“Nico, Alpha, wait—we can’t—”
A throat clears at the office doorway, and I spin to see Oliver leaning against the frame, his grin so wide it looks like it might split his face. His sweet scent washes over me, and his pupils are blown wide. “You absolutely can. This is like Christmas.” He pushes off the frame and strides toward us. “Me and Lorenzoboth want you two, but I wasn’t sure it would work. Now, I’m convinced.”
I stumble backward, torn between Oliver’s tousled hair and crooked grin and Nicholas’ cheesy smile and hopeful eyes. Lorenzo follows behind Oliver, that calm satisfaction of a man whose plan just clicked into place.
“You planned this.” My voice goes flat. “The contractor meeting—leaving me alone with him.”
Lorenzo steps forward, shoulders squared. “I knew you would be adamant about taking the meeting. I merely offered an opportunity. What you chose to do with it was up to you.”
“I pushed him away.”
“And then he kissed you back,” Oliver says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Which is the part that really matters.”
My face is burning. “The investment.” I force the words out. “Can we please just talk about the investment?”
Nicholas moves to the bar and picks up the documents. His expression shifts back to the focused businessman, though the flush across his neck and the slight swelling of his lower lip tell a different story. “Two hundred thousand covers the legal fight and operating cushion?”
“Yes,” Lorenzo says.
“Let’s make it 225 for anything that Voss decides to throw in the meantime. I’ll have it transferred by the end of the week. I want to review the lease terms with my attorney first, but the money isn’t contingent on that. Consider it committed.” Nicholas’s gaze finds mine over the top of the papers. “No strings. No conditions. No expectations.”
“Why?” I barely whisper.
“I already told you, Will. Do you not believe me?” He sets the papers down. “I’m not letting what they built go to waste and every single moment it brings me closer to you? All of that is priceless.”
Oliver grabs my hand as Lorenzo’s palm settles on the back of my neck. My chest hurts. Everything hurts. The tears are building again, and I’m so fucking tired of crying in front of people, but the pressure behind my eyes won’t listen to my pride. “They’re not mine.” My voice cracks on that last word. “I keep telling everyone that and nobody listens.”
“Yeah, Will.” His voice is soft. “Nobody’s listening to that one.”
15
Nicholas
The conference table in Lorenzo’s office is a repurposed door balanced on two filing cabinets. I’ve sat across negotiating tables worth more than this building, mahogany surfaces in corner offices with harbor views, attorneys billing four hundred an hour, and clients who treated a handshake as ironclad. None of those tables taught me anything about the people around them. This one tells me everything.
The door is solid oak, salvaged but with history to it, dents and knicks that speak to use rather than just for show. The filing cabinets don’t match: one’s black, the other gray, and the gray one has a dent near the bottom drawer that looks like someone kicked it. Oliver, probably. On the surface, Lorenzo’s documents are arranged in neat stacks, each folder labeled in handwriting so precise it could be typeset.
He sits at the head of the table with Oliver perched cross-legged in the chair beside him, barefoot, glitter on his cheekbones despite this being a 2 PM business meeting. Wilson leans against the wall by the door, arms crossed, close enough to hear everything, far enough to bolt if he needs to.
“The lease challenge needs to go through commercial arbitration.” I slide the document across the door. “Voss structured the increase to look market-justified, but the comps don’t support it. Every comparable property on the boardwalk is renting at twelve to fifteen percent below what he’s charging you, even before the new terms.”
Lorenzo picks up the pages and scans them. “You pulled the comps yourself?”
“This morning. My attorney is reviewing them now, but the pattern is clear. Voss has been overcharging since the original lease. The thirty-two percent increase sits on an already inflated foundation.”
Oliver leans forward. “So we can fight it?”
“You can win it. The arbitration filing alone will freeze the new terms while the case is reviewed. That buys you six months minimum.” I pull another folder from my bag. “I’ve also drafted a counter-proposal for the common-area fees. The boardwalk improvement assessment is a surcharge he invented. There’s no precedent for it in any of the other tenant leases.”
“How do you know what’s in the other tenant leases?” Wilson’s voice cuts across the room from the doorway, flat and careful.
I look up. “Public filings. Commercial leases in this district are recorded with the county. Anyone can pull them.” I meet his eyes. “I pulled all of them.”
I watch Wilson’s jaw work as his gaze drops to the folders on the table, the stacks of research, the hours of work spread across Lorenzo’s salvaged door. Something flickers across his expression, but he smothers it before it fully forms.
“Next steps,” Lorenzo says, setting the document down in front of me. “What do you need from us?”
“Access to your financial records for the last three years. I need to build the operating history to support the arbitration claim. And I need to meet with your attorney to coordinate the filing.”
