The Cornerstone (32 page)

“Paramount burger, extra bacon,” the server said as she slid Matt’s plate in front of him. “Grilled chicken panini, hold the chicken. Can I get you anything else?”

“All set,” Matt said. “I don’t know that I want a huge project right now, and I don’t mind running the engineering while Patrick and Sam handle the design on big restorations.”

I took two bites from my sandwich before fishing the sliced tomatoes out. “Lean in, Matt. Don’t tell me about how you and Lauren are thinking about getting a dog again, or that you want to start building that house you promised her, or any of that shit. This is
your
time.”

He eyed the abandoned tomatoes and shook his head. “I’m not even going to ask what that tomato did to you.”

“I like the flavor of tomatoes with mozzarella, but not the watery sliminess of tomatoes,” I said. “And if you’re serious about not wanting this project, I’ll drop it. I mean, I
do
live in that neighborhood, and a part of my soul
will
shatter every time I walk by those brownstones. I don’t know what I’ll do if a development firm buys them only to tear them down or—God forbid—rip out the brick and replace it with stucco. Fucking stucco. And honestly, this isn’t about money or awards or recognition for you, and that’s fine. I’m sure Patrick and Sam will have plenty of projects to keep you busy. One of these days, Riley is bound to stir up some business of his own. You could help him with that.”

Matt set the remaining portion of his burger on the plate and wove his fingers together, propping his chin on his clasped hands. “You play dirty.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I pushed the plate away and reached for my coffee. There was an inverse relationship between the number of complicated issues I could manage at any given time and my appetite: the more stressed I was, the less I ate. Those three bites, plus a nonfat latte, were the only things I’d managed to consume today. Lauren liked to make noise about that being some sort of blessing, but I hated when people noticed my erratic eating habits. I did the best I could.

“You really think it will sell for fifteen million?” Matt asked. He helped himself to the sweet potato fries on my plate.

“Fully restored and loaded with all the sexy sustainable design features?” I stirred some sugar into my coffee, nodding while I mentally ran through the recent comparable sales. “Fifteen sounds right to me. There’s a five-story Greek Revival around the corner, and that sold for eleven. And a Gothic on the sunny side of Commonwealth. Same size, but it needed work. It was a closed sale with a non-disclosure but my sources tell me it sold for somewhere north of twelve-five.”

“It’s going to be expensive,” he murmured, his fingers drawing numbers on the tabletop as he added it up in his head.

“I expected that,” I said. “I wouldn’t have started this discussion if I couldn’t fund it.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s buy a disaster.”

“Two disasters,” I corrected, “one amazing restoration.”

*

Will:
When did you leave this morning?

Shannon:
Early

Will:
Does that mean you’ll be home earlier tonight?

Shannon:
That’s none of your concern

Will:
That’s arguable

*

Will:
I’m fixing the hinges on your closet. Maybe slam them less?

Shannon:
Get out of my bedroom

Shannon:
Actually, get out of my apartment

Will:
You want me to bring you lunch? No problem. What do you feel like?

Shannon:
Seriously. Why are you here? What’s going on?

Will:
I’m on leave

Shannon:
You’ve never wanted to spend that time in Boston before

Will:
Not true.

Will:
When will you be home? We’ll talk.

Shannon:
I don’t think that’s a good idea

Will:
That wasn’t a question. We will talk.

*

Will:
Met your cleaning lady.

Will:
And by “met” I mean she walked in while I was in the shower

Will:
I paid her and sent her home

Will:
Should I expect anyone else to walk into your apartment unannounced?

Shannon:
Probably not.

Shannon:
How traumatized was she, on a scale of your goldfish dying to finding your grandparents having sex

Will:
That’s an awful scale. I’m not going to think about dead pets and naked grandparents

Shannon:
Grow some balls, would you?

Shannon:
It couldn’t have been that bad. She hasn’t called me screaming, and it’s not like you have much to traumatize her with.

Will:
Look at you, insulting my dick like a champ

Will:
Don’t lie. You enjoyed that, didn’t you?

Shannon:
I’m ignoring you now.

*

Shannon:
I left 2 pieces of grooved metal in the kitchen. They’re known as keys.

Shannon:
These are probably new to you.

Shannon:
Rather than using your black ops methods, please use them to get in and out of the building.

Will:
Understood

Shannon:
And no other commando tactics either, please.

Will:
Dammit. I really wanted to practice my urban rooftop jumping

Shannon:
None of that

Will:
What about fast roping on power lines? Is that ok?

Shannon:
No

Will:
Well, shit. I’ll just reorganize your vibrators

Shannon:
Please don’t

Will:
No worries. I can diffuse a land mine. Vibrators don’t scare me

Shannon:
Yeah. There’s nothing weird about this convo.

*

I ran out
of patience for the world around two o’clock on Friday afternoon.

My advertising and media team had the combined common sense of an inchworm, Patrick was bitching about his assistant again, Riley managed to flood the basement at one of Sam’s properties, Lauren was pissed that I ditched pedicure night, Tom was complaining about every random thing that crossed his mind, and my unusually polite houseguest was fucking with my understanding of the universe.

To say Will was acting strangely would be the understatement of the year.

I didn’t know what to do with a well-behaved Will. I only knew the argumentative version who liked stripping me down and tying me up, and then going dark for weeks at a time. The man living in my guest room went to bed before ten every night, filled the refrigerator with my favorite cheeses, and made no attempt at touching me. The apartment was cleaner than I left it, and he took it upon himself to wash and fold my laundry.

I still didn’t know why he was here or how long he was staying, and I couldn’t get my head around this tentative roommate bullshit. It was a slow walk to crazy, and part of me was itching to insult him so we could get back to the place where we knew how to act around each other.

We didn’t speak much earlier in the week. Not beyond chilly texts. I headed to the gym before dawn and parked myself in the office until late each night. There was always some cheese, nuts, and bread waiting for me under plastic wrap when I got home, and I would have thanked him in some backhanded way if he wasn’t already in bed. The thought of crawling in beside him crossed my mind several thousand times each day, but I’d been down that path before, and I knew where it ended.

By the time this morning rolled around, Will was wise to my avoidance strategy. I nearly pissed myself from the shock of finding him seated on the kitchen counter, dressed in running shoes, track pants, and a wind shirt, hours before sun-up.

“Ready?” he asked.

It was too early to form words, let alone the sharp, snappy words I wanted right then, and I lifted a shoulder in response. He followed as I jogged downstairs and through Louisburg Square, crossing the Public Garden toward the Back Bay gym. I didn’t expect him to saddle up beside me for sixty minutes of advanced cycling and borderline evil taunting, but he smiled at me as if he’d been doing this his entire life.

I took some perverse joy from the hungry gazes aimed at Will by the hedge fund wives who packed this class. Even Nina, the screaming beast who trafficked in aphorisms like ‘disregard your limits’ and ‘use fear as your fuel’ and ‘move your fat ass, bitch’ was drinking up the rhythmic flex of Will’s thighs and the steely determination in his eyes as she increased the pace. She leaned off her bike when he yanked the wind shirt over his head, revealing a faded University of California, San Diego t-shirt, and I could almost hear her eye-fucking him.