I talk a good game and try to exude optimism, but the truth is, I have no idea if I can get an injunction for eighteen hours, let alone eighteen months. But I’m certainly not going to admit that to Rider – which is admitting it to Sawyer by extension.
“It may perhaps be a losing proposition, but it will throw a wrench into the gears for you guys,” I tell him. “I can hang things up for you guys.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs. “But you don’t do business in this city as long as Sawyer’s family has without making some allies and learning which wheels to grease along the way.”
I stare at him, completely dumbfounded. I mean, I understand that what he’s saying is probably true. But that he’d lay it out there like that is kind of unreal to me – backroom deals are called backroom deals for a reason. The arrogance of these two is astounding.
“So what you’re telling me is that the game is fixed,” I say, putting as much venom into my voice as I can. “So I should just take my ball and go home.”
“No, what I’m saying is that in this town, it doesn’t hurt to have friends in positions of power,” he replies.
“Great, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Rider sighs. “Listen, you forget that I grew up just like you – working-class family, had to rely on scholarships to get me through school –”
“We are nothing alike,” I snap. “So if you have a point, you better make it because I really do have someplace to be.”
“We are a lot more alike than you obviously care to admit, Berlin,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. “But my point is that Sawyer really is a good man. Admittedly, he’s a bit out of touch with working-class people and the poor –”
“You can say that again,” I cut him off.
“But because I grew up without a lot, and have sympathy for those like me, I do what I can to steer him toward being fair to people – like those at the Atwell – as well as the less fortunate,” he goes on. “And frankly, it would do some good to have an ally in his life. I think we can both be a very good influence on him in terms of making him more – socioeconomically aware.”
“Except that I’m not part of his life.”
“Not yet,” he presses. “But I think if you get to –”
I shake my head, a frown creasing my face. “Did he really send you down here to set me up with him,” I cut him off, “like some idiotic teenage boy? What kind of ridiculous high school garbage is that?”
Rider chuckles. “No, actually he didn’t ask me to fix you two up. He’s of the belief that ship has sailed,” he says. “What he did ask me to do was to convince you to have dinner with him, yes. But only because he knew you’d shoot him down on sight.”
“Damn straight.”
“He would like to talk to you, Berlin,” Rider presses. “See if there’s some sort of understanding the two of you can come to.”
“An understanding?” I gape at him.
Rider shrugs. “Well – yeah.”
“Not bloody likely,” I spit. “That man stands for everything I despise in this world.”
“That’s fair,” he states. “But what if you could have a hand in turning him into something you don’t despise – somebody who can do a lot of good for the causes you’re so passionate about?”
“I don’t see that happening,” I scoff.
“There’s one way you can find out whether it’s a viable plan or not,” he goes on. “Come on, what’s it going to hurt? It’s just dinner.”
I have to admit, the idea of getting access to Sawyer’s fortune and influence to help shape policy for low-income housing in the city is appealing. Really appealing. With an ally like Sawyer on my side, I know we could do great things for a lot of people. We could potentially end the homeless crisis in the city. Or at least, make great headway on it.
But at what cost to me, personally? I shudder to think what he’ll want in return for the use of his money and power. Sawyer isn’t the sort of man who does something for nothing. I doubt my feminine wiles and charms will be enough to influence him to seeing – and doing – things my way. So, what is he going to want in return?
It’s a good question, and unfortunately, I know there’s only one way I’m going to get an answer to it. I sigh and look over at Rider.
“Give me a minute to make a call,” I tell him.
He nods, and as I turn to step away, my bag slips off my shoulder. I curse loudly as it hits the ground, sending things everywhere. Rider quickly stoops and helps me gather my things. I look around to make sure I got everything when I see him holding the pill bottle in his hand. He looks over at me, his eyes filled with concern, as well as the one thing I hate most in this world – pity.
“Donepezil,” he says softly. “That’s for –”
I snatch the bottle out of his hand and quickly stuff it in my purse, feeling my face flaring with heat. I’m torn between wanting to tell him to mind his own business and pleading with him to not tell Sawyer. This is my issue – a private issue – and I don’t feel it’s necessary to tell the world my father has Alzheimer’s. The last thing I want is the pity that comes from such a statement. I don’t want or need anybody’s pity. Especially Sawyer’s.
Ultimately, I decide to not say anything. Maybe if I don’t make a big deal out of it one way or the other, Rider will assume it’s no big deal, and it will all be forgotten soon enough. Or that he’ll have the discretion to not run back and
