Boss I Love To Hate Page 27

  “You’re the lawyer here, so correct me if I’m wrong, but you took proprietary information,” I grumble. “I don’t think you taking it in response to a phone call matters. Legally speaking.”

  “So what are you going to do here, Sawyer? Are you going to have me arrested? Prosecuted?” She glares at me. “Are you going to have me thrown in prison for trying to do something good for people?”

  I feel my jaw clenching, and every single muscle in my body grows taut. She’s really pushing me right now. I know I need to throttle it back, or this is going to get ugly really fast.

  “No. I’m not going to have you arrested,” I tell her. “I’m simply saying what you did is unethical.”

  “Do you know how many people currently reside in the Jackson?”

  The sudden change of direction in the conversation nearly gives me whiplash. But I know from Rider it’s an old lawyer trick meant to trip people up – and to divert from a subject they want to get away from. In this case, it’s the possibility that she may have broken a law in doing what she did. At the very least, it’s a massive breach of ethics.

  “My understanding is that as it currently stands, the Jackson has five hundred and twenty-three units,” I reply, deciding to play along for now. “I don’t have a current head count on the place.”

  “One thousand, four hundred and twenty-two,” she informs me. “That’s how many people are living there, Sawyer.”

  “Sounds like it’s overcrowded.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “No, the point is that I have a business to run and contracts to deliver on,” I fire back at her. “I don’t have time to play these fucking games.”

  “This isn’t a game, Sawyer,” she hisses. “This is almost fifteen hundred people who are going to be homeless.”

  “And how is that my problem?” I say, my voice rising. “I followed all of the legal niceties. The people at the Jackson were given ninety days’ notice when I acquired the property.”

  She looks at me for a long moment, an expression of utter revulsion on her face. I don’t know what it is she wants from me. I’m a businessman. This is my business. This is what I do. This is what I’ve always done – this isn’t news.

  “Does it really not bother you that you’ll be putting almost fifteen hundred people out on the street?” she asks. “I mean – do you really not care about them?”

  “What would you have me do, Berlin?”

  She stares at me with a stricken expression on her face – she looks absolutely heartbroken. It pulls at my own heart, but I don’t know how to stay true to myself and my company and make her happy at the same time. My business is obviously not compatible with her morality. I love her, but I can’t keep bending to her will on everything.

  “Berlin, it’s not that I don’t care about these people,” I tell her. “It’s just that I’m trying to run a business. This is what I do.”

  “Why can’t you also do something that helps the people? The regular, blue collar, hard-working people?” she asks, her voice sounding dejected. “Why is it your projects all seem to cater to the wealthy and run roughshod over the poor?”

  I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “The work is going to be done, one way or the other, Berlin,” I protest. I already know she won’t accept that answer. “If not by Compass, then by somebody else. I have plenty of competitors who’d love to snap up the work.”

  “But that doesn’t explain why you can’t do something to help the people who need it most,” her voice hardens. “The people you cater to don’t need it. There are more than enough luxury buildings in this city, Sawyer. What we don’t have enough of is affordable housing.”

  “That’s not my –”

  “I know, it’s not your problem,” she spits. “But if we don’t take care of our own, who will, Sawyer? If what you call progress continues the trajectory we’re on, it’s not going to be all that long before the only people who will be able to afford to live in New York will be the millionaires and billionaires.”

  “Which will lower crime, lower drug abuse, keep the city cleaner, safer, and –”

  “Wow. I can’t believe I’m hearing this fall out of your mouth right now,” she says, her voice tinged with sadness. “Believe it or not, it’s these people you spit on and look down your nose at that make New York what it is.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do. These people you have such contempt for are the ones who build the local businesses we all enjoy. They’re the artists who provide culture and diversity to our city – a culture you’ve told me makes you love this city as passionately as you do,” she spits. “What do your Wall Street buddies add to this city? What sort of culture do they bring? How do they add to the fabric of New York?”

  “Without those people you’ve got such contempt for, we wouldn’t have more than half of the other things we enjoy in this city – museums, parks, the theater,” I throw her words back in her face. “Like it or not, the wealthy not only provide jobs, but the massive amounts of tax money they pay and investments they make are the lifeblood of this city. Without them, we have no city. Certainly not one as great as this.”

  “So that’s all it’s about to you? Dollars and cents? Who cares about human lives?”

  I want to respond, but she shakes her head and looks away from me. We sit in a prolonged silence filled with the tension of unspoken words. The expression on her face is one of absolute misery and heartbreak – and I feel her slipping away from me. As we sit there together, we may as well be on opposite sides of the country, given the yawning chasm that seems to be opening up between us.

  Finally, Berlin raises her head and looks at me. “So, there’s no chance of you stopping the development of the Jackson?”

  I spread my hands out and frown. “I can’t, Berlin. I have a job to do and a business to run,” I respond.

  She nods slowly, the sadness on her face only deepening. “I was afraid you were going to say that,” she replies, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I was hoping you wouldn’t, but I was afraid you might.”

  “So, where does that leave us?” I finally ask.

  She doesn’t speak for a long moment. The way she sits there, staring down at the floor, unblinking and unmoving, you’d almost think somebody hit the ‘off’ switch in her. Finally, she raises her head. Her eyes are shimmering with tears. Her lips quiver, and I watch as a lone tear traces its way down her smooth cheek. Sitting there staring at me, she looks like the quintessential picture of heartbreak.

  “I don’t know, Sawyer,” she whispers. “I really don’t know right now.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I need some space to think,” she responds. “I need to think through some things I chose to ignore before.”

  “Berlin, that’s not fair. You’ve always known –”

  “That’s why I said they were things I chose to ignore.”

  She’s on her feet and headed for the door in the blink of an eye. I want to call out to her. I want to stop her. In that moment, I’m willing to say or do almost anything to get her to stop. To stay. But I know if I give in now, this is a battle I’m going to be fighting as long as we’re together. I gave her a gift once – she can’t expect it every single time. It’s not fair to me.

  And I can already hear her counter argument to that. That what I’m doing isn’t fair to other people. I hate it. I hate that she’s gotten so deeply into my head.

  As the door clicks closed behind her, I’m left alone in my office with my dark thoughts and the darker anger that’s surging through me. I grab the coffee mug off the top of my desk and hurl it across the room, a satisfied grin touching my face when it hits the wall and explodes into a million pieces that spray everywhere.

  I listen to the pieces falling, hear them tinkling against the ground, and can’t help but think that’s a pretty good metaphor for my heart right now.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

&nb
sp; Berlin

  “You know I love you, right?”

  I give her a wry smile. Whenever Gabby prefaces a statement like that, I know I’m not going to like whatever comes out of her mouth next. It’s just another reminder that the only certainties in life are death, taxes, and that Gabby will always give me the unvarnished truth – whether I like it or not.

  “Of course I do,” I respond.

  “Good, then you need to pull your head out of your ass.”

  “Me?” I almost shriek. “Are you kidding? What about him?”

  I’m aware of all the eyes in the coffee house turning our way at my outburst. Realizing that I’m causing a scene, I sit back in my chair, take a drink of my latte, and pointedly ignore everybody gawking at us. Gabby just sits back and laughs.

  “I can’t believe you’re taking his side in this,” I hiss.

  “I’m not taking anybody’s side, hon.” She raises a hand in surrender. “I’m so neutral; you can just call me Switzerland.”

  “Sure sounds like you’re siding with him.”

  Gabby takes a drink of her coffee and sits back. “That’s because you’re so upset, you’re on the defensive,” she says. “And you’ll find offense with anything I say that doesn’t immediately support your position.”

  I open my mouth to argue but realize she’s right and then close it again. I know I have the habit of going on the defensive and lashing out when I’m as upset as I am right now. But it’s not like I don’t have good reason to be this upset – my life and the world I’ve dared to let myself dream of is crashing down around me. And I feel like I’m standing in the middle of this dumpster fire of my existence entirely alone. While I appreciate the fact that Gabs will always be unflinchingly honest and will give it to me straight, this is one of those times I could really just use a cheerleader who will listen. Who will tell me everything’s going to be okay, and that he’s the one with the fucked-up priorities.

  “His view of people – I find it abhorrent, Gabs,” I tell her. “That he can be so cold and unfeeling about taking people’s homes and turning them out is monstrous to me. It’s like they aren’t human beings at all. Just obstacles in his way to make more money. God, and it’s not like the man isn’t rich enough. He runs a multi-billion-dollar company! He could afford to completely change his business and still be fabulously wealthy. But he chooses to just be greedy instead!”

  Gabby sighs, taking my hand. “Babe, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but you’re shouting again.”

  I take a deep breath. “Sorry,” I mutter sheepishly.

  “Look, I don’t know Sawyer himself, but I think I can help you figure this out. For one thing, it’s because he grew up steeped in that sort of culture. I know plenty of guys like Sawyer – I have to deal with them on a daily basis,” she starts. “And for some of them, it’s not that they are unfeeling about people, they just don’t know any better. For them, it’s all about the job and the project in front of them. They get tunnel vision. It’s not that they are unfeeling; they just don’t think about people at all.”

  I grin ruefully. “I think that might actually be worse.”

  “It’s not. Not really,” she shrugs. “It means that they just need their eyes opened. They need to have those blinders taken off, and they need to see the people – and the real-world implications of what they’re doing. Until they come face to face with the people who suffer, it’s all nothing more than an abstract concept for them. I mean, Sawyer grew up rich, right? He’s never had to seriously worry about losing his job or his home for a day in his life. Maybe all you need to do is show him.”

  I tug on the ends of my hair, letting her words bounce around in my head for a minute. I’m pretty sure she’s right in that Sawyer has never had to see the real-world consequences of the people his projects put out on the street. I wonder if it would make a difference to him, though. As much as I’d like to say it would, the truth is I just don’t know.

  “What you’ve told me about Sawyer is that he’s got a good heart. That he’s grown and changed even in just the few months you guys have been together,” she presses her point. “You’ve told me he’s learned and changed – that he’s become an even better man.”

  I nod slowly, hating it when my words are used against me. But she has a point. And it’s true. In our time together, I’ve seen a softer, gentler side of him. I’ve seen him becoming more compassionate and caring. At least with me. I don’t know that it would translate to people in general. But then, I don’t know that it won’t.

  “Listen, I know you want to be pissed off and want to believe the worst of him right now. I get it, hon. I really do,” she continues, her tone slightly gentler. “But I really think I’d be doing you a disservice by just sitting here, patting your hand, and agreeing with you that he’s a horrible monster who should be drawn and quartered before being set on fire.”

  I sniff loudly and blink back the tears that are threatening to come spilling out. I’m doing my best to check my emotions, but being pregnant isn’t helping me a whole lot right now. Lately, I’ve felt out of control – even on my best days. I cry at the drop of the hat, get irrationally angry – and unbelievably sappy and romantic. Being pregnant is an emotional adventure, but right now, I just want the roller coaster to stop because I want to get off.

  “Do you know why I’m always so hard on you, hon?” Gabby asks. “Why I’m always honest with you – even when the truth is hard to swallow?”

  “Because that’s just who you are,” I say.

  “That’s true, that’s who I am,” she chuckles. “But not with everybody. I can mollycoddle a person, hold their hand, and tell them everything’s going to be alright with the best of them.”

  A wry grin touches my lips. “Really? I’ve never seen this alleged side of you before.”

  “Right, you haven’t,” she nods. “And you haven’t because the people who do are people I don’t respect. They’re weak. They need that hand-holding because they don’t have the strength to deal with the truth. I love and respect you far too much to ever patronize you like that.”

  “Sometimes it’d be nice to just have you give me a hug and let me whine,” I laugh.

  “You’d hate me for it. But worse than that, you’d hate yourself for it,” she states. “You’re not the type to lay down and wallow in your own misery, Berlin. You never have been. You’re stronger than anybody I know – including me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true. To overcome what you have in your life to become who you are and accomplish what you have takes a strength very few people have,” she tells me. “I don’t have that sort of fortitude. I grew up comfortably and took the path of least resistance – I went into corporate law because it’s easy.”

  “You’re brilliant at what you do,” I mention.

  “Well that much is true,” she grins. “But it’s also the easiest way to go. I sit in board rooms with wealthy people and figure out how to get them wealthier. But you – you are a fighter. You get down in the mud, and you take on all comers. You are fearless, Berlin.”

  “I’m definitely not fearless,” I chuckle.

  She seizes my hand so quickly; it startles me. I look up, and her gaze is so direct and penetrating, it carries a physical weight to it. I feel like she’s pinning me to my seat with nothing but her eyes.

  “You need to stop selling yourself short. Stop minimizing the things you do,” she daggers into me, her voice low and harder than steel. “You see injustices every day, and unlike ninety-nine percent of us, you do something about it. You step in front of the train that’s going to run people down and fight like hell to stop it.”

  I give her a small shrug. “It’s just the right thing to do.”

  “Exactly. But for most of us, it’s not even a thought in our minds. You have an uncommon moral compass, and you are driven to do right,” she insists. “Lots of people have the ability to change the world, Berlin. But you actually have the strength and courage
to do it. That’s why I respect and admire you as much as I do.”

  In all our years of friendship, Gabby has never said those words to me. She’s never told me she respects and admires me. And hearing the flat-out earnestness in her voice, I have no doubt what she’s saying is true. It overwhelms me with emotion and humbles me at the same time. By any measure, Gabby is a success. A big success. So hearing her so passionately speak about how she feels makes my heart swell with feeling.

  I look up at her with eyes that are blurry with tears and a soft smile on my face. “I think you might be the first person who’s ever said those words – and meant them,” I tell her. “Thank you for that.”

  She is on her feet and comes around the table quickly, pulling me into a tight embrace. I sniff loudly and try to discreetly wipe away the tears spilling down my cheeks. Most of them are happy, but there are also more than a few mixed in for what I’ve lost. Or at least, for what I feel like I’m losing.

  After a moment, Gabby goes back to her seat and takes a swallow of her macchiato, giving me a smile that warms me from the inside. I sit back and take a drink of my decaf latte, turning to look out the front windows of the coffee house, a smile unconsciously touching my lips.

  Fat snowflakes drift lazily down from a gray sky above and slick the street with a thin coat of fresh powder. The soft snowfall is beautiful and peaceful – and of course, brings the memories of my weekend with Sawyer in the Catskills to mind immediately. As I think about that weekend, I’m wrapped in a thick blanket of nostalgic warmth. I recall the feel of his arms around me, his lips on mine, and the sound of his words in my ear. I remember the way his fingers felt on my skin, the way he felt inside of me, and the love I saw shining in his eyes every minute of the day.

  I’ve never felt so deeply for somebody. Nor had them love me back so hard in return. What I have with Sawyer is real. And it’s profound. He’s altered my life in so many ways – not the least of which is growing inside of me right this moment. Which is what makes this chasm between us so difficult to bear because I don’t know that it can be bridged.