I Want You Back (Want You #1)(74)

He pushed to his feet and slapped his hands on the desk. “Now wait just a goddamned minute. I—”

“I’m done waiting. While I appreciate your intention to take this project on with such short notice, it’s become apparent in the past six weeks that Flint and Lund has priorities other than this project.”

“You’re firing us?”

“Yes.” I set my hand on the door handle. “I checked to make sure that accounts payable had sent payments for all invoices. The last one was dated three weeks ago. Since new work hasn’t been done since then, there shouldn’t be outstanding invoices. But if there are, send them to my attention. See you.”

“Jax. Wait. Can we at least talk about it?”

“We could’ve talked about it anytime in the past three weeks, but anytime I called you? All I got was the runaround.”

“If I thought you were—”

“Serious about this project you would’ve taken it seriously?” I said tightly.

The embarrassed look on his face said it all.

Fuck. This is what I’d been worried about. I’d even mentioned my concerns to Nolan, but he told me I was paranoid and impatient. But the truth was right there.

I could’ve let it go.

I should’ve let it go.

But . . . I didn’t let it go.

“Let me guess. Because I walked away from a position at LI, you thought remodeling the bar was a cover that I used as an excuse to do nothing but fuck around in my retirement? Or maybe because I’ve owned the bar for a few years and hadn’t done anything with it, you figured there was no rush on getting this project underway?” I paused, forcing myself to keep my gaze locked on his. “Or this is the most fun option . . . you decided I wouldn’t stick with it, like I hadn’t stuck with Lucy or being Mimi’s father. Since you’re also aware I put Dallas in charge of reinventing the spaces, there’s a double whammy of irresponsibility—the oldest, alcoholic Lund and the youngest, flightiest Lund, who’ve both declined to work in the family business, will get bored, or we’ll find out there’s too much work involved, and we’ll just flit on to the next thing that catches our fancy.”

Walker said nothing.

“That’s what I thought. In hindsight, I’m glad that I didn’t ask your company to work on my apartment remodel. God knows what excuses you would’ve given me for that.” I opened the door. “What sucks for me is I suspected this lack of interest was personal, based on the kind of guy I used to be. I can’t honestly blame you for your hesitation in agreeing to get your company involved, Walker. But it sure would’ve been easier for all of us if you would’ve just lied and said Flint and Lund was too busy to take on any new projects.”

“Jax—”

“Don’t worry. That’s what I’ll tell anyone in the family who asks why you’re no longer associated with the remodel. At least that’ll allow me to keep some dignity in this situation.”

I walked out.

Sweet baby Jesus I needed a fucking drink after that.

I craved the numbness like I hadn’t craved it in a while. And it seemed I passed by every goddamned liquor store in the Twin Cities on my way to the city administration building.

As I sat in my car, I did ten rounds of breathing exercises, but they didn’t help calm me, or block out that little voice that kept urging me that one drink wouldn’t hurt.

That one voice was so loud that I needed twenty, or thirty, or fifty voices to drown it out.

I looked up the closest place for an AA meeting and headed there as fast as my wheels would take me.



* * *



? ? ?

The AA meeting reset my brain and my attitude so I could move on with my day.

With the reissued permits in hand, I met with the new construction company. A sizable check guaranteed they’d start the project first thing Monday morning. Money talks . . . so does the Lund name, and I had no problem using both to get this project back on track.

Neither Simone nor Dallas was fazed by the rapid change in the situation. They assured me they’d deal with all the issues that went with closing down a business—laying off the employees, moving the existing bar supplies into storage, breaking the news to the regular customers. That allowed me to deal with the next item on my list for today—taking Mimi to a drop-in hockey game at another ice arena.

Nolan appeared while Mimi and I ate an early supper—the man had an uncanny ability to show up during mealtimes.

I knew why he’d shown up. He and Walker had always been tight. So Walker had called him to admit how much he’d screwed up with me. But Nolan’s opinion wouldn’t change the outcome; I’d already reassigned the project.

My brother helped himself to a plate of shredded pork tamales—the meat wrapped in cabbage leaves instead of corn tortillas, making it healthier—a couple of slices of fried parsnips, an alternative to the usual fried plantains, and a sweet broccoli and green pepper chopped salad.

He and Mimi chatted before he addressed me. “Sounds like you had an interesting day, bro.”

“It was a productive day for a change.” I sipped my water. “It’s unusual to see you on a Friday night. No little fishes on the hookup for this weekend?”

“I’m taking a page from your ‘I can change’ book and staying away from my usual haunts.”