I just hope he and his sister are all right. I remember the way his eyes sparkled as he showed me around his house. He loves that place. And why shouldn't he? It's been in his family for years. Every brick, every room, every piece of furniture has a story behind it, a memory tied to it. Just because the place is ostentatious and oversized doesn't mean it can't carry the same emotional meaning as any other home. Because that's what it is, at the end of the day—his home.
Shit. All this time I've been thinking about what Calder could do for me. I was literally calculating prices in my head when he was giving me his tour, imagining how I might put that money to better use. Who am I to judge how someone uses their money? Why am I entitled to anything he owns?
I remember the sadness in his eye when he confessed that he sold his horse Rudolph. How many other things will he have to sell to settle his family's finances, if things are indeed that bad? It all seems so obvious now, but I was blind to it all at the time because I was only thinking about myself and what I wanted.
I lean my forehead on my hand. I suddenly feel terrible for the way I've behaved. No wonder Calder hasn't contacted me again. All this time I've been pissed at him, thinking he lied so he could use me for sex, while the entire time I've only been after his money.
But not anymore.
If there's one good thing that's come out of this situation, it's that I was forced to come up with the solution on my own. If the Center survives, it will be by the hard work of myself and my dad, not because some billionaire took pity on our situation.
I turn back to the paper spread out on my desk and pick up my pen. I'm already bursting with ideas, and I want to show Dad that we can do this.
It's time to stop feeling sorry for myself and get to work.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TWO MONTHS LATER
"What do you think?" I ask my dad.
We're standing at the doorway of the gallery, surveying the hard work of the last few days. I was up half the night draping fabric from the ceiling and setting up tables, but the result is, in my opinion, absolutely beautiful.
"It's wonderful, sweetheart," Dad says. He's beaming, and I swear he hasn't looked this young in years.
Tonight is our very first event since opening up the gallery for rentals. A couple is celebrating their fiftieth anniversary, and they wanted the whole package: decor, tables and chairs, even use of the temporary dance floor we put down for our ballet and jazz classes. The check from tonight will fund our afterschool program for the rest of the month.
And it's not the only event we have scheduled this month. Next weekend we're hosting a Bar Mitzvah, and two weeks after that an awards ceremony for a local private high school. Assuming everything goes smoothly, I hope word of mouth will draw in even more events in the future. I’ve also been working furiously on a marketing plan when I haven’t been bouncing between my normal duties.
My dad wraps his arm around me and kisses me on the top of the head. "I'm proud of you, honey."
I smile. It's a little too soon to say for certain, but it looks like we might dig ourselves out of our hole in the near future. I’m sure there will be plenty of kinks to work out over the coming months, but we’ve bought ourselves time, and that’s the most important thing right now.
"You should go home and get some sleep," he tells me. "You've been overworking yourself these last few days."
I hate to admit it, but he's right. I'm exhausted, and I'm running on adrenaline fumes right now. Last night I didn’t even bother going home. I just curled up on the old sofa in my dad’s office.
"Go on," he urges, and I know from his expression that he won’t accept any excuses.
I grab my bag from the office and head outside to my car. Party guests are already starting to trickle in, and I wave as I make my way across the parking lot. For the first time in a long time, I feel at peace. Exhausted, but at peace.
And then I see who's leaning against the side of my Honda.
"Garrett?"
He glances up when he hears my voice.
"What are you doing here?" I say.
"Some welcome," he replies, straightening. "I just came by to see how you're doing."
"Garrett, I—"
"Don't do this. You've been ignoring my calls, so I wanted to give you some space, but I'm not going to let you cut me off again."
I cross my arms. "I'm not having this conversation with you right now. Get out of my way."
Instead of moving, he leans back against the car, blocking my path to the driver's seat.
"You mean a lot to me, Lils, you know that. I'm just trying to look out for you."
"I don't need you to look out for me. Now move or I'm calling the police."
"Did Cunningham tell you he had me arrested? I was just trying to make sure he wasn't taking advantage of you, and somehow I was the one who ended up in jail overnight. You don't still speak to that fucker, do you?"
I'm trying to control my anger, but I can't help myself.
"Whether I talk to Calder or not is none of your business," I say. "And it's your own fault for ending up in jail. You shouldn't have been there."
His eyes darken.
"I can't believe you're defending him," he says, stepping toward me. "He's no good, Lils. You need to stay away from him."
"Again, that's none of your business." I fumble in my purse for my cell. "Get out of here, Garrett, or I swear I'll—"
He leaps toward me and grabs my arms, pulling me toward him.
“Please, Lily,” he begs, the anger suddenly gone from his voice. “Please. Let’s just go somewhere and talk for a while. I know I’ve made some mistakes. I know I’ve hurt you. But things are different now. Please, just come with me.”
I try to twist out of his grip. “Let me go.”
“No,” he says, pulling me closer. “I’m not letting you go until you agree to give me another chance. After everything we’ve been through together, I think you owe me that.”
“I don’t owe you anything!”
His grip on my arms tightens to the point of pain. He shakes me.
“Don’t do this to me, Lily. I love you. I always have. And you love me, too.”
“No,” I say, and then I slam my heel onto his foot. He loosens his hands, and I take the opportunity to escape from his grip.
“Stay away from me,” I say. “I don’t love you, and I don’t want you in my life anymore.”
His eyes flash. He’s angry now.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.