“Would you submit to me if you lose?”
His smile is ridiculous. It reminds me of Lana’s when she thinks she’s already won. Not so fast, buddy. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.
Ian picks up one of his empty glasses, ice not yet melted. “Deal.”
I hold up another glass. “Deal.”
The glasses clink together.
I have no idea what I’ve done.
Chapter 16
IAN
The woman is insane. Absolutely, unequivocally insane.
Who? Oh, no, not Kathryn. She was drunk, not insane.
No, I’m talking about Lana Andrews, who has informed Kathryn and me that if we woo the council, “we’ll” be forking over $80,000,000 to buy The Grand.
Ha.
Hahahaha!
Who the fuck do she and Ken think they are? The Grand is worth half that, at best. No, it’s not a cheap piece of hot property. And I know they expect us to bargain them down, but from such an astronomical high? This whole charade gets more and more ridiculous as time goes by.
At least it’s Friday and we’re about to get this over with. As soon as Lana shares this bullshit, I turn to Valerie and have her go over everything she brought. I see Kathryn doing the same thing with her assistant. At least this time I saw for myself the nice pictures Kathryn brought. Her father is also with her this time. Probably to make sure she doesn’t fuck up.
Katie is not going to fuck up. She’s got this. I believe in her, and most of all, she believes in herself. I watched her rehearse. I critiqued her and she critiqued me. We both had good ideas for the other person that are sure to make it into our respective presentations.
It’s funny. We would probably make good business partners. We would make awful long-term lovers.
I’m still laughing. I woke up Thursday morning with a headache and a hard-on. I dreamed all night that Katie was on her stomach, on her back, bent over and sucking my cock. Doing whatever I told her to do. Lapping up whatever I offered and puffing out little “sirs” that made me feel like the biggest king in the world. What? She put those ideas in my head Wednesday night, when she made that ridiculous bet.
God, what a dumb bet. Like she would ever submit to me.
Let alone me submitting to her! The idea is so absurd. Regardless of the outcome today, I assume we forget what we promised when we were drunk. She was so blitzed off her drinks that I doubt she even remembers.
Katie – no, I should probably stop calling her that – looks at me before stepping into the council hall. I think there’s a smile on her face.
What is she thinking? I probably don’t want to know.
Just as Valerie confirms everything is in order, everyone and their grandmother enter the hall. It’s an old building that has seen a lot of use over the decades. Centuries, even. Well, maybe one century. I forgot to look at the plaque on the way in here.
Either way, it’s an old, gothic-styled building with ample seating for a small city. Because when this place was built, it was capable of holding the entire region’s population of two-thousand. Since then the city has not only grown to be the biggest in the region, but in this part of America. So to say the place is a bit packed with people who have a lot of feelings about The Grand is an understatement. From the minute we walk inside, we’re surrounded by strangers. Middle and low-income strangers. Many of whom had distant relatives who stayed in The Grand before attempting to make the American dream come true for them.
“We’re going to kick ass,” Kathryn says as we approach the front of the hall. Gray walls covered in stone carvings look down at us in between the judgmental eyes. Anyone who has a vested interest in who we are. It doesn’t help that I’m wearing one of my nicest suits and Kathryn looks like a New England senator in her tight, dark pencil skirt and peplum white blouse. She’s got her hair up, as usual. The glasses are a nice touch. I had no idea she wears them.
“Ma’am,” Anita hisses to her at our table. “One of the lenses is missing…”
“Oh!” Kathryn searches her clutch for an eyeglass lens. Really? She’s faking the eyeglasses? Whatever. They’re cute on her.
Before us is a high table where the council sits. Colleen Woodrow is already here, sitting beside her co-chair, an elderly gentleman who looks at us with disdain. Or maybe that’s how he looks. I’m unfazed either way.
I hope Kathryn feels the same. Both of the Andrews sit off to the side of our table. They’ll be opening the statements, talking about the real estate themselves since that’s what they do best. As for my father? He’s sitting in the first row behind me, giving me thumbs up. And… dear Lord, my mother is with him.
I feel like I’m back in school. This is my recital. Only this time both of my parents are here, instead of one showing up and the other fucking off to go to some conference or whatever.
What I’m saying is that they never both show up unless it’s really important.
This is really important.
Mr. Alison confers with his daughter about something before tugging on one of the tufts of her shirt. I can’t hear what he says about it, but Kathryn grimaces, as if he’s insulted her.
My fingers grip the edge of the table. Valerie has to say my name twice before I respond.
I wish I could say that today is a blur. Instead it drags on and on, partly because the weight of a community weighs on our shoulders. This goes beyond possible gentrification. This downtown area is long gentrified. Like forty years gentrified. No, the people who are here don’t necessarily live in this neighborhood. I know, because it’s people like me who live around here.
The people who are here come because they trace their ancestry here, or they have some connection to The Grand. That’s not hard to imagine because it’s such a monument in the area. Did I mention that presidents used to stay there? Lots of people who have been here for generations like to think they have some part of that history. Or they really love the building.
That’s fine. I still should be able to buy it and do what I want with it. Especially if doing what I want means restoring it to how it used to be!
This lets people feel like they have power. So when Ken Andrews gets up and starts talking about the rustic beauty of The Grand, complete with photos from its heyday, I see people in the stands raise their eyebrows and wait for the other shoe to drop.
“…One-hundred-and-thirty years ago, The Grand opened as more than a luxury hotel in the heart of what was once the downtown core,” Ken says with his regal charm. The man may not be the biggest around, but he carries himself like a big real estate tycoon. His wife looks at him adoringly, her smile supporting him as she crosses her legs and rewards his bravado with a hint of skin. These sorts of things don’t go by unnoticed with me.
Kathryn notices it too. She glances over her shoulder at me with a “Really? They’re flirting now of all times?” look. I agree. Tacky.
“The Grand is a place of history. It’s culture. It’s a building that everyone in this room can respect and want to see be great again. That’s why we are here today to propose a beautiful restoration. Not only will we….” We? Speak for yourself, Ken. You’re washing your hands of this whole situation. “…Will we restore the hotel from the ground up, but it will be more economically efficient and true to history than ever before. Not only that, but it will include an educational center so locals and tourists alike can learn more about the area’s rich history. I would like to turn the floor over to Ian Mathers, head of restoration and development.”
That’s my cue.
Valerie has set up my presentation for me. All I have to do is connect with my inner public speaker and remind these people that my family are some of the biggest hospitality masters in the business. We’re not targeting The Grand for shits and giggles or to prove to the world what big shots we are. We know how good we are. There’s a reason we have the highest collective revenue out of any other holding company in the region. We win the biggest awards in the world. Our hotels are the fucking best and we know it.