Angel Falling (Falling #1)(74)
***
“How the hell am I going to get my girl to listen if she won’t talk to me?” I snarled at Mac over a pint.
He’d finally gotten me out of the apartment and to a sports bar. The Cowboys were playing, but I couldn’t focus on the game. My thoughts were always on a stubborn, beautiful Angel who refused to see or speak to me. I’d sent flowers and cards every day. I’d waited a few different times in the lobby of her building, but she’d somehow escaped me. She was a smart cookie, my girl. At the office she always had throngs of people willing to thwart my attempts to see her.
“Hmm, I reckon’ you’re going to have to trick her into seein’ ya,” Mac offered, and took a long pull from his beer.
“What do you have in mind? I’m takin’ any suggestions, because I’m damned near out of ideas.”
We spent the next couple hours throwing ideas back and forth. Nothin’ stuck, though, until around our fourth beers. We were both feelin’ pretty darn good and the Cowboys were winning the game.
“Well, the job is almost done, right? You’ve been havin’ some conference calls with the architect.”
“Yeah, so? If I don’t talk to her, I’m gonna be stuck with no crew and no girl!” the thought of all the changes I’d managed over the past three weeks nearly had me bangin’ my head on the bar top.
I’d had meetin’ after meetin’ with some pretty rich fellas, all to discuss the expansion of Jensen Construction. It had taken Mac and me a full week to prepare all the materials. We even enlisted the help of Jess back home, who was wicked smart with the technology end of things. She built Power Points and charts that made Jensen Construction look real good. We ordered glossy print materials and gave presentations in the most lux offices I’d seen in all my years bidding on jobs. After five different meetings, we had three separate offers to invest in the expansion of Jensen Construction. And I owed it all to one man: Aspen’s father.
After the trouble back home with Aspen I contacted Mr. Reynolds himself. I didn’t go into details about what happened, but what I did do was humble myself and put all my cards on the table.
Aspen’s father was a shrewd business man with a lot of contacts. He said he was surprised I didn’t ask him for money. I’d explained that I didn’t want his handouts, that what I’d wanted was a chance to present my business plan to some folks who were interested in my line of work. He agreed because he felt he owed me for saving his daughter’s life. I assured him the pleasure was all mine, but I still took his handout of prospective investors.
Between him, Oliver, and Dean’s contacts, I had presented within an inch of my life to five separate companies. Then the unthinkable happened: We were offered more money than I ever thought possible. Apparently, my work was worth more in NYC than I’d ever dreamed.
We contracted with those three investors, and I was now the proud owner and operator of Jensen Construction, Incorporated, with a division in Texas and a division in the Big Apple.
I had Oliver to thank for the office space. Beginning next week, my new office was on the twelfth floor of the AIR Bright building. I was certain that Aspen didn’t know about it. He’d gone behind her back and made the property manager give me the two-thousand-foot office space free for ninety days, and then at a rate that I knew was more affordable than warranted for the space.
My little buddy was still hopping mad at me for what went down with his Princess, as he called her. He knew, though, that all I wanted was to be with her, that everything I was doing was supporting the goal in the long run—Aspen and I and our happily ever after.
I just hoped to hell I could figure out a way to get her to sit down and talk to me. Not being with her every day was like pouring acid over my open, wounded soul. In all my years it never occurred to me that I’d physically need someone, or that my heart would cease to beat without its mate, but it was true. I needed Aspen like I needed to breathe, needed to eat, needed to sleep. She was my end-all, be-all, and I had to find a way to get her back.
The hot wings and nachos Mac ordered arrived and he dug in with gusto. I ate a few chips but only tasted sawdust. Nothing seemed right without my girl in my life. Not even food.
Mac swallowed a gigantic chip with cheese that dripped down his hand. Then he licked it clean.
“That’s f*cking gross, man.” I laughed for the first time in three weeks.
“This shit is amazing! We don’t have this gooey cheese back home,” he said, his eyes filled with delight.
“That’s because it’s not really cheese, man. It’s some type of processed, plastic cheese goo created by smart-ass scientists who were bored off their asses and thought, ‘Cheese! Let’s make it last forever!’”
He snorted around his beer and licked each cheese-laden finger. “You know, I don’t even care. It’s too good to care,” he added, and I cringed as I popped in a French fry dipped in ketchup. Mac stopped chewing, swallowed, wiped his mouth, and then looked off into the distance.
“What’s up, partner?”
“Well, she won’t see you, right?” I nodded. “But she goes to work every day.” I nodded again. Oliver had confirmed that much after repeated attempts at begging. “Why not tell them you want a meetin’ with the stakeholders. Update em’ on the project and reveal the building personally? She’d have to see you then.”