Page 31 of Loss and Damages

We watch the rest of the press conference, Wilkins toeing the line, trying to appease everyone and doing a piss-poor job of it. When his patience dries up, he wishes everyone a good day and walks off camera. The second he does, my cell phone rings and I accept the call.

“Happy now?” Wilkins asks, but disconnects, not giving me a chance to respond.

The channel’s news anchor begins a recap of the press conference and my father turns the TV off.

He’s about to open his mouth, maybe to congratulate me again on the purchase, when once more my PA stumbles into the room. “We need to get out of here. Someone just called in a bomb threat and said, ‘If Milano is forcing us out of our homes, we’ll force him out of his.’”

“Go on,” I tell her. “Stay safe.”

She heads toward the elevators with the rest of our staff.

Police will need several hours to clear the building and the next few days to search the floors letting the explosive detection dogs sniff every crevasse.

This isn’t the first time we’ve been threatened and it won’t be the last. I made light of helping the families who live on the 1100 block relocate, but I may need to put my money where my mouth is.

The tenants are retaliating out of fear and it may be worth it to placate them.

It’s the law that premises are evacuated in a bomb threat situation, and Milano Management and Development is no exception.

“You’ll let me know?” my father asks, the celebration plans going up in smoke.

“Yeah. I’ll give you a call.”

He’ll hide at his mistress’s apartment, and he joins the last of the staff in the elevator to ride down to the lobby where his bodyguards will escort him to his car.

I don’t rush and gather what I’ll need to work from Leo’s apartment for the next little while, and I call a city taxi service, ordering a cab to wait behind the building. It’s not like me to play it safe, but if someone wants me dead, I don’t need to make it easy.

With everyone gone, the executive floor is quiet, but police and German shepherds swarm the lobby. I let security handle it.

The taxi is waiting in the alley, and climbing into the backseat, I give the driver Leo’s address.

I sit low, ducking my head as he merges into traffic, blending in with the other taxis.

There’s safety in numbers, exactly what I counted on.

I want to call Jemma, apologize for leaving this morning and tell her not to worry about anything she sees on the news or online, but she’s opening the gallery and I don’t want to bother her.

Her little cottage feels so far from what I’m dealing with, and I wish I could be like my father, say to hell with it all and do what I want.

He’s still grieving Leo’s death, but I haven’t been given the luxury to do the same.

The driver idles behind Leo’s building, letting me out, and I go in through the security door using the key Leo gave me years ago, not one person noticing me.

I find refuge in his apartment, in the quiet, sitting at his desk, Jemma’s headshot staring at me from the brochure propped against a reading lamp.

I miss her, and it’s only been eight hours since I’ve seen her, wrapped my body around hers in bed.

I click on the TV that’s attached to his study’s wall, and the news channel is playing live coverage of the bomb squad searching the building for a bomb that isn’t there.

Several squad cars barricade the street, and the entire block is cordoned off as a safety precaution.

The voiceover reiterates the sale, and they splice in Wilkins’s speech at the press conference.

An enterprising news journalist is standing outside the rent-controlled buildings on the 1100 block interviewing tenants and what they think of the sale.

“He’s getting what he deserves,” says an elderly woman who has tears in her eyes. “My husband and I have lived in this building for over fifty years. We rented our apartment as newlyweds and raised our children here. Where are we supposed to go?”

“When my parents passed away, we moved into their unit,” explains a young woman who has a baby on her hip, another child growing in her belly. “My husband was just laid off and the rent is a lifesaver. We’ll never be able to afford another apartment this size.”

The reporter interviews anyone willing to talk and there are many who want to have their say. Pitts wasn’t the greatest landlord, reluctant to spend even a penny more than he had to, but suddenly he’s a godsend to those in need.

I turn the TV off in disgust.

Leo’s apartment isn’t a refuge anymore, it’s a trap, but I have nowhere to go and I have to be smart and bide my time until I can go back to the office.

Giving in to my need to contact her, I want to text Jemma that I’m all right, but I don’t have her number.

I gave her mine, but during dinner and then afterward, asking her for her cell number was the last thing on my mind.

It’s not on the gallery’s brochure, only a landline number and a business email.

I text Duncan. Get me Jemma Ferrell’s cell phone number. She lives in Hollow Lake.

Yes, sir, he responds.

My PA would have done it too, but the bomb threat might have upset her and I try not to bother her at home. I could have searched for it online, but Duncan will be quicker and I don’t want to wait any longer than necessary.

He comes through just a minute later. 218-333-6699.

Thank you, I reply, and immediately save it in my phone.

I start a message and tell her if she wants to call on her lunch break I’ll be available to talk.

I wait a moment for her to respond, but as I thought, she’s busy with the gallery, and I set my phone aside and use the next few hours of uninterrupted time to finish paperwork.

I have no choice but to provide the tenants proper notice to vacate, and by then, we’ll be heading into winter.

I won’t be able to start on my plans until next spring at the earliest and I shift my focus away from the 1100 block to Oakdale Square.

I can’t help but think of Jemma rising to their defense, the families who live in the trailer parks that glut the area and drive down the value of the entire neighborhood. I tap my pen against my lips.

I could build better housing. Housing that looks aesthetically pleasing.

But what’s the point of that when I’m tearing down the 1100 block to build a luxury skyscraper?

If I wanted to cater to the poor, I could leave the 1100 block intact.

Or I could simply have not purchased it at all.

The paltry rents Pitts collected may have been enough for him to get by, but it’s a penny in my bank account and the buildings, now that they’re mine, aren’t worth keeping.

The allure of Jemma’s happiness won’t leave me alone, and I focus on Oakdale Square, writing a list of the properties I now own and the properties whose owners have yet to sell. It won’t be long until I can lay claim to the entire area. It’s not a five-mile radius, but it’s enough.

I could do what Wilkins said he’d do but never did. Clean it up. Invest. Build businesses that would anchor the neighborhood and turn Oakdale Square, maybe not into a high- class suburb, but somewhere a family wouldn’t be embarrassed to live in.

Can I reach a compromise between Jemma and my father?

I go to work doing cost analysis and return on investment calculations. Hours slip by and when I check the time, I notice Jemma didn’t answer the text I sent her this morning. Without a doubt I know that’s her number. Duncan never makes a mistake.

It wouldn’t be like her to go all female on me and be angry I left her cottage after we made love. She seemed...less high-maintenance than that, but maybe I hurt her feelings.

I text her again and ask if she wants to spend the evening with me in the city, and if she does, I could send a car to pick her up. She closes her shop soon and we could eat a late dinner in bed and I’d bring her home in the morning.

My mouth waters, thinking about dinner and having her for dessert, but my phone chimes and she texts back, destroying my hopes. I already have plans tonight but thank you for the invitation. Have a nice night.

No mention of when we’ll see each other again, doesn’t ask me to drive out to Hollow Lake tomorrow night.

Not being invited hasn’t stopped me from doing anything, but what Jemma and I have is new to me.

I want something real, maybe something permanent.

A woman has never intrigued me as much as she does, and I’ve never cared what a woman thought of me or how I ran my business before I met her.

She’s doing something to my heart and I want it to continue as much as I want it to stop.

I don’t beg. I’ve never begged and never will, and I reply, You as well , and leave it at that.

We never talked about exclusivity. I never asked her to clarify what she meant as she perched on her counter, my shirt clenched in her tiny fists. She’d never walk away. From our friendship? Or from what we’re starting?

She could have a date, and I grit my teeth and fight against the anger I feel.

She can date. Leo kept her from exploring, from finding someone who wanted more than he did.

I promised I wouldn’t do the same, and she probably has plans to go out for the evening, dinner with the owner of the Hollow Lake Café or maybe drinks with the manager of the bar and grill where we ate.

Jemma wouldn’t do that after sleeping with me.

No, I correct myself, she wouldn’t have done that if I’d spent the night, woken up beside her, and we’d made lazy love as the sun came up.

I do something I have never done before. I text her again. Do you have a date?

My phone rings, and her name and number glow on the black screen. I accept the call.

“Are you okay? I saw the news.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with if you’re seeing someone,” I say, leaning back in my chair and staring at her headshot.

“No, it doesn’t, but you didn’t sound like yourself over text, and I wanted to hear your voice.”

“You mean vulnerable and jealous?”

“It’s okay to be vulnerable, Dominic.”

“For some people, but not for me. My father doesn’t allow it. You didn’t answer my question.”

A door closes and keys jingle in the background. She’s locking up her gallery.

“I won’t hurt you. You can let your guard down around me.” There’s a shuffling noise coming through the phone, and I picture her walking across the grass to her cottage, the hem of another sundress floating around the tops of her knees, her dark hair gleaming in the evening sun.

“I thought I had, asking if you’re going on a date later. You know, I’ve never cared enough to ask before.”

She laughs, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve heard all day. “So you did. I’m not going on a date. I have...a family matter to attend to tonight.”

“Is everything all right? Do you need money?”

She sucks in a breath and I stiffen, preparing for a tongue-lashing.

Jemma isn’t one to ask for a handout and I expect her to tell me so in no uncertain terms, but I have yet to come across a problem that a few thousand dollars couldn’t solve and I’d do anything if it meant her life was easier.

That means providing for her family as well.

“No, I don’t need money, but thank you for offering. It means a lot you’re willing to take care of me and my family that way.”

I relax. I should have known Jemma would understand my intent.

“I need to speak with someone, that’s all. You have a lot going on now that the sale went through, and I saw the bomb threat on the news. I don’t know where you are, but please be careful. I’ll understand if you won’t have time to see me for a while.”

What she says makes sense but it’s the last thing I want to hear.

“This isn’t the first bomb threat we’ve had.

I’m in a safe place, don’t worry. This weekend, let me take you out.

We can spend the night at a hotel, and we’ll wake up early enough you’ll have plenty of time to open your gallery.

I want to see you, Jemma, and I don’t want you dating anyone else. ”

“Back to that, are we?”

A door squeaks open.

“Yes.”

She pauses and the line is so silent I think the call dropped until she says, “Why did you leave this morning? You didn’t even say goodbye.”

I could tell her I wanted to get to the office early but that’s only a half-truth at best, and if I want to start a relationship, I need to do better than that.

“Leo, maybe. You were... we were thinking about him, what our relationship meansin relation to his death...you were struggling to come to terms with what you were doing with me and I was trying to figure out why he never wanted you that way. Jemma, all I can say is I’m sorry.

This is new territory for me, never mind Leo was my brother or that he’s gone.

I’ve never met a woman I’ve cared about like I care about you.

Let me see you this weekend and I’ll stay the entire night. I promise.”

“I’ll have to think about it. This is going too fast, and I need to catch my breath. This morning, if you had stayed, I would have told you that I’m falling in love with you. Maybe you did me a favor not spending the night.”

“Jemma.” I can’t think of what else to say. I didn’t think she’d accept me, in my totality, so easily. “You know what I am.”

“I know what you are. I also know what you could be, if you wanted to be. Leo had hope you’d change, and I have that same hope. I need to go. Stay safe, for me. I lost Leo, and I can’t lose you too. Bye.”

She disconnects, and I drop my phone onto Leo’s desk, my throat burning, my heart trembling.

I try to work for the rest of the evening, the numbers wavering in front of me.

The 1100 block is mine to do with what I will.

The spark of admiration in my father’s eyes means everything, and before Jemma, there hadn’t been room for anything else in my life.

Now she’s wiggling her way in, but I can’t lose my father’s approval.

I have to go through with the plans for the 1100 block.

I have no choice.