“It’s people like me – those of us who invest millions – that help this city grow and prosper, Berlin,” he growls, the deep bass of his voice rumbling through me. “Like it or not, people like me represent the lifeblood of this city – of this world. If it wasn’t for people like me, we’d still be in the Middle Ages.”
I smirk. “I hate to break it to you Sawyer, but your narcissism and delusions of grandeur aren’t your best quality,” I sneer. “The world would find a way to get along without you just fine. It’s not like we need a world filled with these gaudy skyscrapers that are nothing more than monuments to your wealth and ego.”
“Berlin, I –”
“I’ll see you in court,” I spit. “I know you don’t like hearing the word no, but you better get used to it. The only way you’re getting the Atwell is over my dead body.”
I get to my feet quickly and turn away, walking briskly across the promenade and away from him, my face burning with my anger and disgust. How could I have let myself think he’s a good man? How could I have let myself be suckered in by his charm? How could I have actually believed he’d grown and matured – that he wasn’t the same self-centered, egotistical asshole he was back in school?
I’m an idiot. An absolute idiot and I let him play me. That’s how.
Yeah well, I won’t be making that mistake again. Lesson learned.
Chapter Ten Sawyer
“She’s just so fucking idealistic and naïve,” I rant as I pace my office. “She’s got this Pollyanna view of how the world should be instead of a realistic view of how the world actually is.”
Rider’s perched on the couch stationed in the sitting area in my office, saying nothing. He’s just watching me pace and listening to me rave. That’s one thing I like about Rider – he knows when to speak and when to just shut up and listen. I’ve been going on like this for damn near half an hour by now, and through it all, he’s just taken in everything I’ve said. But I know he’ll have some thoughts for me when I’m done – whether I want to hear it or not.
Although, I can’t deny that’s what a good friend does – they listen and then offer you the unvarnished and sometimes unflattering truth. And he’s always been a good friend like that. I may not like to hear it in the moment, but I always appreciate it. More times than not, his thoughts turn out to be correct.
“Sounds like she’s really gotten under your skin,” he remarks, once I finally settle down.
I stand in front of the glass that makes up the rear wall of my office and stare out at the view of Manhattan below. Normally it’s a view that brings me peace. It mellows me out when I need to take a breath and relax. But not today. Now, I look at the endless sprawl of high rises – luxury condos, office buildings, apartment buildings – and all I can hear is Berlin’s voice and her condemnations of ‘people like me’.
“What gets me is she acts like we just roll around town, looking for people to victimize,” I grunt. “She acts like we’re bad guys, and like we’re ruining all of New York when all we’re trying to do is make it better.”
“Well, from her point of view – and doing what she does – I can see why she’s upset,” Rider admits. “I mean, it’s not like any of the current residents of the Atwell will likely be able to afford the condos we’re planning on putting up.”
“And how is that my fault?” I argue. “We’re not the ones who determine the housing market.”
“No, all we’re doing from her perspective is cashing in,” he remarks. “And we’re choosing to pursue the high-end luxury market, therefore driving up prices from competitors and limiting the already-scarce housing stock in the city. So, she’s right.”
I turn from the windows and face him, staring at Rider for a long moment. He doesn’t flinch, though. He just sits there and waits me out. Finally, I cross my office and drop down into one of the plush wingbacks that sit across the coffee table from the couch Rider is sitting on.
“So what? We should just abandon all of our projects because some naïve idealist thinks we’re taking advantage of the poor?” I ask.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he responds. “I’m just giving you what her perspective is. And having come from a similar background to her, I know what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know you do,” I say and wave him off.
I turn and look out the wall of windows again, doing my best to dissolve this thick thread of anger that’s been coiled tightly around my insides ever since my lunch with Berlin. My office sits on the thirty-eighth and top floor of the building. Thanks to my father’s smart planning, I now own the whole building, but Compass only takes up the top eight floors – the rest we lease out to other companies, which provides a very solid and steady stream of revenue.
“Know what I think?” Rider asks.
“I’ll assume you’re going to tell me regardless of what I say,” I grin.
He flashes me a grin. “I think she’s so deep under your skin because you care about her even more than you’re comfortable admitting.”
I sit back in the chair and laugh softly while Rider looks at me with an expression of confidence in his conclusion.
“And is that
