win for everyone.”

Yeah, except for Perry. My blood runs cold. If the city seizes Blooms & Baubles, Roger will finally get what he really wants: to exercise control over the son who refuses to live his life according to his father’s vision—and stamp his ex-wife’s cherished business out of existence to boot. That controlling, arrogant bastard.

The rest of the meeting passes by in a blur of strategizing and political talk. At least Frank doesn’t ask for my input again, which I’m grateful for. My stomach is a knot of anger, resentment, and shock, and I only manage a few bites of my Caesar salad when it arrives. Finally, roughly an hour later, the server brings our checks. There are only two, since Roger insisted on paying for my meal along with Frank’s and Devin’s. Part of me wants to refuse—I don’t want to accept a damn thing from this monster. The other part wishes I’d ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, just to stick it to him.

My phone buzzes from inside my bag. Frank is talking to Councilman Truman while Roger signs his credit card receipt, so I slip my cell out and check the notification in my lap. My throat squeezes at the text that appears.

Devin

It’s not what you think. Please, let me explain.



I glance at him; he’s clutching his phone in a white-knuckled grip, his eyes silently pleading. With a glare, I click off my phone and stuff it roughly into my bag.

Pushing back from the table, Councilman Truman stands. “Well, I need to get back to my office. Have your people send an electronic copy of your proposal to my assistant, and I’ll put it on the agenda for the next closed city council session in August.”

“Of course. Devin will see that it’s done,” says Roger, shaking the councilman’s hand.

Devin’s eyes flash as he stares at his father, jaw tense. But even now, he remains silent. A fresh wave of disgust rolls through me, and I ball my hands into fists in my lap.

With a curt nod, Councilman Truman leaves the restaurant. Once he’s gone, Roger swivels to face my boss. “Frank, do you have a few extra minutes? I’d like to talk strategy—”

I clear my throat. “Excuse me, Frank? If you don’t need me for anything else, would you mind if I head back to the office? I’m not feeling well,” I add quietly. It’s not a lie. If I sit here another second longer, there’s a real possibility the revulsion flooding my gut will wind up all over the table.

Frank’s eyebrows pinch together in concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. Please, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?” I begin to protest automatically, but he holds up his hand. “Rest up. We’ll reconnect tomorrow.”

I should keep arguing—insist I’m fine to finish out the day—but I don’t. Instead, I murmur a thank-you, collect my bag from the floor, and walk out without a second glance. I’m not two steps from the restaurant when the door whooshes open behind me.

“Cass, wait,” Devin chokes out, voice strained.

All of the anger, shock, and disgust that has been boiling in my chest the past hour solidifies into a sharp, jagged mass and I whirl on Devin.

“How could you.” My voice is pure ice.

“You don’t understand—” he begins, but I cut him off.

“What don’t I understand? That you’ve been pretending to help Perry with his shop all while plotting with your dad behind his back to take away his business—his home?”

“It’s not like that—”

“How could you do this to him—to your own brother?” Nostrils flaring, I stare at Devin. Even though his features are as familiar to me as my own, for the first time, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger.

He reaches for me, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Please, it’s not what you think. Just let me explain.”

I back away. The thought of him touching me makes my skin crawl. “There’s nothing to explain. We’re done.” Turning on my heel, I march away, skull pounding with every step.